I underestimated you…”
He got up from his chair and I could see the tension in his face as he steeled himself to say what was coming. I smiled and waited.
“…but it isn’t always easy to see the skills of all your colleagues. Especially not…”
He fell silent and sat down on the edge of the desk. He looked tired. He sighed and ran his hand over his hair.
“I apologize, Björn. There’s been a lot going on recently.”
“Apology accepted,” I said, and made myself comfortable in his office chair.
He looked down at me with his mouth wide open. I leaned back and folded my hands over my stomach.
“Would you like to talk about it?” I said.
52.
The following morning I was able to run my finger slowly over the numbers on the cover of my first framework decision, which now had its own reference number: 16c36/1.
I had gone down to reception and asked for it the day it became publicly accessible. I could smell the fresh ink, and I let Margareta behind the counter get a glimpse of the case manager’s name on the flyleaf. You could have been a part of all this, I thought. But drugs got in the way.
“How are things going for you these days?” she asked after a pause.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t even look at her. I had decided to regard her as a stranger, a complete unknown. And neither condone nor condemn what she did in her own time.
53.
Rumors of my success swept through the whole department like a wave. Someone had heard and carried the news to the rest of the group. I saw Hannah with the ponytail talking to Karin outside the kitchen, and via Karin I was able to follow the path of the news to John and the gang in the section for the financing of inspection visits. After a while almost the whole of Supervision stood up, talking to each other and looking in my direction. I tried to read their reactions, but it was difficult as I was constantly having to pretend I hadn’t noticed and was preoccupied with my work.
In fact things were relatively stress free, and I didn’t have to rush my fifty-five-minute periods seeing as the most concentrated part, the actual formulation itself, always happened inside the room. In the evenings and at night.
One day when Håkan got back from a coffee break I noticed that even he had been hosed down by the torrent of information about the new star in the office. He smiled when he asked but I could see the icy chill in his eyes.
“So how long were you planning on keeping your talent hidden, then?” he said.
I didn’t answer. He had a large white patch on one shoulder and going part way down his chest. Hadn’t he noticed? It looked scruffy.
“Do you think it’s funny going round pretending to be unstable, just so you can show everyone your tightrope routine later on?”
I said nothing. I recognized the nature of his questions. They were rhetorical. It’s always best to ignore those. Treat them like they don’t exist. But the stain was real.
“Don’t you think you should go and change your shirt?” I asked after a while, nodding toward the stain.
Håkan glanced sullenly down at his shoulder. Then he hissed through gritted teeth:
“When did you take those files?”
I adopted a questioning look that I had practiced at home in front of the mirror. I thought it gave the desired impression.
—
John caught up with me on the way to the kitchen. He held out his hand.
“Congratulations, Björn,” he said with a crooked smile. “It’s great that things are going so well for you now.”
I took his hand and thanked him.
“I’m sorry about all that business before,” he said. “You know how things get in stressful workplaces. There isn’t always enough time to talk things through calmly.”
I decided to hold back from responding and just gave him a quizzical look.
“I mean, places like this aren’t exactly famous for taking care of their staff when they get a bit—well, how can I put it?—overwrought.”
I went on looking at him in silence.
He got up from his chair and I could see the tension in his face as he steeled himself to say what was coming. I smiled and waited.
“…but it isn’t always easy to see the skills of all your colleagues. Especially not…”
He fell silent and sat down on the edge of the desk. He looked tired. He sighed and ran his hand over his hair.
“I apologize, Björn. There’s been a lot going on recently.”
“Apology accepted,” I said, and made myself comfortable in his office chair.
He looked down at me with his mouth wide open. I leaned back and folded my hands over my stomach.
“Would you like to talk about it?” I said.
52.
The following morning I was able to run my finger slowly over the numbers on the cover of my first framework decision, which now had its own reference number: 16c36/1.
I had gone down to reception and asked for it the day it became publicly accessible. I could smell the fresh ink, and I let Margareta behind the counter get a glimpse of the case manager’s name on the flyleaf. You could have been a part of all this, I thought. But drugs got in the way.
“How are things going for you these days?” she asked after a pause.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t even look at her. I had decided to regard her as a stranger, a complete unknown. And neither condone nor condemn what she did in her own time.
53.
Rumors of my success swept through the whole department like a wave. Someone had heard and carried the news to the rest of the group. I saw Hannah with the ponytail talking to Karin outside the kitchen, and via Karin I was able to follow the path of the news to John and the gang in the section for the financing of inspection visits. After a while almost the whole of Supervision stood up, talking to each other and looking in my direction. I tried to read their reactions, but it was difficult as I was constantly having to pretend I hadn’t noticed and was preoccupied with my work.
In fact things were relatively stress free, and I didn’t have to rush my fifty-five-minute periods seeing as the most concentrated part, the actual formulation itself, always happened inside the room. In the evenings and at night.
One day when Håkan got back from a coffee break I noticed that even he had been hosed down by the torrent of information about the new star in the office. He smiled when he asked but I could see the icy chill in his eyes.
“So how long were you planning on keeping your talent hidden, then?” he said.
I didn’t answer. He had a large white patch on one shoulder and going part way down his chest. Hadn’t he noticed? It looked scruffy.
“Do you think it’s funny going round pretending to be unstable, just so you can show everyone your tightrope routine later on?”
I said nothing. I recognized the nature of his questions. They were rhetorical. It’s always best to ignore those. Treat them like they don’t exist. But the stain was real.
“Don’t you think you should go and change your shirt?” I asked after a while, nodding toward the stain.
Håkan glanced sullenly down at his shoulder. Then he hissed through gritted teeth:
“When did you take those files?”
I adopted a questioning look that I had practiced at home in front of the mirror. I thought it gave the desired impression.
—
John caught up with me on the way to the kitchen. He held out his hand.
“Congratulations, Björn,” he said with a crooked smile. “It’s great that things are going so well for you now.”
I took his hand and thanked him.
“I’m sorry about all that business before,” he said. “You know how things get in stressful workplaces. There isn’t always enough time to talk things through calmly.”
I decided to hold back from responding and just gave him a quizzical look.
“I mean, places like this aren’t exactly famous for taking care of their staff when they get a bit—well, how can I put it?—overwrought.”
I went on looking at him in silence.
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