The Accidental Further Adventures of the Hundred-Year-Old Man

Sweden

The corner shop had been permanently closed since their homecoming from the trade fair in Germany. Out with the old, in with the new, and away with the separating wall. The coffin store had suddenly doubled in size. Sabine put up a new sign on the door of the former corner shop: ‘Closed for ever. Buy your food elsewhere. PS Don’t forget you are mortal. Right now, ten per cent discount on coffins. Next door.’

They never got any walk-in clients from the street, but the list of orders from Sweden and Europe was extensive. Julius received praise from Sabine for his organizational skills and swiftness. In return he offered her loving words about her artistic talent and beautiful eyes.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Allan.

Sabine was in charge of deliveries. She either drove them around herself in the hearse or used DHL for the more distant corners of the world. While she was out on the road, Julius took over the role of answering machine.

‘Die with Pride AB, how may we be of service?’

‘Well, I guess we’ll find out. My name is Johnny. Do you make coffins to order?’

‘Yes, and we’re happy to personalize them. That’s our speciality.’

‘Then I need your help.’

‘Things are a bit hectic at the moment…’

‘You’ve got five days.’

‘Hectic, as I said. I don’t think…’

‘How much?’

Julius could smell cash. He had done so uninterrupted for at least sixty years. Here he had a customer on the line for whom money was no object.

‘Well, I suppose it wouldn’t be impossible to… We typically list our prices in euros, but we’re an international player, so to speak. Four thousand eu—’

‘I’ll give you five if you make the coffin the way I want it, no grumbling.’

‘Of course,’ Julius said, thinking he could milk the client a little more. ‘Five plus tax, that is.’

‘No, five without tax or a receipt. Or grumbling. Cash.’

The asparagus farmer already suspected that the motif was not going to be sugary-sweet. Even so, over the next few minutes, he found himself gasping repeatedly. The customer, Johnny, had only a vague idea of what he wanted on the coffin, so he listened to the supplier’s artistic opinions. After almost fifteen minutes, Julius was able to summarize what they had come up with. He certainly didn’t want any mix-ups.

‘Now let’s see… The majority of the coffin will be black. On the top we’ll paint a red swastika. You’re sure about that, then? Right. Moving on, along each side it will read, “Our blood is our honour” in red on a white background, followed by a Celtic cross. And on the ends it will say, “White power” in white, followed by the SS logo. That seems right as well? Okay. On the rest of the empty areas we’ll make sure to put flames. Have I captured this all accurately?’

‘Yes,’ said Johnny Engvall. ‘That’s totally accurate, I would say.’

‘So we’re striking the stuff about how cops and race traitors must die, and the various phrases about homosexuals and Jews?’

‘Yes. You said that would be a little too much?’

Julius tried to find words. For quite some time, all of this had been not a little too much but much too much. Yet there was something about Johnny that made you not want to say no to him. And Julius wasn’t even thinking primarily of the money.

‘Well, it’s important for the coffin to maintain a certain degree of dignity. For example, I hesitate to send a message about who should die along with the already-dead person in the coffin.’

‘I’ll take it,’ said Johnny Engvall. ‘Deliver it to the morgue I mentioned in time for the funeral on Saturday, okay? I’ll send the money in a bag, by taxi, right away.’

Taxi? Julius thought. But he said something more down-to-earth: ‘On Saturday? That’s an unusual choice for a funeral. Typically—’

‘Typically people listen to me and to whatever I say,’ said Johnny Engvall.

He was tired of all these questions. The funeral guests were coming all the way from America and had no time to wait for a proper burial day according to Swedish tradition.

‘I hear what you’re saying,’ said Julius. ‘It’s fine.’

That last part wasn’t true. It wasn’t even half fine. They’d apparently attracted a Nazi for a customer. It would never do to deliver slipshod work on this order.

And Sabine didn’t.

And still, what happened happened.