taken…”
He held out one hand.
“…well, we were all ready to get going.”
I nodded as if I understood. As if I had even the slightest idea of who these men were and what their theories meant. Verri? Sounded like a footballer. Georg gathered his papers together and looked at the time.
“You’ll have to stick around for the next few days and wait for the investigators,” he said, and made to stand up.
“Hold on a moment,” the woman with the bank name said. She pushed one file toward Georg.
“Take a look at this,” she went on, holding out another sheet of paper and placing it on top of the first. “It doesn’t match.”
She and Georg both inspected the figures one more time. Looking from file to file and comparing amounts. The tips of her fingers slid silently across the paper.
“Who did these calculations?” she asked.
“Well, it came from Twelve, so it must have been the economists in…”
Georg started to look for a signature on the sheet of calculations as the woman talked, half to herself, half to Georg.
“Look at this, here…”
She pointed at one column, then moved her hand to another sheet of paper.
“And then compare it with this…”
They both hunched over the documents. I felt like taking a look as well, but thought it probably best to stay where I was. I had a feeling I wouldn’t understand much of those numbers and diagrams anyway.
Georg ran a hand through his thin, tinted hair. The woman suddenly got to her feet and hurried out to the reception desk. She came back with a calculator and apologized.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she said, “but there seems to have been some mistake here.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’m not in any hurry.”
Georg took the calculator and tapped in some numbers.
“This isn’t right at all,” he muttered. They stared at each other.
I felt some of the pressure in my chest ease and my shoulders slowly began to relax. On some level I had always suspected that things couldn’t really be as bad as all that. The amount was obviously far too high for it to have anything to do with me. With a bit of luck everything was going to get sorted out now.
“See here,” she whispered. “They’ve added those two numbers to that one. That’s why…”
She looked up at me and smiled again. Her face looked tenser now, making her smile look stiffer, more like a grimace.
“We really are terribly sorry,” she said.
She put the pen down and tapped at the calculator.
“There’s been a mistake…a miscalculation. The amount you need to pay isn’t 5,700,000 kronor. It’s…”
They both stared at the calculator.
“…10,480,000 kronor.”
When I got back to the apartment everything seemed to have taken on a different tone. The whole place had changed. Everything suddenly looked colorless. It was as if I could see how cheap and simple it was for the first time. Shabby. I saw the empty pizza boxes sticking out of a paper bag, waiting to be taken out to the bin. The dirty dishes in the sink, the sun-bleached curtains, the sagging sofa.
The worn old thresholds I walked over day after day. The dust on the floor, table, and windowsills. The old, washed-out clothes scattered all over the place. But also the things I liked best of all: my flat-screen computer, the shelves of films, the games, the rug with the Heinz logo. The Beatles mug. My Asimov collection. The M. C. Escher poster, of that waterfall that seems to be flowing upward, and which I had been saying was my favorite picture for several years. Now it just looked banal. Clichéd and ordinary. The old mirrored picture with the Coca-Cola logo, which, admittedly, had felt old and ridiculous for years, but nonetheless held so many memories. Sketchpads and pens. Some paintbrushes. My guitars. The Indian statues Sunita had given me. The big bookcase full of vinyl records and magazines. The CD collection. The boxes of neatly arranged cassette tapes. The things that had been my most cherished
He held out one hand.
“…well, we were all ready to get going.”
I nodded as if I understood. As if I had even the slightest idea of who these men were and what their theories meant. Verri? Sounded like a footballer. Georg gathered his papers together and looked at the time.
“You’ll have to stick around for the next few days and wait for the investigators,” he said, and made to stand up.
“Hold on a moment,” the woman with the bank name said. She pushed one file toward Georg.
“Take a look at this,” she went on, holding out another sheet of paper and placing it on top of the first. “It doesn’t match.”
She and Georg both inspected the figures one more time. Looking from file to file and comparing amounts. The tips of her fingers slid silently across the paper.
“Who did these calculations?” she asked.
“Well, it came from Twelve, so it must have been the economists in…”
Georg started to look for a signature on the sheet of calculations as the woman talked, half to herself, half to Georg.
“Look at this, here…”
She pointed at one column, then moved her hand to another sheet of paper.
“And then compare it with this…”
They both hunched over the documents. I felt like taking a look as well, but thought it probably best to stay where I was. I had a feeling I wouldn’t understand much of those numbers and diagrams anyway.
Georg ran a hand through his thin, tinted hair. The woman suddenly got to her feet and hurried out to the reception desk. She came back with a calculator and apologized.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she said, “but there seems to have been some mistake here.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’m not in any hurry.”
Georg took the calculator and tapped in some numbers.
“This isn’t right at all,” he muttered. They stared at each other.
I felt some of the pressure in my chest ease and my shoulders slowly began to relax. On some level I had always suspected that things couldn’t really be as bad as all that. The amount was obviously far too high for it to have anything to do with me. With a bit of luck everything was going to get sorted out now.
“See here,” she whispered. “They’ve added those two numbers to that one. That’s why…”
She looked up at me and smiled again. Her face looked tenser now, making her smile look stiffer, more like a grimace.
“We really are terribly sorry,” she said.
She put the pen down and tapped at the calculator.
“There’s been a mistake…a miscalculation. The amount you need to pay isn’t 5,700,000 kronor. It’s…”
They both stared at the calculator.
“…10,480,000 kronor.”
When I got back to the apartment everything seemed to have taken on a different tone. The whole place had changed. Everything suddenly looked colorless. It was as if I could see how cheap and simple it was for the first time. Shabby. I saw the empty pizza boxes sticking out of a paper bag, waiting to be taken out to the bin. The dirty dishes in the sink, the sun-bleached curtains, the sagging sofa.
The worn old thresholds I walked over day after day. The dust on the floor, table, and windowsills. The old, washed-out clothes scattered all over the place. But also the things I liked best of all: my flat-screen computer, the shelves of films, the games, the rug with the Heinz logo. The Beatles mug. My Asimov collection. The M. C. Escher poster, of that waterfall that seems to be flowing upward, and which I had been saying was my favorite picture for several years. Now it just looked banal. Clichéd and ordinary. The old mirrored picture with the Coca-Cola logo, which, admittedly, had felt old and ridiculous for years, but nonetheless held so many memories. Sketchpads and pens. Some paintbrushes. My guitars. The Indian statues Sunita had given me. The big bookcase full of vinyl records and magazines. The CD collection. The boxes of neatly arranged cassette tapes. The things that had been my most cherished
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