LIKE HELL.
YOU FUCKING BLACK!'
C H A P T E R 6
As I said, Andreas was handsome. He had a flawless complexion. Fair and smooth, with rosy cheeks. And clean. I've always been cautious of the importance of cleanliness; it's something I learned early on. Nothing is ever left lying around at my house, either inside or out. I go out in the evening to check. The neighbours are not so meticulous. I've seen everything from bikini tops to dirty coffee cups on the patio table next door. Now, I don't mean it's a catastrophe, but I don't understand it. How can they stand at the window and see those dirty cups, and still sleep soundly? For myself, I am always considerate. I think that's important. We're not alone in the world, after all.
I sit in the red chair in the dark and listen. Even though it's quiet, I think I can sometimes hear someone outside. A warning of everything that is to come. A silent stream of people coming to the house, curious. Ingemar won't miss me, but he will do his duty. Put a notice in the paper. Send word to my two sisters, who are far away. But they always write at Christmas. Everything is fine. We keep in contact with other people.
We're not really afraid to die. We're only afraid of being forgotten. We know that we'll be forgotten, and the idea is unbearable, don't you agree? As time passes we become infrequent visitors in the minds of those left behind. The ones who clear out the house and divide up the belongings. Throw away the rubbish. And forget. If we knew that every evening someone lit a candle and sat down to think – thought about us if only for a few seconds – then we could depart this earth in peace. No-one will light a candle for me. Who would do that? But I've arranged things so that when my name is mentioned it will be with horror and amazement. A picaresque story. Maybe my picture will be in the paper. I've got rid of all of them except one which shows me almost young, 40 or so. The worst thing about dying is not being dead and buried. Something as proper and final as that: dead and buried. It's the hours before, when you fall into the hands of the living. They're only human, after all. I can imagine some of the things they'll say. I won't repeat them here, but they'll be said. I know what they are.
*
Andreas sauntered along, taking giant strides, with Zipp plodding diligently at his side. They were making for the river. It wasn't because of its steady roar or the way lights flickered in the black water, those weren't things they thought about. Nevertheless the water drew them. There was a raw wind, and Zipp stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets to warm them. They found a bench. Sat there in silence. When water is flowing past, it's not necessary to talk. Instead each was lost in his own thoughts, fantasising about falling in, struggling against the current and the cold of the water. A sense of solemnity came over them. Zipp was gloomily thinking about the girl in the striped jumper. Annoyed, he scratched his crotch.
'A nightcap right about now. That would be good.'
Andreas nodded and squinted down at the river. Something black and heavy that never really got going. They had spent all of Gina's money.
'If an old lady with a handbag came along, I'd fucking grab it,' he said. 'Just grab it and run.'
'We've done enough for one day,' Zipp said.
'And by the way, all the old ladies are in bed by now.'
They fell silent again. A low murmur could be heard from the square behind them. Laughter and curses. Lots of people were drunk. They'd been drinking all night, at last finding courage and selfconfidence, and now they were bent on showing it.
Ready for a fight, in other words. There were signs of a brawl in the taxi queue, and they could hear a few words: 'You ape.' 'Damn Turkish devil.'
'Shit,' Andreas snapped. 'Let's mug someone.'
'Mug who?'
'Anyone.'
'Calm down!'
Zipp couldn't understand what was bugging Andreas. He wasn't himself. Something was building inside him. But they both turned around to look at the city. Searching for a wounded animal, an easy prey. Most people could defend themselves pretty well, and it was also possible that they might get beaten up themselves. In their search for a release they were also frightened. Nervous of their plan, that was chafing deep inside. An intuitive sense of what it might lead to. As if they were coming to the end of a lengthy process that had begun long ago. Their fear gave them a dose of adrenaline, and it felt good. They headed up towards the taxi rank, passed the tent where beer was being served; it was still in use though it was early autumn as they had installed a heater. Clenched their teeth in irritation when they heard the glasses clinking. They cut across the main street, went past the Town Hall. Zipp realised that they were approaching the church. Andreas led the way, Zipp jogged along behind. He didn't understand why they were going there. No-one would be out tending the graves. No old people with pension cheques in their handbags. The church spread over a hill above the square and was without a doubt the building with the best aspect of any in the whole city. That's where the castle would have stood if the city had had a king, Zipp thought. They walked among the gravestones, reading the inscriptions. 'I am the way, the truth and the life.' Andreas stood with his hands on his hips and stared at the words. Zipp kicked at the ground, puzzled.
'It ends here,' Andreas said in a low voice.
'What do you mean?'
'All of it. Everything that we are.' Zipp looked around in bewilderment. They were enveloped in silence and darkness. 'What's with you? Skip work tomorrow,' he suggested. 'We can catch a lift out of town. We'll think of something. We could go to fucking Sweden.'
'I've missed enough days as it is.' His voice had a dejected tone to it, Zipp noticed. Something was definitely up. Zipp was suddenly nervous.
'I'm kind of in the doghouse right now,' Andreas said. 'I've got to watch my step.'
'But your boss is a woman. I can't understand how you can let some bitch order you around.'
'A boss is a boss. She's the one who pays my wages.'
'What about buck naked?' Zipp said. 'A shag for a day off!'
'You have to draw the line somewhere.'
'And where would that be?'
'At varicose veins and a moustache.'
'What about the Woman? You like them that way, don't you?'
Andreas didn't reply.
'Hey!' A devil had got into Zipp, but he was trying to cheer Andreas up. 'Do you lie on a sheepskin rug, or what?'
Andreas gave him a long look. Zipp couldn't restrain his laughter. He could picture Andreas, naked on a sheepskin rug. And an old lady with a brush and artist's smock. He was hysterical at the idea. Maybe Andreas was holding a brightly coloured ball in his hands. Maybe an orange. And then he laughed even harder. He roared into the silence among the graves, doubled over with laughter, and then stood there in the grass, gasping. He snorted several times through his upturned nose, followed by a few hoarse squeaks, then more snorts. Andreas gave him a weary smile. Pulled his hands out of his pockets, jumped forward, grabbed hold of Zipp's jacket, and started boxing him. Not hard, they were friends after all, but Zipp almost lost his balance. He stumbled backwards a few paces as he raised his hands in a half-hearted attempt to defend himself. But the comic image wouldn't let go, and he laughed so hard that tears poured down his cheeks while he fumbled to hold his friend at bay. Andreas launched a new attack. He lunged forward. There was grass underfoot and Zipp fell, but didn't hurt himself. He was still fighting to control his laughter. But then he caught sight of Andreas' face. There was something demonic about his expression, as if he'd gone berserk. And now he was on top of Zipp. What the fuck! Andreas had made up his mind, his strength was based on sheer will, and Zipp was helpless, overcome by hysterical sputtering; he was gasping for air while he wondered what was coming. A fist in the head or a knee in the stomach? Andreas looked so strange. Zipp waited for him to let go his grip, but he didn't. While he stared at Andreas through tears of laughter, he tried to remember what he had said that could provoke such a serious expression on the face he knew so well. This face that was now so close to his own. The shining eyes, the red cheeks, the teeth gleaming white in the darkness. Zipp felt warm breath against his chin. Andreas had locked his hands so that he lay helpless on his back in his tight jeans. And then, slowly, Andreas began thrusting against him in a steady rhythm. Zipp stared at him in surprise,
