John Lindqvist - Handling The Undead

At first the proposed solution was to divide them up among a number of hospitals. This would however have compromised the provision of regular health services. Even the level of service would have been affected.

The solution that we have arrived at is the best at this point in time. The reliving have been moved to the residential area the Heath in north-west Stockholm. The necessary personnel have been dispatched and our aim is for rehabilitation to begin shortly. A place will be made in society for the reliving.

[ Pause ]

Any questions?

Journalist: Is it possible to care for seriously ill people in a residential complex that's only half-completed?

Prime Minister: We have received medical reports to the effect that the condition of the reliving is not nearly as critical as was first thought. Many of the precautionary treatments that were initially provided have turned out to be unnecessary.

Journalist: How can you be sure?

[ Pause ]

Prime Minister: These were questions I was in fact going to refer to Sten Bergwall, who was appointed director of the relocation. I can only say that we had guarantees.

Journalist: Did Sten Bergwall commit suicide?

Prime Minister: I will not dignify that question with speculation. Absolutely not.

Journalist: Isn't this a pretty desperate measure?

Prime Minister: Well, there you are again. How do you expect me to answer that?

Journalist: Why are no relatives allowed into the area?

Prime Minister: Family members will shortly be afforded the opportunity to see their reliving. It is regrettable that it has taken so long.

Journalist: Is this something you are doing in order to avoid a no-confidence motion?

Prime Minister: [ Sighing ] My government and I are fully capable

of making decisions without having a gun held to our heads. Up to this point it has not been possible to allow the public to make visits. Now it is possible. Therefore we are now opening for the public.

[Letter found in Sten Bergwall's office]

It is with great regret that I must advise that everything has gone to hell. I cannot assume responsibility for a decision that I know in my heart to be wrong, and one that will lead to catastrophe.

I am exhausted as I have never been before. My hand is shaking on the pen. Thoughts come only with difficulty.

How could it have been handled differently?

The reliving are regarded as vegetables, without will, or thought. This is wrong. They are like jellyfish. Their behaviour is influenced by their environment. They have a will. The will of the person thinking of them. No one is prepared to accept this.

We should isolate them completely. We should destroy them. Burn them. Instead, they will now be released into the uncontrolled thoughts of the public at large. It will end badly. I do not want to be present when this occurs.

If my legs have the strength to get me to the subway, I will leave now.

[ Daily Echo -lunch edition 12.30]

… spokesperson now says that the situation in the Heath is under control and that relatives who wish to visit their reliving may do so starting at noon tomorrow…

[From Bruno the Beaver Seeks and Finds (in press)]

… but with each storey that Bruno added to the tower, the moon slipped further away. He stretched out his paw. His paw was on the moon. He tried to feel if it was rough or smooth. But he only felt air. The moon was still as far away as when he had started to build the tower.

[…]

The tower was now fourteen storeys high, higher than the tallest tree. When Bruno sat at the top he could see the mountains far away. Something was moving in the lake under his feet. Deep down there he saw the Waterman gliding around among the stilts on which he had built his tower. Bruno pulled up his feet and closed his eyes.

[…]

At night Bruno saw that there were two moons. One up in the sky and one down on the surface of the water. The one up there he could not reach, and the one down there he did not dare to take. That was the Waterman's moon.

Svarvargatan 07.30

David went out to stand vigil in the hall at twenty-eight minutes past seven, right beside the front door. At exactly half past he heard the elevator come up, and then a hesitant knock. The precaution was strictly speaking unnecessary. David had already ascertained that Magnus was asleep, but a certain measure of secrecy was appropriate to birthdays. At least when you were nine years old.

Sture, David's father-in-law, was standing outside the door with a cat carrier in his hand. Sture was rarely seen in anything other than blue trousers and a cardigan, but now he was dressed in a red and orange plaid shirt, and somewhat too-tight dress pants. Dressed up.

'Welcome, Sture.'

'Hello.'

Sture raised the cat box a couple of inches and nodded at it.

'Great,' David said. 'Come in, come in.'

Sture was six foot four inches tall, and broad-shouldered. His presence transformed the apartment from a roomy two-bedroom to a functional prison. Sture needed expanses around him, trees. As soon as he had stepped into the hall, he did something very unexpected: he put down the cat box and hugged David.

It was not a hug intended to give or receive comfort, it was more about taking on a shared fate. Like a handshake. Sture took David into his arms, held him there for five seconds and then let go. David did not even have

time to consider laying his head against Sture's chest; only when Sture let go did he think it would have felt nice.

'Well,' Sture said. 'Here we are then.'

David nodded and did not know how to answer. He lifted the lid of the container. A small grey rabbit was curled up on the bottom, staring into the wall. A couple of lettuce leaves were strewn in one corner, some black pellets in the other. He knew the acrid smell that wafted up would soon impregnate the entire apartment.

Sture scooped up the rabbit in his enormous hands. 'Do you have the cage?'

'My mother's bringing it over.'

Sture stroked the rabbit's ears. His nose was redder than when David had last seen him and there was a network of veins under the skin of his cheeks. David caught the smell of whisky, probably from the night before. Sture would never under any circumstances get behind the wheel drunk.

'Would you like some coffee?'

'That would be good, thank you.'

They sat down at the kitchen table. The rabbit was still resting in Sture's hands, secure and vulnerable. The tiny nose was twitching, trying to comprehend the new place that it had come to. Sture drank his heavily sugared coffee with some difficulty, one hand otherwise occupied. They sat quietly in this way for a while. David heard Magnus moving in his bed. He probably had to go pee, but didn't want to get up and break the enchantment.

'She's much better,' David said. 'Much better. I talked to them last night and they say she… there have been great strides.' Sture slurped some coffee from the saucer.

'When does she get to come home?'

'They couldn't say. They're still working it out and… they have

some kind of rehabilitation program.'

Sture nodded, said nothing and David felt dimly idiotic using their language to defend their actions, becoming some kind of spokesman.

But the neurologist he had spoken with had been vague when David asked the same question: When will she get to come home?

'It's too early to say,' he had answered. 'There are still some… problems that we should discuss tomorrow. When you've seen her. It's difficult to convey over the phone.'

'What kind of problems?'

'Well, as I said…it's difficult to understand if you haven't… experienced it. I'll be at the Heath tomorrow. We'll take this up again then.'