a listless expression. She couldn’t care less about the temperature of the room. She doubted she’d even notice if it dropped below freezing. Her body had shut down, as if it could no longer feel such trivial things as heat, cold, hunger, or thirst. Her brain was processing what she had seen, trying to make sense of the information that was impossible to comprehend. How could she accept that Matte, her boy Matte, was dead?
Lisette was huddled at her feet, her head resting on Britten’s lap. She could feel her daughter shaking with sobs as she intermittently stroked her hair. She was incapable of offering comfort to anyone else at the moment. She couldn’t even acknowledge their grief. She had enough to do, trying to deal with her own sorrow.
Britten remembered the day he was born. It was in July, and the birthing room was unbearably hot. She caught sight of a wasp that was stuck between the panes of the window, and all the time she was in labour, she kept her attention focused on the insect’s struggle. But the second she saw Matte, she forgot about the wasp and her own pain. He was so tiny. He was of normal weight, yet in her eyes he seemed incredibly small and fragile. She counted his fingers and toes several times, as if murmuring an incantation to reassure herself that everything was fine. He didn’t cry. She realized in amazement that he’d come silently into this world, with his eyes wide open in surprise, looking a bit cross-eyed as he tried to focus. The instant she saw him, she had loved him so much that she thought her heart would burst. Of course she had loved Lisette too, when she was born a few years later. But Matte was her first-born. And the two of them had shared something special. A unique bond existed from the moment his inquisitive eyes had met hers. Harald was not allowed to be present at the birth – it wasn’t the custom back then. And that had merely made the bond between Britten and Matte even stronger. It was the two of them against the world. Nothing was ever going to come between them.
Naturally, things changed as he got older. Those first magical moments could never be recaptured, but remnants of them remained. A feeling that they shared something special. It had pained her to see what a tormented soul he became, and to glimpse the demons that he fought. So many times she had felt nearly suffocated by the constant questions: Was it something she had done? Something they had done? Deep inside she knew that it wasn’t their fault. Even during those first, trembling seconds when his tiny body, so warm and sticky, lay on her breast, she had seen a seriousness in his eyes. He was an old soul who had once again come into this world, even though he might have preferred to be left in peace. This was not something Britten could discuss with Harald. But part of her was not surprised when she found him there, lying on the floor, with those lovely blue eyes staring vacantly. Somehow she had always known that the old soul inside of Matte would not last an entire lifetime. It had already seen too much, experienced too much. The fact that Matte had lived for thirty years was more than she’d dared hope for, but that didn’t make her grief any easier to bear. She sat there and continued to stroke Lisette’s hair.
Martin went into the kitchen just in time to see Kerstin pour the freshly made coffee into a thermos.
‘Oh, could I have a cup?’ he asked, in search of any sort of stimulant he could find to combat the fatigue and discouragement that he was feeling.
‘Of course,’ said Kerstin, filling a mug with black coffee. She handed it to Martin and then hesitated a moment before saying, ‘We heard about Matte. How did it happen?’
Börje had come into the kitchen and wanted to hear what he had to say too. Martin took a big gulp of the coffee.
‘Matte was shot. His mother found him in his room. And as yet we don’t know who did it.’
‘It must be the same person who murdered
Lisette was huddled at her feet, her head resting on Britten’s lap. She could feel her daughter shaking with sobs as she intermittently stroked her hair. She was incapable of offering comfort to anyone else at the moment. She couldn’t even acknowledge their grief. She had enough to do, trying to deal with her own sorrow.
Britten remembered the day he was born. It was in July, and the birthing room was unbearably hot. She caught sight of a wasp that was stuck between the panes of the window, and all the time she was in labour, she kept her attention focused on the insect’s struggle. But the second she saw Matte, she forgot about the wasp and her own pain. He was so tiny. He was of normal weight, yet in her eyes he seemed incredibly small and fragile. She counted his fingers and toes several times, as if murmuring an incantation to reassure herself that everything was fine. He didn’t cry. She realized in amazement that he’d come silently into this world, with his eyes wide open in surprise, looking a bit cross-eyed as he tried to focus. The instant she saw him, she had loved him so much that she thought her heart would burst. Of course she had loved Lisette too, when she was born a few years later. But Matte was her first-born. And the two of them had shared something special. A unique bond existed from the moment his inquisitive eyes had met hers. Harald was not allowed to be present at the birth – it wasn’t the custom back then. And that had merely made the bond between Britten and Matte even stronger. It was the two of them against the world. Nothing was ever going to come between them.
Naturally, things changed as he got older. Those first magical moments could never be recaptured, but remnants of them remained. A feeling that they shared something special. It had pained her to see what a tormented soul he became, and to glimpse the demons that he fought. So many times she had felt nearly suffocated by the constant questions: Was it something she had done? Something they had done? Deep inside she knew that it wasn’t their fault. Even during those first, trembling seconds when his tiny body, so warm and sticky, lay on her breast, she had seen a seriousness in his eyes. He was an old soul who had once again come into this world, even though he might have preferred to be left in peace. This was not something Britten could discuss with Harald. But part of her was not surprised when she found him there, lying on the floor, with those lovely blue eyes staring vacantly. Somehow she had always known that the old soul inside of Matte would not last an entire lifetime. It had already seen too much, experienced too much. The fact that Matte had lived for thirty years was more than she’d dared hope for, but that didn’t make her grief any easier to bear. She sat there and continued to stroke Lisette’s hair.
Martin went into the kitchen just in time to see Kerstin pour the freshly made coffee into a thermos.
‘Oh, could I have a cup?’ he asked, in search of any sort of stimulant he could find to combat the fatigue and discouragement that he was feeling.
‘Of course,’ said Kerstin, filling a mug with black coffee. She handed it to Martin and then hesitated a moment before saying, ‘We heard about Matte. How did it happen?’
Börje had come into the kitchen and wanted to hear what he had to say too. Martin took a big gulp of the coffee.
‘Matte was shot. His mother found him in his room. And as yet we don’t know who did it.’
‘It must be the same person who murdered
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