Caroline Åberg - Stockholm Noir

I’m not lonely, she thought. I have the cats. And this is my home.

Johnny usually sat down next to her and laid his heavy arm, pale as death, around her shoulders. “Anneli and I will help you, of course. Little Maj, you understand we’re here for you. We’ll sell the house for you. We’ll fix it up and make sure it’s presentable. We’ll make sure your move goes smoothly. You won’t have to think about anything. You can relax in your new armchair and watch your favorite TV shows, Bingolotto and Så ska det låta . Just enjoy yourself and take it easy.”

Just wait for death, she thought.

She tried to force herself to yawn. Sometimes she could encourage sleep that way. She’d yawn and get a lungful of air. She’d curl her tongue into a bow and let the air be drawn over it.

Then she heard it again. Noise downstairs. Rustling, like shuffled papers and footsteps.

She was suddenly angry. Who dared come into her house and disturb her in the middle of the night? Get the hell out! Now! She flung her bedcover aside and leaped out of bed. Blood rushed hotly to her temples. She grabbed her umbrella with its sharp pointy tip. She started down the stairs, but then the fear caught up with her. How would she, a lone woman, attack a burglar? What if there were more than one?

She heard Johnny’s rant inside her head: “Fucking Turks. They hate us. They think we have it so good... as if we got everything for free. As if we didn’t work our asses off. They want everything for free! Soon they’ll take over the whole town!”

It was true that Södertälje had taken in a great number of immigrants from Iraq, from Lebanon, from Syria. More than the United States and Canada combined.

She protested: people in a free and peaceful country like Sweden should open their doors and welcome these despairing human beings fleeing poverty and war. She remembered the images she’d seen on TV: mothers with dark circles under their eyes; children filled with sorrow.

Johnny would stare at her, eyes so filled with disgust that it quieted her.

“Yeah, yeah, just fling our doors wide open and let them move in. You could fit a whole herd of them into this big house. So why don’t you?”

His words made her speechless.

There was no one inside her house. Of course not. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She’d searched every nook and cranny, even the space behind the boiler until her nightgown was covered in soot.

She decided to sit up for a while. Perhaps doze in her new armchair. It was a wonderful chair: soft and wide. She’d gotten it as a birthday present last year. She walked past the kitchen and picked up a few pieces of candy from the bowl. Peppermints. Anneli had brought them the other day. They seemed like a bribe. She’d seen through the pretense right away. It didn’t take long before Anneli turned to the subject of the house.

“For my sake, if not for yours!” Anneli leaned forward, grasped her hand, giving it a squeeze, and then with a small smile, she continued, “I’m worried about you, Mama! Don’t you see? Anything can happen.”

Maj had gotten angry. “Listen to me! This is my home. Try to understand that I feel just fine right here. I want to stay.”

“But Mama, it’s so big. It’s hard to manage. You can’t count on me and Johnny coming by to help you cut the lawn and fix things up!”

“And I haven’t asked either of you to do so, have I?” she replied. It was true. She’d been handling the lawn, garden, and house all on her own.

Her home with Hasse — all their lives, they’d lived here. The house was built on a slope. The main floor opened to a wonderful view. The basement level was open to the outside, with a large garage door and a second entrance. Counting the huge attic space, it was three floors, really. And although they had to fight gravity to do the gardening, the view was incredible.

Maj had always loved the house. Anneli was right that a few small problems would become big problems given enough time. But not just yet.

The house was at the top of a hill, and it had been harder for her to get outside these days, especially in the early winter when the snow had been plowed from the road and left on the sidewalk. Or in late winter, when melting snow on the road iced over — black ice, people called it. You thought it was wet asphalt, but it was frozen. At her age, if she fell and broke something, it could all be over.

Maj walked into the living room. As she was sitting down, she spied the keys — the standard one for the front door and the long one for the garage. They were centered on the flower-patterned tablecloth. She stood and stared at them for a moment. She would never toss keys on a table. Never! Leaving keys on a table brings bad luck — everybody knew that.

Her heart beat like tiny, quick feet. Had Lovisa been here? Had her granddaughter borrowed the keys for some reason? No, not for a while. Had Anneli used them? No, not for days. Her hand trembled as she reached for them. They belonged in her purse. She’d recently gotten a large purse, which could be slung on her back like a miniature backpack, and it had a pocket for keys. She always put her keys back into her purse after she’d used them.

She felt a dizzying sense of anxiety as she walked over to the window. She could see the lights from the AstraZeneca building on the other side of the canal. She liked the way they glittered on the water, making her think of Manhattan. Farther up the hill, she could see the apartment buildings in Ronna. They were part of the “million homes” scheme. These days very few people spoke Swedish as their native tongue, and Ronna was a known immigrant area and as infamous as Rosengård in Malmö — neighborhoods with a greater percentage of criminal activity, including shootings and murder. The name sounded harsh to her ears, even though she knew the original meaning was pleasant. Ronna meant running water.

A rhythmic throb made her turn her head — a boat, one of those large container ships, heading between Lake Mälaren and the Baltic Sea. The lantern at the prow seemed to her a sharp, glowing eye. The tower of its bridge passed by a bit later. She had a childish desire to wave and call out: Here I am! Can you see me? Hello!

When Lovisa was small, Maj had often taken her in her baby carriage and walked along the side of the canal on the way to the locks. She’d pick up Lovisa and show her to the men in their orange overalls. They’d wave and make faces at her. Boat was one of the first words Maj had taught her. Yes, in fact, boat had been her very first word.

The vessel passed and the water was now as smooth as a pool. Maj felt exhaustion wash over her. She moved away from the window and into the bedroom, turning off the lights as she went. The stairs to the basement level were a huge, gaping maw of black.

Once she’d returned to her bedroom, she realized she’d forgotten to brush her teeth.

“Don’t care,” she muttered to herself, a flutter of defiance in her chest. She took off her dirty nightgown and found a new one. She stood and stared at her naked body in the mirror with a sense of resignation. Thin limbs, a stomach poking out, and breasts that no longer did. Her pubic hair had almost disappeared. She grunted and shut her eyes.

The bed creaked as she settled into it. She pulled her nightgown over her feet to warm them. Her body finally began to feel heavy. She took a few deep breaths and was just about to drift off to sleep when the noise returned. A bang and then scraping sounds, as if someone were moving around the house. She heard it clearly coming from the basement hallway. She opened her eyes and lay fully awake. Anxious. Empty.

Could it be the cats? No. The cats were always silent. Mama and Kitten. The thought rose as a scream, desperate and silent, inside her mind: Mama, Kitten, come here and be with me!