‘Do you know whether your father had any enemies?’
‘I’m sure he’d managed to collect quite a few over the years. You know how it is in the hospitality business and the world of celebrities. Pretty on the outside, but lots of shit underneath.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Pappa only cared about people who could be of benefit to him at that moment. People who were rich, successful and famous. If an artist who counted him as a true friend happened to lose the spotlight, he was suddenly of no use to Pappa. If a well-known author’s books stopped selling, or if a top politician was found to have a drinking problem, or if an actor began to slide downhill, they no longer existed as far as Pappa was concerned.’
Knutas was surprised at the way this young man expressed himself. There was no mistaking the sarcastic tone.
‘In other words, I think there must be plenty of people who were disappointed in Pappa. But whether they would go so far as to kill him, that’s a whole different matter.’
‘And what about you? How did you feel about him?’
‘To be perfectly honest, I didn’t care much for him. To win someone’s trust and respect, you have to show the same in return. Don’t you agree? You get the relationship with your children that you deserve. Everything depends on how you behave as a parent.’
For an instant, his words prompted Knutas to look inside himself. And he was frightened by what he saw.
He shook off his personal unease and went on: ‘It sounds as if you actually hated your father.’
‘No, I wouldn’t say that. He had his good sides, just like everyone else. But who says that you have to love your parents? That’s not a law. Honour thy father and mother? What kind of shit is that? Am I supposed to love him just because of a few seconds of orgasm when he impregnated my mother and I was conceived? He never gave a damn about me. We just ended up having to live in the same house.’
Knutas cast a glance at Jacobsson. The conversation was getting more and more unpleasant. Fredrik Algard’s anger seemed to fill the whole room.
‘Do you know whether your father ever received any threats?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Did you notice anything different about his behaviour lately?’
‘No. As I said, I saw him at his birthday party in February, and before that at Christmas.’
‘But not for your mother’s birthday? Wasn’t that very recent?’
‘Yes, but she came to Stockholm. She was angry and upset with my father because he wanted a divorce. We celebrated her birthday at our place instead.’
‘So you live with someone?’
‘Yes, my girlfriend Sanna. We live in Soder, near Mariatorget.’
‘And you’re studying at the university?’
‘Yes. Political science. I also have a law degree, but I wanted to expand my interests. This is my last term, then I’ll be finished.’
‘How long are you planning to stay here on Gotland?’
‘I have a breathing space in my studies at the moment, so I can stay at least a week. Mamma needs all the help and support she can get.’
A GLANCE IN the mirror inside the lift is enough to remind me of my sorry state. I’ve lost weight and look ghastly. But I’m in one piece and clean. That ought to be sufficient. Today I’m going out, which demands a great deal of mental concentration.
Life nowadays is a struggle, periodically marked by a lull and a vacuum. I have to think in small steps. Cleanse away everything else. The dreams I may have had, the goals and ambitions, no longer exist. I can’t even remember what they were. Or whether I ever really had any.
The next test comes when I open the heavy front door to the street. Like a stinging slap in the face, I’m confronted with all the traffic noise of the city, the people and the smells. I hadn’t noticed that it was raining and I’m freezing in my thin jacket. I refuse to meet anyone’s eye as I walk along the pavement. I shut everyone out, pretending that they don’t exist: all those poplin coats, jackets and sweaters, the ribbed umbrellas, the briefcases and the shoulder bags made of brown leather. Rubber galoshes and walking shoes. The blurry faces that I glimpse passing by are nothing but hazy masks.
Finally I arrive. A moment of panic because at first I can’t remember the door code. I rummage around in my pocket for the slip of paper and breathe a sigh of relief when I find it. I can’t handle any setbacks right now.
It’s a square room, with one window facing the street, a bed along one wall, and a small table and two armchairs.
‘I had a bad dream last night.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘I dreamed that all of my teeth turned black and became porous bits of coal. One by one they came loose and then fell out into my cupped hands. Soon my gums were bare and my hands were full. I was heartbroken and thought to myself: But I’m so young. I woke up screaming, and after that I couldn’t go back to sleep, as usual.’
‘What did you think about while you were lying there awake?’
‘Those horrible years when I was a teenager. I haven’t had that dream in a long time, but back then I had it all the time, when I was in my early teens.’
‘It sounds like you were suffering from anxiety.’
‘I was. It lasted three years.’
‘Can you tell me about it?’
I shake my head. I don’t really want to. I know that whenever I dredge up memories, I feel as if I’m transported back to that time for a moment. And it’s too painful. I’m overwhelmed by the same abysmal sense of despair. It has taken up residence inside my body, and it will always be there. For as long as I live.
‘Try.’
‘It doesn’t make any sense. For example, I still have a hard time taking a shower.’
‘Taking a shower?’
‘Yes. Ever since my schooldays. I can’t believe I can’t get over it. During my first years I was very popular. In photographs from back then, I often looked happy. My classmates thought I was fun, sort of the class clown. Plus I was a good football player. I liked sports and music. Those were my two main interests. But when I started secondary school, everything changed.’
‘In what way?’
‘I still have no clue what happened, but it had something to do with my father dying in a car accident that summer before secondary school. Mamma and Pappa had already been divorced for a long time, but we lived in a small town and everyone knew everything about everyone else. There was something about that accident… My siblings and I spent nearly the whole summer holiday at a camp for kids. When I got back, my old friends’ attitude towards me had changed. They avoided me. No one wanted to be around me any more.
‘I started at a new school, with new classmates, and suddenly it was as if I didn’t exist. The other kids treated me like air. No one said a single word to me; they hardly even gave me a glance. For the rest of my schooldays I never talked to anyone in my classes. I was alone during breaks and at lunchtime in the cafeteria. I was never chosen for any sports teams; I moved like a shadow along the walls. Frozen out.’
‘What about the shower?’
‘The shower?’
‘You said something about having a hard time taking a shower.’
‘Oh, right. PE lessons were the worst. I was the smallest boy in my class, a late bloomer, and I looked like a child. One after the other, they all entered puberty. Lots of the boys were more than a head taller than me. They had broad shoulders, and their voices were changing. They had peach fuzz on their upper lips, hair on their legs and in their armpits. Their Adam’s apples were as big as ripe plums. Before games I used to try to hide in the changing room. It was a torment to have to undress in front of the others. I always claimed the shower in the corner and stood with my back turned, washing as fast as I could.’
I close my eyes. These memories are painful. My eyes are stinging. I don’t want to cry right now. I’m feeling a little sick, but I go on: ‘Even today I can still hear the sound of the spraying shower water, the rough voices, the joking and teasing. The snap of towels slapping bare skin. Water fights, towel fights. And the whole time I’m
