Unseen

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 20

Johan lay in bed in his hotel room, staring up at the ceiling. He had just had a long talk with his mother. The conversation had largely consisted of her crying and saying how hard everything was, while he did his best to comfort her. In addition to the grief and emptiness after his father’s death, his mother had begun to notice other consequences of a purely practical nature. If a fuse blew or the drain was stopped up, she was at a loss to know what to do. Her finances were getting worse, and she couldn’t even afford the things to which she had become accustomed; she had to budget carefully to make everything work out. The consoling visits all her relatives and friends had made in the first weeks after her husband’s death had become less frequent over time and then virtually stopped altogether. Friends who still had a spouse didn’t invite her over as often as they had in the past. Actually, almost never. Johan felt sorry for her but didn’t know how he could fix her life. It was frustrating. He just wanted her to be happy.

He still hadn’t had time to deal with his own grief over his father’s death. In the period right afterwards he was fully occupied with all the practical details. The funeral, the probate, and all the documents that had to be completed. His mother had been apathetic, and since he was the eldest in the family, his siblings had turned to him for solace, each in their own way. He had been kept busy taking care of everyone else, and then things had gotten hectic at work, and he hadn’t taken the time that he probably should have to deal with his own grief.

He had truly loved his father. They could talk about anything. He needed him now, when he was feeling so confused, to talk about Emma. Self-reproach was wearing him down. Who was he, after all? Was he such a loser that he couldn’t find anyone who was free? Available? What right did he have to come barging into Emma’s life? He had no right. There was a man who lived with Emma, who shared her daily life, a man about his own age who took good care of his family. What had he done except seduce that man’s wife and the mother of his children? He might even have mortally wounded him, or at least caused serious injuries, bound to leave permanent scars.

He got up and lit a cigarette as he paced back and forth in the room. What if Emma was actually happy with her family? What if she and her husband were just going through a down period? That wouldn’t be surprising after everything that had happened.

He opened the minibar and took out a beer. His thoughts kept on churning, inexorably.

What if she really wasn’t happy in her marriage? What if she was going around in a marriage that was dead? Stone cold dead. What if she had never been happy with her husband? Maybe the children were suffering because their parents were always fighting. Sullen faces and difficult moods. Angry voices. Arguments about petty things. A tense atmosphere at the dinner table. What did he know about how things were between them? Emma hadn’t said a word. Good Lord, they didn’t really even know each other. They had only met a few times. Why was she filling his thoughts so much? He was scaring himself.

A sense of disquiet was twisting and turning inside of him. He needed air. He pulled on his running shoes and went out.

On the street, people in their summer clothes were strolling around and eating ice cream as if they didn’t have a care in the world. He walked down toward the harbor, past the boats. There were more and more of them every day. He sat down on the edge of the dock and looked out across the sea, which was glittering in the sun. He drew the fresh air deep into his lungs. How good it made him feel, being close to the sea.

What real meaning did his own life have? He worked hard, but his days were pretty much all the same. He turned in one news story after another. A new drug story here, a new murder there, robberies and assault and battery. Year in and year out. He lived in his little apartment, hung out with his friends, partied on the weekends.

For the first time he had met a woman who had truly shaken him up. Got under his skin. Made him stop and think. The seagulls were screeching as a ferry arrived from the mainland. More vacation-happy people on their way to wonderful Gotland. Why didn’t he just move over here? He could get a job at one of the newspapers, Gotlands Allehanda or Gotlands Tidningar. He had always wanted to write but never got the chance. Over here he could report on other things, get close to the people.

Just think of all the things Gotlanders didn’t have to put up with that Stockholmers had to live with every day. The traffic, the lines, the stress, the subways. Everything had to move fast, really fast. Even last time, when he got back home after his first trip to the island, he had clearly noticed the difference. The very instant he stepped off the ferry in Nynashamn, he started walking faster. He felt annoyed in the shops if things took too long. Stress went hand in hand with living in a big city. People didn’t look at each other in the same way as on Gotland. Here they had time for small talk and eye contact. Life was slower and gentler. More pensive. Besides, he had always liked Gotland, with its marvelous nature and the sea that was close by no matter where you were. And Emma was here. He could move here for her sake. Would she want that? He didn’t know. He would have to wait and see. The important thing was for them to see each other more.