Inger Frimansson - Good Night, My Darling

They had dressed her in a pink housecoat with big white buttons. She used to look good in pink. She had colored her long eyelashes, and the pink evening dress rustled when she would slip it over her ears. Sound of spray, sound of music, he dances like a god, my husband. And she flowed through mirrored ballrooms, down stairs as wide as avenues.

“This is Märta. She will be your new roommate.”

A winkled old-lady face, suspicious.

“We hope that you will be comfortable together.”

“If only one person can speak, at least we’ll never have arguments.”

Now they sat across the table from each other.

How many roommates had they introduced? Was she supposed to outlive them all? That was just not right!

She bought the girl a doll. It was a very nice doll, one that she herself would have wanted when she was a girl. It had real hair, a bow, and eyes that could open and shut. She had it wrapped up nicely.

The next day, when Sven had left, she went to the girl’s room and laid the package on the bed. Justine sat all curled up on the window sill, her hair unwashed and her mouth in a grimace.

“You shouldn’t sit in the window, you could fall!” Justine turned away her head.

“Go and wash up, and we can see what clothes we can find for you. And when you are ready, you can open your present.”

The girl went stiffly. She went into the bathroom, locked the door, and refused to open up again.

Flora pretended to leave the house. She crept behind a desk and was completely quiet.

Trench warfare was what it had become, pure trench warfare. That kid in there, prepping the cannons; she in the trenches.

What happened then?

The heat from the child’s skin, her hands hitting blow after blow. The naked body creeping into a corner.

“You are going to do as I say, you little brat! Are you a human or an animal? I’ll kill you if you don’t obey me, if you continue to humiliate me and treat me like I am invisible. Listen to me and don’t look away. From now on there are new rules in this house, and from now on I no longer want to be your mother!”

“What have you done with her?” asked Sven, but there was no reproach in his voice, just wonderment.

The girl sat between them, clean hair, scrubbed pink.

Carl Lüding called a meeting at nine Monday morning. He had sent his assistant, Jenny, to buy coffee cake. Now it lay there in the middle of the table, sticky and cut into pieces that were much too large.

“Please help yourselves,” he coaxed.

His long, well-kept fingers flipped a pen nervously. The name Norrbottenskuriren was inscribed on it, Berit noted. Well, why not. He was from Norrbotten Province.

No one was eating the coffee cake, not even Curt Lüding. He sat at the short end of the table. He brought his coffee mug to his lips, over and over, taking very small sips. He didn’t ask anyone how their weekend had been. No small talk this Monday. He was dressed in his dark suit, which he began to use during the winter. Earlier he had usually dressed in sweaters and corduroys. Something had happened to change him, Berit thought. He’s turning so-respectable.

They waited. Annie stared into her coffee cup. Lotta cleared her throat and coughed, as if she were coming down with a cold. From Lillian one could hear a kind of humming which was hardly audible; she always did that when she was angry or worried. Instead of saying something, she would walk around and hum.

An ambulance went by, sirens blasting.

The telephone rang.

“Is the answering machine on?” asked Carl Lüding. “Of course,” said Jenny.

“All right then, let’s begin. Yes, well, as you know, there’s a reason that I’ve called all of you together for a meeting so early on a Monday morning. As you all know, I started this publishing house a while ago, and then I pumped a lot of capital into it and took it over when the others weren’t interested any longer. Yes, you all know the story. And the years have gone by. Sometimes it was difficult; I won’t sweep that under the rug. But you’ve all done a wonderful job. It never would have come together without you. Many of you have been here for a long time, you Berit, for example, and you Margit… I imagine that you have feelings that are just as strong as mine for this place.”

He was quiet and looked out the window.

Snow was still on the ground. The thermometer showed minus seven degrees, and for the first time this winter, Berit had worn her fur.

Get to the point, you old hypocrite, she thought.

She craved a cigarette. She was trying to cut down and had begun chewing nicotine gum instead.

This was probably not the right time to quit.

“As you know,” her boss continued, “I was born and raised in Norrbotten, in a little village named Sangis. My father was a logger. My mother was a nurse for the district. I grew up among the spruce trees. You all know me so long that you’ve heard me talk in my wild dialect as soon as I loosen up, especially at our parties…”

Yes, that was right. Up to a few years ago he had thought it was great fun to have parties for the employees. He would even help organize them, and taught them all how to eat almond potatoes and surströmming when he had them over to his country house. He would sing for them, sad songs from the North. His wife Maud had been with him in those days, a glad and exuberant woman who was also from Norrland.

His change had come with the divorce. Maud fell in love with someone else and left him, moved abroad, to Maastricht, in Holland; there was something to do about the parliament of the European Union. Carl Lüding hadn’t been himself after that event.

“Now, my dear friends, let me tell you what this is all about. This is the deal. Hold on to your seats, because great changes lie in store for us. I am planning to move our publishing house to Luleå in Norrland!”

He became silent and looked at each of them. The crows’ feet next to his eyes lifted.

“You’re surprised. I can tell.”

Somewhere in the building, a drill started up. There was always some kind of repair or renovation going on. It seemed the landlord sent out a notice every month: “Please excuse our dust. We are going to repair this and that during such and so week.”

“Why Luleå, you may ask? Let me explain. Running a publishing house up there is much more cost effective. Parliament has promised subsidies. It seems that a renowned publishing house is sorely needed up there. The entire Northern region is filled with amazing authors who are just waiting for us.”

He drank more of his coffee, his eyes shining, and he smiled slightly; he was relaxing.

He’s lost it, thought Berit. She bit her tongue, but didn’t feel it. The Northern region! Sweden’s very own Siberia!

“And us?” someone asked. It was Annie. “What will happen to us? Have you thought about that?”

Curt Lüding placed his pen on the table, and started it spinning with his finger. It spun around and fell to the floor with a clang.

“Here’s what I have to say about that,” he said, and he was still smiling. “Every organization needs to go through a reduction in order to reach its optimum efficiency. This can be painful, I am aware of that.”

“Curt, you didn’t answer my question!” Annie said shrilly. She was beginning to turn red all the way down to her neck.

“Yes!” Berit agreed. “What will happen with us?”

“But… you can come, too, of course. Everyone. I’m counting on taking care of the move during the summer, and then we’ll go full throttle from August onwards. And friends, Luleå is a wonderful city, believe me.”

“He’s gone absolutely fucking crazy!”