Betrayal

For the first time in two years and five months he was going to spend the evening somewhere besides Karolinska Hospital. His anger at Anna’s betrayal would not let him go, and by God he would show her. She could lie there all alone and wonder where he was. Tomorrow he would tell her that he had been at the pub having a good time. Then she’d regret it, realise that she could actually lose him. If she didn’t shape up maybe he would do as they wanted. Let go and move on. Then she could lie there and rot and nobody would give a damn.

The psychotherapist monster had managed to convince him to agree to one more conversation. It had been the only way to get rid of her, which was absolutely necessary just then. Anna hadn’t shown any remorse at all about her betrayal, and the growing compulsion had made him furious. But later he made her understand and it subsided again.

He had walked all the way into town. Drove home and parked the car on the street, and then began his walk without going inside the flat. Followed the path along Årsta Cove and then the old Skanstull Bridge towards Söder. In Götgatsbacken he passed one pub after another, but it only took one look through the big plate-glass windows to make him carry on. So many people. Even though it was a normal Thursday, people were jammed in everywhere and his courage failed him. He still wasn’t ready to go in anywhere.

Later it was so obvious that he would keep on walking, passing by all the pubs in Söder, continuing north across the locks at Slussen and into Gamla Stan, the Old Town, as if his walk had been predetermined.

He was halfway across Järntorget, heading for Österlånggatan, when he caught sight of her.

A window with a red awning.

On a bar stool, gazing straight out through the window, she sat alone slowly twirling an almost empty beer glass. He stopped abruptly. Stood quite still and stared at her.

The resemblance was striking.

The high cheekbones, the lips. How was it possible for anyone to be so similar? He hadn’t seen her eyes for a long time. Or the hands that never touched him.

So beautiful. So beautiful and utterly alive. Just like before.

He could feel the dull, heavy beats of his heart.

Suddenly she got up and moved farther back in the pub. He couldn’t bear losing sight of her. He hurried the last few metres across the square and without hesitation opened the door and went inside. She was standing by the bar. All fear suddenly gone, only a firm resolve that he had to be near her, hear her voice, speak to her.

The far end of the bar made a ninety-degree turn, and that’s where he sat so he could see her face. It almost made him stop breathing. There was almost an aura around her. All past longings, all beauty, all that was worthwhile gathered in this body, large as life before him.

Suddenly she turned her head and looked at him. He stopped breathing. Nothing could make him move his gaze from her eyes. She turned to the barman.

‘A pear cider, please.’

The barman took down a glass from the rack above his head and served the cider. She had no ring on her left hand.

‘That’ll be forty-eight kronor.’

She made a move towards her handbag and he didn’t hesitate an instant. Just let the words come as a matter of course.

‘May I buy that for you?’

She turned her eyes towards him again. He saw that she was hesitant and waited breathlessly for her decision. If she said no he would be finished.

Then she gave him a faint smile.

‘Certainly.’

Yet he wondered in confusion if it was actually joy he felt. He hadn’t felt this way for so long that he couldn’t identify the feeling. Only a certainty that everything was obvious, meant to be; there was nothing to be afraid of any more.

A complete, all-encompassing calm.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

How could he hide his gratitude? Relieved, he hurried to open his wallet.

‘I’ll have the same.’

He quickly put a hundred-krona bill on the bar and the barman gave him a glass. When he turned back to her she smiled at him.

‘I’m the one who should be saying thanks,’ she said.

He raised his glass to her and felt his smile spread through his whole body.

‘No, that’s not true, I should say it. Cheers, then.’

‘Cheers.’

‘And welcome.’

Their glasses met. The contact passed like a shock through his body. He looked at her over the rim of the glass, his eyes refusing to let go. He had to memorise every contour, every feature. Until the next time he saw her.

She drank again, two deep swallows. When she finished he would offer her another.

Again and again.

‘My name is Jonas.’

She smiled, amused.

‘There you see.’

Suddenly he was unsure. How could he get her to talk? Somehow he had to win her trust. Maybe she thought he had been too forward in buying her a cider.

‘I don’t usually buy cider for strange women, if that’s what you think. But I wanted to buy one for you.’

She gave him a quick look and then stared down into her almost empty glass.

‘Is that so? Why me in particular?’

He couldn’t reply. How could she ever understand?

‘What’s your name?’

The question was so inadequate. He wanted to know everything. Everything she had ever thought, everything she had ever felt. An inner jubilation at even being able to think these things.

She paused before she answered, and he understood her. He couldn’t expect her to trust him. Not yet. But soon she would realise what he had understood as soon as he caught sight of her.

And as if she too was suddenly aware of the import of their meeting, she smiled at him again. A shy smile, as if she were telling him something in confidence.

‘My name is Linda.’