to.'
'Heroin addicts don't run, Alvar, in fact they're very, very slow.'
He looks at me for a long time. 'So if something were to happen to her, she wouldn't be able to escape?'
I do not reply. I look at the screen again and my half-finished letter. I rest my chin in my hands.
'You've suddenly gone very quiet,' Alvar says. 'I'm convinced that you've thought of something, that you've just had an idea of what's going to happen.'
'That's correct. And I can't tell you what it is, I'm sure you understand.'
I look at him, he is twisting his fingers. There's something very virginal about him. A man of forty-two with his innocence intact. A man who has hidden himself away his whole life. It feels as if I'm about to throw him to the wolves. His unease is totally justified, he senses that something is about to happen. I force myself to be tough and push ahead with my plan even though I know I will cause him a great deal of pain.
'What are you thinking about?'
He looks directly at me.
'I'm thinking of everything we humans have to suffer. Restless hours filled with anxiety and distress. Sleepless nights, pain. I'm thinking of the bravery dormant in us all. How we grit our teeth and carry on. Some go with God. And those of us who don't have that option, those of us who don't lift our heads towards heaven, we walk on all the same with our heads bowed, right until our own end.'
'I can visualise what you've just said,' Alvar says. 'It's a powerful image. If I were a painter that is the very subject I would have chosen. Two people going to their deaths, one with and one without God.'
'Have you ever dreamt of being a painter?' I want to know.
'Oh, no, not ever, I don't have the talent. I'm perfectly happy just admiring the work of others. Whenever I stand in front of a painting, I can always find the words. Then I'm able, despite my shyness, to have long, in-depth conversations with another human being. However, when I'm outside on the street and someone stops me to ask directions, then I'm helpless.'
'Because there isn't a painting between you?'
'That's right. Of course, I give them a reply, but only a very brief one, and then I hurry on as quickly as I can. But in the gallery I can stand in front of a painting and talk for an hour.'
'You're an enigma,' I smile.
'Perhaps I'll surprise you along the way,' he says, looking terribly pleased with himself.
No, Alvar my dear, I think to myself, you're the one who is going to be surprised.
I turn my back on him so I can finish my letter. He stands behind me for a few minutes; I sense his presence like a shadow and I find it hard to concentrate.
'Do you ever dream about me at night?' he asks out of the blue. I sigh deeply, save the last sentence and turn round again with resignation.
'No, never. I dream vividly every single night, but I have never dreamt of you.'
He looks disappointed.
'May I ask you what you dreamt about last night?' he asks cautiously. 'I mean, if you don't think I'm being too forward?'
I lean back in my chair. I recall last night's events and the very unpleasant dream which still haunts me.
'I dreamt I was living in a city with narrow streets,' I tell him. 'I was drifting around this city; I had no mission, no purpose. Everyone was busy doing their own thing, but I wandered through the day with nothing to do. Then an important delegation came to the city, five grave-looking men dressed in black. They walked in procession through the streets carrying their heavy suitcases. One of the men was carrying a small bundle, but I couldn't see what was in it. They soon spotted me. They stopped and looked at me solemnly.
' "We have an important task for you," the man with the bundle announced. "We're here for five days, we have something very important to discuss and during those five days you must take care of this." He passed me the bundle, which was wrapped in a piece of filthy cloth. I unwrapped it and inside I discovered a baby.'
Alvar listens attentively, never
'Heroin addicts don't run, Alvar, in fact they're very, very slow.'
He looks at me for a long time. 'So if something were to happen to her, she wouldn't be able to escape?'
I do not reply. I look at the screen again and my half-finished letter. I rest my chin in my hands.
'You've suddenly gone very quiet,' Alvar says. 'I'm convinced that you've thought of something, that you've just had an idea of what's going to happen.'
'That's correct. And I can't tell you what it is, I'm sure you understand.'
I look at him, he is twisting his fingers. There's something very virginal about him. A man of forty-two with his innocence intact. A man who has hidden himself away his whole life. It feels as if I'm about to throw him to the wolves. His unease is totally justified, he senses that something is about to happen. I force myself to be tough and push ahead with my plan even though I know I will cause him a great deal of pain.
'What are you thinking about?'
He looks directly at me.
'I'm thinking of everything we humans have to suffer. Restless hours filled with anxiety and distress. Sleepless nights, pain. I'm thinking of the bravery dormant in us all. How we grit our teeth and carry on. Some go with God. And those of us who don't have that option, those of us who don't lift our heads towards heaven, we walk on all the same with our heads bowed, right until our own end.'
'I can visualise what you've just said,' Alvar says. 'It's a powerful image. If I were a painter that is the very subject I would have chosen. Two people going to their deaths, one with and one without God.'
'Have you ever dreamt of being a painter?' I want to know.
'Oh, no, not ever, I don't have the talent. I'm perfectly happy just admiring the work of others. Whenever I stand in front of a painting, I can always find the words. Then I'm able, despite my shyness, to have long, in-depth conversations with another human being. However, when I'm outside on the street and someone stops me to ask directions, then I'm helpless.'
'Because there isn't a painting between you?'
'That's right. Of course, I give them a reply, but only a very brief one, and then I hurry on as quickly as I can. But in the gallery I can stand in front of a painting and talk for an hour.'
'You're an enigma,' I smile.
'Perhaps I'll surprise you along the way,' he says, looking terribly pleased with himself.
No, Alvar my dear, I think to myself, you're the one who is going to be surprised.
I turn my back on him so I can finish my letter. He stands behind me for a few minutes; I sense his presence like a shadow and I find it hard to concentrate.
'Do you ever dream about me at night?' he asks out of the blue. I sigh deeply, save the last sentence and turn round again with resignation.
'No, never. I dream vividly every single night, but I have never dreamt of you.'
He looks disappointed.
'May I ask you what you dreamt about last night?' he asks cautiously. 'I mean, if you don't think I'm being too forward?'
I lean back in my chair. I recall last night's events and the very unpleasant dream which still haunts me.
'I dreamt I was living in a city with narrow streets,' I tell him. 'I was drifting around this city; I had no mission, no purpose. Everyone was busy doing their own thing, but I wandered through the day with nothing to do. Then an important delegation came to the city, five grave-looking men dressed in black. They walked in procession through the streets carrying their heavy suitcases. One of the men was carrying a small bundle, but I couldn't see what was in it. They soon spotted me. They stopped and looked at me solemnly.
' "We have an important task for you," the man with the bundle announced. "We're here for five days, we have something very important to discuss and during those five days you must take care of this." He passed me the bundle, which was wrapped in a piece of filthy cloth. I unwrapped it and inside I discovered a baby.'
Alvar listens attentively, never
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