Inger Frimansson - Good Night, My Darling

Next to the cot was a door that led to the small kitchen. For the guests who wanted it, Hans Peter could make sandwiches with shrimp or cheddar cheese and olives, which he would cut in half and fasten with toothpicks. Part of his job was to make the rounds at two in the morning and pick up all the shoes that had been left out for cleaning. This service from days gone by was something that Ulf chose to preserve. He was careful with his services and Hans Peter didn’t care one way or the other. This way he got a break from the night’s monotony. He went around with a big basket on his arm and collected the shoes, writing the room number on their soles with chalk. The first night he was on the job, he thought that he would be able to remember which shoes went where, but it was much more difficult than he imagined. He had to take a chance on guessing right. Two pairs of men’s shoes landed up at the wrong door, but the guests didn’t get upset. They thought it was a funny episode that they could tell when they returned home.

Tonight the rooms were all booked. Hans Peter had made himself comfortable on his chair and had put aside the newspaper. He was about to read the seventh song in Don Juan when the outer door opened and a swirl of snow came in. A man stood in front of the registration desk. He had wet hair which clung to his forehead.

“May I help you with something?” asked Hans Peter. The man closed the door and stamped his feet. Hans Peter asked again if he could be of service somehow. “I want to see one of your guests,” said the man, and Hans

Peter could tell that he was drunk.

“Yes, which guest would you like to see?”

“Agneta Lind.”

Hans Peter flipped through the register. He didn’t recognize the name, but he recognized the situation, married men looking for their unfaithful wives.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have any guest by that name here.” “Don’t mess with me. I know she’s here.”

Hans Peter shook his head. Now he had to be tactful. The man was large and strong, and he wore a buttoned, somewhat worn coat, and around his neck he wore a gold chain with an amulet.

“She must have registered under a different name.” “That would be hard to know.”

“Don’t you have to require someone to show their ID?” “Actually, no.”

The man had tried to look as intimidating as possible, but now he took a few steps back and sank into the sofa. He hid his face in the elbow of his coat. It sounded like he was crying.

“Damn it all to hell. If you knew how degrading this is…” These were always difficult situations. What was a person to say? Whatever he said could be the wrong thing. He waited. “If I describe her… would you recognize her?”

“Please understand… we can’t do that. We have to protect our guests.”

The man wasn’t listening.

“She’s… thirty-eight, but you’d never know. Everyone thinks she looks younger. She has short hair, dyed red, but it’s not red everywhere… and now that bastard…”

“Why do you want to find her?”

“She’s my wife, dammit! She’s here with her lover, and I don’t give a damn that she is here. I’ve tracked her down. Tre Rosor was written in her planner. She’s never been too clever. Tre Rosor, that’s the name of this place, right? Isn’t that the name of this fucking hotel?”

“Yes, but this is not that kind of a hotel.”

“What do you mean, that kind?”

“We don’t have a… bad reputation.”

“That’s not the point here.”

“All right… but… there’s no person by that name here.”

“Her lover… I know who he is. I’ve seen him. He has glasses and funny outfits, some kind of fucking lawyer who is upstairs screwing her, I’ll kill them both.”

He really ought to throw the man out or call the police. That would be the right thing to do.

Instead he said, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

He made a shrimp sandwich for the man and put on a large pot of coffee. Suspiciously, the man bit into the sandwich, and a few shrimp fell off onto his knee. He chewed loudly and looked around with quick glances. I hope Ulf doesn’t show up now, thought Hans Peter. Ulf wouldn’t be so thrilled with this. It didn’t look right to have someone come and make themselves at home in the middle of the hotel’s foyer.

Once the man drank a cup of coffee, he started to calm down. Hans Peter hoped he would go away soon.

“That was great!” said the man and swallowed the last bite of the sandwich. “An unexpectedly warm welcome, I’d call it.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m Björn. Björn Lind.”

Hans Peter did not want to know the man’s name. He didn’t want the man to get to know him better either. But against his will, he began to chat, just like him to land in situations that he really ought to know how to ward off.

“Have you two been married long?”

“A couple of years at least.”

“But it’s not been going so well for a while, right?”

“I certainly don’t think so.”

“What about her?”

“Hell if I know. Never heard her complain.”

“Have you talked about a divorce?”

“Not at all. But I know that she has others on the side. I can feel it. She says she’s going to the movies with a friend but in reality…”

“Maybe she really went to the movies.”

“Fuck that idea.”

“What’s your line of work?”

“I own my own business. I have a message delivery service and a couple of cars. She was one of the drivers. That’s how we got together.”

A fish came to the surface and snapped some air. The fish did that at times, when they needed extra oxygen. Hans Peter wondered if they knew that they were captive. At any rate, they could see out through the water and the glass. Whenever Ariadne approached, they all swam up to the surface at once; they knew she was bringing food; they recognized her.

“If your wife is seeing other guys, maybe she has a reason,” he said carefully.

“What do you mean, a reason?”

“Well, maybe she’s not so happy with how you two are doing. For me that’s what happened.”

“Well, life’s not always a bouquet of roses!”

“Of course not.”

“But maybe it is here at the Tre Rosor, ha, ha?”

Hans Peter laughed.

“What about you?” the man said. “You married?”

“Have been.”

“There you see how easy it is.”

“Yep,” sighed Hans Peter.

“Did she take off? Or did you?”

“Well, neither of us took off exactly. We just… drifted apart.”

“But Agneta and I… we…”

“Can you two still talk with each other?”

“Talk this, talk that.”

The man grew quiet. He took up one of the newspapers and flipped through it, mostly to have something to do with his hands. Someone was walking along the hallway upstairs. Just think if there really were an Agneta Lind among the other guests? Think if she came down dragging her lover behind her. Hans Peter tried to remember who had checked in during the evening, what they looked like, had there been a woman with short red hair? He didn’t remember one.

“Hey,” said Björn Lind, as he with great effort got to his feet. He now appeared completely sober. “I’m going now. Thank you. I mean it. Not sure for what. Maybe the food, if nothing else.”

Hans Peter couldn’t read any longer. He couldn’t comprehend the words. He washed up the cup and the small plate, rinsed the coffee pot. A feeling of depression was settling into him without his really knowing why. He wished that the night would go by quickly. He wanted to go home and lie down. His legs were aching, as if he were coming down with a fever.