well . . .”
“What would I do, then?”
“Be with the girls, of course.”
It sounded so simple. And so obvious.
That was because it was simple and obvious.
He looked at the clock, as though to see when winter would begin.
Suddenly he had made up his mind.
“It’s a good idea,” he said. “It’s just a matter of a leave of absence.”
“Why not retirement?”
“I’m not joking now, Angela.”
“Do you mean it?”
“It’s a good idea. I just realized it now. I’m serious.”
He was serious; he felt serious. The liquor wasn’t affecting him; not yet.
“I’ll talk to Birgersson tomorrow. I can take a leave of absence starting December first.”
She didn’t answer.
“It’s by the book. It’s more than two months until December.”
“Your . . . case, then? This murder?”
It will be solved by then, he thought. It has to be.
“We’ll find substitutes to run the primary investigation,” he answered. “It will work. We could do it even now, just in case.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Has the job at the clinic gone to someone else?” he asked.
Winter himself could tell how anxious his voice sounded. Suddenly he wanted to wander in the sun this winter, more than anything. Ice cream with the girls down at the harbor. A trip to Málaga, a glass of cava among the casks and the sawdust at Antigua Casa de Guardia, Picasso’s old haunt. More ice cream for the girls. A swim. Grilled sea bass. Various tapas in sunset after sunset.
“Angela?” She must be able to hear the anxiety in his voice. “Did you say no? Did the job go to someone else?”
“I’ve only spoken with them once, Erik. And it was almost only in passing. At least on my part.”
“Call them right away and make an appointment for an interview.”
“Things are moving quickly,” she said. “But . . . where will we live, for example? In that case. We can’t live with Siv the whole time.”
“Forget that for now! It will all work itself out.”
Now their roles had changed. She was hesitating. He had made up his mind. But she had never made up her mind. It was an idea, an impulse, something different. A nice memory, maybe. You onlylive once. And Elsa would quickly learn to order for him. Un fino, por favor.
“Okay, I’ll call,” she said. “But it’s too late tonight.”
“Spanish clinics open early in the morning.”
“I know, Erik.”
He sensed her smile.
“Now I want to talk to Elsa,” he said. “And Lilly.”
“Lilly fell asleep hours ago. Here’s Elsa.”
And she told him about her day. The words came in clumps; there was no space between them.
He didn’t tell her about his day.
• • •
He dreamed about a woman who was waving at him with one hand. She held the other hidden behind her back. She had no face. There was nothing. Where her face should have been there was only a white surface; it was dull. She waved for the second time. He turned around to see whether someone was standing behind him, but he was alone. Behind him was only a white surface, a wall that didn’t end. Someone said the word “love.” It couldn’t be her, because she didn’t have a mouth. It couldn’t be him because he knew that he hadn’t said anything. Here it was again: love. It was like a breeze. Now he could see the breeze; it was red, it rushed down over the wall and made the wall red. The woman stood there the entire time with her arm moving, a dress that was clutched by the breeze. Everything turned red, white, red, white. He heard something again but it was a voice without words, or words that he couldn’t understand, a different language that he’d never heard. He didn’t know what he was doing there. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t help the woman who was swept away with the wind. He couldn’t move. The wind picked up; the sound of something being struck, wind, strike, wind. He heard a name. It wasn’t Paula’s name, not Angela’s or Elsa’s or
“What would I do, then?”
“Be with the girls, of course.”
It sounded so simple. And so obvious.
That was because it was simple and obvious.
He looked at the clock, as though to see when winter would begin.
Suddenly he had made up his mind.
“It’s a good idea,” he said. “It’s just a matter of a leave of absence.”
“Why not retirement?”
“I’m not joking now, Angela.”
“Do you mean it?”
“It’s a good idea. I just realized it now. I’m serious.”
He was serious; he felt serious. The liquor wasn’t affecting him; not yet.
“I’ll talk to Birgersson tomorrow. I can take a leave of absence starting December first.”
She didn’t answer.
“It’s by the book. It’s more than two months until December.”
“Your . . . case, then? This murder?”
It will be solved by then, he thought. It has to be.
“We’ll find substitutes to run the primary investigation,” he answered. “It will work. We could do it even now, just in case.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Has the job at the clinic gone to someone else?” he asked.
Winter himself could tell how anxious his voice sounded. Suddenly he wanted to wander in the sun this winter, more than anything. Ice cream with the girls down at the harbor. A trip to Málaga, a glass of cava among the casks and the sawdust at Antigua Casa de Guardia, Picasso’s old haunt. More ice cream for the girls. A swim. Grilled sea bass. Various tapas in sunset after sunset.
“Angela?” She must be able to hear the anxiety in his voice. “Did you say no? Did the job go to someone else?”
“I’ve only spoken with them once, Erik. And it was almost only in passing. At least on my part.”
“Call them right away and make an appointment for an interview.”
“Things are moving quickly,” she said. “But . . . where will we live, for example? In that case. We can’t live with Siv the whole time.”
“Forget that for now! It will all work itself out.”
Now their roles had changed. She was hesitating. He had made up his mind. But she had never made up her mind. It was an idea, an impulse, something different. A nice memory, maybe. You onlylive once. And Elsa would quickly learn to order for him. Un fino, por favor.
“Okay, I’ll call,” she said. “But it’s too late tonight.”
“Spanish clinics open early in the morning.”
“I know, Erik.”
He sensed her smile.
“Now I want to talk to Elsa,” he said. “And Lilly.”
“Lilly fell asleep hours ago. Here’s Elsa.”
And she told him about her day. The words came in clumps; there was no space between them.
He didn’t tell her about his day.
• • •
He dreamed about a woman who was waving at him with one hand. She held the other hidden behind her back. She had no face. There was nothing. Where her face should have been there was only a white surface; it was dull. She waved for the second time. He turned around to see whether someone was standing behind him, but he was alone. Behind him was only a white surface, a wall that didn’t end. Someone said the word “love.” It couldn’t be her, because she didn’t have a mouth. It couldn’t be him because he knew that he hadn’t said anything. Here it was again: love. It was like a breeze. Now he could see the breeze; it was red, it rushed down over the wall and made the wall red. The woman stood there the entire time with her arm moving, a dress that was clutched by the breeze. Everything turned red, white, red, white. He heard something again but it was a voice without words, or words that he couldn’t understand, a different language that he’d never heard. He didn’t know what he was doing there. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t help the woman who was swept away with the wind. He couldn’t move. The wind picked up; the sound of something being struck, wind, strike, wind. He heard a name. It wasn’t Paula’s name, not Angela’s or Elsa’s or
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