Stalker

46

On his way to his piano lesson, Erik stops at the ICA supermarket next to the Globe. He knows Madeleine loves popcorn, so he’s thinking of buying a few bags. As he walks through the shop he catches sight of his former patient, Nestor, in the dairy section. The tall, slim man is dressed in pressed trousers and a knitted grey sweater over a white shirt. His thin, clean-shaven face and small head with its white hair and side-parting look exactly the same as ever.

Nestor has seen him, and smiles in surprise, but Erik doesn’t go over to talk to him, just waves from a distance and carries on through the shop.

He picks up some popcorn and is on his way towards the checkout when he sees a popcorn machine on special offer. He knows he has a tendency to go over the top, but it doesn’t weigh much, and isn’t particularly expensive.

When he emerges into the car park with his bags of corn and the popcorn machine, he catches sight of Nestor again. The tall man is waiting at the crossing, on his way towards the underground. He has six full bags of shopping by his sides. They’re so heavy that he can only carry them a few metres at a time.

Erik opens the boot of his car and puts the box inside. He’s sure Nestor hasn’t spotted him. The shy man is muttering to himself as he picks up the bags, shuffles a few metres, then puts them down again.

Nestor is standing blowing into his thin hands as Erik goes up to him.

‘That looks heavy,’ he says.

‘Erik? No, it’s f-fine.’ Nestor smiles.

‘Where do you live? I’ll give you a lift.’

‘I don’t want to be a nuisance,’ he whispers.

‘You’re not,’ Erik says, picking up four of the bags.

As Nestor gets in the car beside him, he repeats that he could have managed. Erik replies that he knows that, and pulls out slowly from his parking space.

‘Thanks for the coffee… but you shouldn’t be buying things for me,’ Erik says.

‘You saved m-my life,’ Nestor replies quietly.

Erik recalls how Nestor’s psychotic breakdown happened when his seriously ill dog had to be put down three years ago.

When he was allocated to Erik as a patient, Erik had read the notes from the secure psychiatric unit where Nestor had been admitted. He used to talk to dead people: a grey lady who brushed dandruff from her hair, and a mean old man who twisted his arms in different directions.

During Erik’s conversations with him, it emerged that Nestor was fixated upon his dog’s death. He talked a lot about the syringe being stuck in his right front paw, and how the fluid was injected. The dog shook and urine spread across the bench as its muscles relaxed. He felt he had been tricked by the vet and the vet’s wife.

Nestor responded well to treatment, but when he tried to cut down his daily dose of Risperdal, he began hearing strange voices again.

Erik was never sure if had actually managed to hypnotise Nestor, he may have belonged to the small group who weren’t receptive, but during those relaxed sessions in the dimly lit treatment room they did at least begin to get to grips with things.

Nestor had grown up with his mother, younger brother, and a black Labrador. When he was seven, his five-year-old brother became seriously ill with a lung infection, which exacerbated his already bad asthma. The boys’ mother told Nestor that his brother would die unless they had the dog put down. Nestor took the dog to Söderbysjön and drowned it in a trunk full of stones.

But his brother died anyway.

In Nestor’s mind, the two events became intertwined. He had always suffered from the belief that he had drowned his brother in a trunk, and had no memory of the dog.

They worked on his anger with his mother’s damaging manipulation, and after a month he finally let go of the idea of his own guilt, and the notion that his mother could sometimes control his actions from beyond the grave.

Nestor was living normally again now, didn’t need to take any medication, and was incredibly grateful to Erik.

They pass St Mark’s Church in Björkhagen and pull up outside Axvallsvägen 53.

Nestor unbuckles his seat belt and Erik helps him carry his food to the door of his ground-floor flat.

‘Thanks for everything,’ the former patient says in a tremulous voice. ‘I’ve got ice cream, and time to-’

‘I need to get going,’ Erik says.

‘But I have to offer you s-something,’ Nestor says, opening the door.

‘Nestor, I’ve got an appointment.’

‘Walk across the dead without a s-sound. Walk across the dead and hear their murmuring resound.’

‘I haven’t got time for riddles now,’ Erik says, and walks out of the door of the building.

‘Promise!’ Nestor calls after him.