in the light from a low-energy lamp he wrote his report about the evening’s events, about Sophie’s friend, listed the names he had read in the hallway, then faxed the report to Gunilla.
Sara was asleep. He crept in beside her; she moved in her sleep, woke up.
“What time is it?” she whispered, confused.
“It’s late … or early,” he said.
She pulled the duvet around her and turned away. He pressed close to her, seeking intimacy, a feeble attempt at foreplay. He was useless at stuff like that, no finesse or feeling.
“Stop it, Lars.” She let out an irritated sigh and pulled even farther away.
He rolled onto his back, stared at the ceiling for a while, listening to the muffled sound of traffic down in the street. When he realized he wasn’t going to get to sleep he got up and went and sat in front of the television, which showed him Sophie Brinkmann’s face on every beautiful woman who flickered past on the screen.
The music in the department store was beautiful, calming. She was looking at the underwear in the women’s department, looking and feeling the quality and material. She carried on toward the makeup, buying some cream that was far too expensive and promised something unlikely.
“Sophie?”
She turned around and saw Hector with his stick and his leg in a cast, behind him Aron with two paper bags from a men’s clothes shop in his hands.
“Hector.”
The silence that followed was a second too long.
“Have you found anything you like?” he asked.
“Some cream, so far.”
She raised her little bag. Hector nodded.
“How about you?” she asked.
Hector looked at the bags in Aron’s hand, nodding to himself.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly.
He fixed his eyes on her.
“We never had coffee,” he said.
“Sorry?”
“We didn’t have time for coffee after lunch the other day. There’s a decent place downstairs, by the food hall?”
Sophie took her coffee with milk, Hector did the same. The girl in the checkered apron behind the counter had offered them all sorts of different coffees but they had rejected her suggestions, just wanted ordinary, reliable coffee. Aron sat down a short distance away and waited patiently, looking around the room.
“Doesn’t he even drink coffee?”
Hector shook his head. “He doesn’t even like coffee. He’s not like other people, Aron.”
They sat in silence for a moment until Sophie broke it. “So how are things in the book world?”
Hector smiled at her stillborn question, didn’t bother to answer. “How are things in the sick world?”
“Same as usual. People get sick, some get better, everyone’s brave.”
Hector nodded when he realized that her answer was serious.
“That’s the way it is,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s my birthday soon.”
The look on her face showed that she liked that.
“I’d like to invite you to my party.”
“Maybe,” she said.
Hector glanced at her quickly. She had time to note a change in him. As if the humor and happiness had gone, and some sort of opposite emotion had replaced them — something ordinary that she didn’t recognize.
“It’s an invitation. It’s not very polite to say maybe to an invitation. You can say yes or no, just like everyone else,” he said quietly.
Sophie felt stupid. As if she had been playing a game — as if she were assuming he had been flirting with her and that she should play hard to get. Maybe he wasn’t flirting with her at all. The longer she looked at him, the more she realized that he wasn’t courting her. He was doing something else, maybe he was just a friend who was fond of her. That was what he seemed to be saying, anyway, he hadn’t implied anything else.
“Sorry,” she said.
“You’re forgiven,” he replied just as quickly.
“I’d love to come to your birthday party, Hector.”
Hector smiled again.
4
There was a ripple of flashbulbs . Ralph Hanke smiled for the cameras as he shook hands with a short
Sara was asleep. He crept in beside her; she moved in her sleep, woke up.
“What time is it?” she whispered, confused.
“It’s late … or early,” he said.
She pulled the duvet around her and turned away. He pressed close to her, seeking intimacy, a feeble attempt at foreplay. He was useless at stuff like that, no finesse or feeling.
“Stop it, Lars.” She let out an irritated sigh and pulled even farther away.
He rolled onto his back, stared at the ceiling for a while, listening to the muffled sound of traffic down in the street. When he realized he wasn’t going to get to sleep he got up and went and sat in front of the television, which showed him Sophie Brinkmann’s face on every beautiful woman who flickered past on the screen.
The music in the department store was beautiful, calming. She was looking at the underwear in the women’s department, looking and feeling the quality and material. She carried on toward the makeup, buying some cream that was far too expensive and promised something unlikely.
“Sophie?”
She turned around and saw Hector with his stick and his leg in a cast, behind him Aron with two paper bags from a men’s clothes shop in his hands.
“Hector.”
The silence that followed was a second too long.
“Have you found anything you like?” he asked.
“Some cream, so far.”
She raised her little bag. Hector nodded.
“How about you?” she asked.
Hector looked at the bags in Aron’s hand, nodding to himself.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly.
He fixed his eyes on her.
“We never had coffee,” he said.
“Sorry?”
“We didn’t have time for coffee after lunch the other day. There’s a decent place downstairs, by the food hall?”
Sophie took her coffee with milk, Hector did the same. The girl in the checkered apron behind the counter had offered them all sorts of different coffees but they had rejected her suggestions, just wanted ordinary, reliable coffee. Aron sat down a short distance away and waited patiently, looking around the room.
“Doesn’t he even drink coffee?”
Hector shook his head. “He doesn’t even like coffee. He’s not like other people, Aron.”
They sat in silence for a moment until Sophie broke it. “So how are things in the book world?”
Hector smiled at her stillborn question, didn’t bother to answer. “How are things in the sick world?”
“Same as usual. People get sick, some get better, everyone’s brave.”
Hector nodded when he realized that her answer was serious.
“That’s the way it is,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s my birthday soon.”
The look on her face showed that she liked that.
“I’d like to invite you to my party.”
“Maybe,” she said.
Hector glanced at her quickly. She had time to note a change in him. As if the humor and happiness had gone, and some sort of opposite emotion had replaced them — something ordinary that she didn’t recognize.
“It’s an invitation. It’s not very polite to say maybe to an invitation. You can say yes or no, just like everyone else,” he said quietly.
Sophie felt stupid. As if she had been playing a game — as if she were assuming he had been flirting with her and that she should play hard to get. Maybe he wasn’t flirting with her at all. The longer she looked at him, the more she realized that he wasn’t courting her. He was doing something else, maybe he was just a friend who was fond of her. That was what he seemed to be saying, anyway, he hadn’t implied anything else.
“Sorry,” she said.
“You’re forgiven,” he replied just as quickly.
“I’d love to come to your birthday party, Hector.”
Hector smiled again.
4
There was a ripple of flashbulbs . Ralph Hanke smiled for the cameras as he shook hands with a short
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