she’d had a good life. Difficult and painful, but every day he had seen the unshakeable power within her, the desire to live, and possibly also faith in human goodness.
He had thought about Malin in the cathedral.
The way she actually seemed to be carrying the same torment as Anna. How she tried to reach out for goodness even though a powerful dark force was constantly threatening to take over. But, he thought, it’s probably only when life becomes so black and white that existence becomes truly clear to us, when we might feel able to understand that its inherent contradictions are the whole point.
But here, in this cathedral, he had thought, we try to convince ourselves, jointly, that those contradictions don’t exist, no matter what the bishop says. In times of need we seek solace, otherwise we don’t give a damn.
He had left the cathedral before the end of the service.
He had felt the oxygen in the air running out, as the flames of the candles reached out to him. He had walked home through the mild spring evening. Longing to be at home with his dogs’ simple, easily comprehensible love.
Waldemar Ekenberg has his arm around his wife. She’s awake, and is looking at him, admiring his solidity, his ability never to give in. She doesn’t mind about his tendency towards racism and over-simplification. He probably has good reasons. He looks after her, always has done. They can manage on his wage alone, if they have to. She never liked the job at Rex Components, sitting in front of a screen and typing in data all day long. But at the same time, it was nice to feel needed. But Waldemar seems happy about her not working, because then everything at home works perfectly, and he gets properly cooked meals on the table every evening.
Waldemar cares about the people closest to him.
His colleagues.
Börje, Johan, Sven. And Malin. He said he was worried about her at the dinner table this evening. Worried she was going to start drinking again now that her mother was gone. But she seems to have a grip on things, doesn’t she, he says, as if I’d know. I do know one thing, though: however much you might want to help someone, he or she will eventually have to overcome their demons themselves.
And who knows what nightmares are really haunting that Malin?
Zeke is sitting in front of his computer in the kitchen of his villa. He’s just woken up and couldn’t get back to sleep.
He’s opened a picture of his grandson in Canada. His name’s Per, but he’s called Pelle, and Zeke has seen far too little of him.
Inside the bedroom his wife is snoring, and the soft, rumbling sound of her breathing makes Zeke feel calm, at the same time as making him feel wide awake.
Bloody awful, those girls in the square.
What would he do if anything like that happened to Pelle?
He’d smoke the bastards who did it out of their holes.
But he knows that unfocused aggression is pointless in a situation like this. Now was the time for them to be methodical, not let themselves be blinded by hate or anger.
He looks at the picture of his grandson.
Taking some of his very first steps in his son Martin’s lush garden.
Bloody awful.
He knows he can let rip if need be.
Go to hell, Zeke thinks, and in his mind’s eye he sees a monster in human disguise.
12
Tuesday, 11 May
What does a journalist want?
To capture the truth. To let it loose.
Become a parasite on it, profit from it. Give their own view, share it with those who choose to listen. If they actually want anything, journalists.
It’s only a quarter to seven when Malin parks outside the police station, but in spite of the early hour there’s a minor horde of journalists outside the entrance.
There are vehicles from Swedish Television and TV4. With a case like this, in such an extreme situation as this one, it’s even more important than usual to hold the media at a distance, not let the vultures set anything in motion that might affect the general public and foster fear in
He had thought about Malin in the cathedral.
The way she actually seemed to be carrying the same torment as Anna. How she tried to reach out for goodness even though a powerful dark force was constantly threatening to take over. But, he thought, it’s probably only when life becomes so black and white that existence becomes truly clear to us, when we might feel able to understand that its inherent contradictions are the whole point.
But here, in this cathedral, he had thought, we try to convince ourselves, jointly, that those contradictions don’t exist, no matter what the bishop says. In times of need we seek solace, otherwise we don’t give a damn.
He had left the cathedral before the end of the service.
He had felt the oxygen in the air running out, as the flames of the candles reached out to him. He had walked home through the mild spring evening. Longing to be at home with his dogs’ simple, easily comprehensible love.
Waldemar Ekenberg has his arm around his wife. She’s awake, and is looking at him, admiring his solidity, his ability never to give in. She doesn’t mind about his tendency towards racism and over-simplification. He probably has good reasons. He looks after her, always has done. They can manage on his wage alone, if they have to. She never liked the job at Rex Components, sitting in front of a screen and typing in data all day long. But at the same time, it was nice to feel needed. But Waldemar seems happy about her not working, because then everything at home works perfectly, and he gets properly cooked meals on the table every evening.
Waldemar cares about the people closest to him.
His colleagues.
Börje, Johan, Sven. And Malin. He said he was worried about her at the dinner table this evening. Worried she was going to start drinking again now that her mother was gone. But she seems to have a grip on things, doesn’t she, he says, as if I’d know. I do know one thing, though: however much you might want to help someone, he or she will eventually have to overcome their demons themselves.
And who knows what nightmares are really haunting that Malin?
Zeke is sitting in front of his computer in the kitchen of his villa. He’s just woken up and couldn’t get back to sleep.
He’s opened a picture of his grandson in Canada. His name’s Per, but he’s called Pelle, and Zeke has seen far too little of him.
Inside the bedroom his wife is snoring, and the soft, rumbling sound of her breathing makes Zeke feel calm, at the same time as making him feel wide awake.
Bloody awful, those girls in the square.
What would he do if anything like that happened to Pelle?
He’d smoke the bastards who did it out of their holes.
But he knows that unfocused aggression is pointless in a situation like this. Now was the time for them to be methodical, not let themselves be blinded by hate or anger.
He looks at the picture of his grandson.
Taking some of his very first steps in his son Martin’s lush garden.
Bloody awful.
He knows he can let rip if need be.
Go to hell, Zeke thinks, and in his mind’s eye he sees a monster in human disguise.
12
Tuesday, 11 May
What does a journalist want?
To capture the truth. To let it loose.
Become a parasite on it, profit from it. Give their own view, share it with those who choose to listen. If they actually want anything, journalists.
It’s only a quarter to seven when Malin parks outside the police station, but in spite of the early hour there’s a minor horde of journalists outside the entrance.
There are vehicles from Swedish Television and TV4. With a case like this, in such an extreme situation as this one, it’s even more important than usual to hold the media at a distance, not let the vultures set anything in motion that might affect the general public and foster fear in
Similar Books
