The Weeping Girl by Håkan Nesser Page B

what I believe. Why the hell do you ask?’
    ‘Good,’ said Mikael. ‘I was just checking. That’s what I believe as well. I’ll carry on believing that even if it’s the last thing I do.’
    She wondered why he had suddenly taken up these serious matters just now, in the roasting afternoon sun on the never-ending beach.
    And why they had never discussed this before.
    ‘It’s not just good that you believe,’ he went on. ‘It’s essential. Leila didn’t believe, that’s why we split up. She started clinging on to all the
irony and cynicism as if we simply had no choice . . . As if solidarity was no more than an outdated concept that collapsed at about the same time as the Wall, and all that was left for us to do
was to look after number one.’
    ‘I thought she was the one who dumped you?’
    He thought for a moment.
    ‘I gave her the pleasure of thinking that. But the real facts were as I’ve just told you, more or less. She gave up, that’s all there is to it. But by now I’ve forgotten
her surname and what she looked like. Who cares? All that was over two hundred years ago . . . Do you realize that you are the first woman I’ve ever met with whom I’d like to have a
child?’
    ‘You’re out of your mind,’ said Moreno. ‘You’d better go to an insemination clinic.’
    ‘I’m well known for being clever.’
    ‘I’m thirsty.’
    ‘Stop changing the subject.’
    ‘What subject?’
    ‘Children. Us. Love and all that stuff. Oh, my longhaired copper, I love you.’
    She lay there in silence for a while.
    ‘Are you hurt?’ she asked. ‘Because I haven’t answered?’
    ‘Mortally.’
    She raised herself up on an elbow to check that he didn’t look too suicidal. She noticed a little tic at one side of his mouth, but he didn’t actually smile. Or cry. He’s
putting on an act, she thought. Why the hell can’t I trust him? She stood up and started brushing off all the sand.
    ‘If we go back to your castle and drink a drop or two of water,’ she said, ‘I’ll tell you something. Okay? But I badly need to raise my fluid levels.’
    ‘Hmm,’ said Mikael, rising to his feet as well. ‘I’m consumed with curiosity.’
    ‘And desire,’ he added when they had walked over the dunes and could see the roof of Tschandala sticking up over the dwarf pines.
    ‘Well?’ he said.
    Moreno put down her glass.
    ‘You’re only showing your good sides,’ she said. ‘It’s like going to some sort of an exhibition, dammit! It’s not a foundation to build on. For as long as you
keep your cupboard door shut and don’t let the skeletons out, I’m not going to give you so much as a little finger of my future.’
    He leaned back and thought that over.
    ‘I like football,’ he said. ‘I like to go to at least two top matches per year, and to watch one a week on the telly.’
    ‘I could put up with that,’ said Moreno. ‘Provided I don’t have to accompany you.’
    ‘You’re
not allowed
to accompany me. And I want to be left to my own devices sometimes as well. I want to listen to Dylan and Tom Waits and Robert Wyatt without somebody
coming to talk to me or turn down the volume.’
    She gave him a non-committal nod.
    ‘I often take my work home with me as well,’ he said. ‘There are some things I just can’t let go of. It’s a bloody nuisance in fact: I’ve considered signing
up for courses in yoga and meditation in order to get over it. It’s impossible to get a decent night’s sleep when things are nagging at your mind.’
    ‘We could both go to such courses,’ said Moreno. ‘In fact.’
    ‘Not if we have children from the word go,’ said Mikael thoughtfully. ‘One of us will have to stay at home and look after them. You can’t take babies with you to yoga
classes. Aren’t you hungry, by the way?’
    ‘Do you mean we’re going to eat today as well?’
    Mikael nodded.
    ‘There’s pie and salad. And wine.’
    ‘I hate wine,’ said Moreno. ‘Besides, I’ve got to