John Lindqvist - Handling The Undead

They had agreed to meet early. The Heath would open at twelve o'clock and David was planning to be there before that.

There was another quiet knock on the door and David went to let his mother in, with the rabbit cage. She had-to his amazementtaken the news of Eva's accident relatively well, not smothering him with excessive pity as he'd feared.

The cage looked good but there was no sawdust. Sture said that newspaper was just as good and cheaper. He and David's mother set about furnishing it as David stood beside them, the rabbit in his hands.

He and Eva had joked many times about how they ought to fix up their parents, two lonely individuals. The idea foundered on its impracticality; they were far too unlike and both cemented into their respective lives. Now, as he stood watching them whisper and tear up newspaper.and fill a bowl with water, it no longer seemed so unreasonable. For a moment their roles were reversed: they were a couple, he was alone.

But I'm not alone. Eva will get well.

The gaping hole in her chest.

David blinked hard, opened his eyes and concentrated on the rabbit, which was nibbling a shirt button. If it hadn't been for Eva's accident there would not have been a rabbit. Both he and Eva thought it was wrong to keep animals in the city, caged. But now…

Magnus deserved to be happy. At least on his birthday.

'We are so happy, ha hal

That you are born, fallera!

That you were born, fallera!

On just this day!

Hurray hurray!'

David felt a lump in his throat as they entered Magnus' room. Magnus wasn't curled up and sleeping, or pretending to sleep. He was lying ramrod straight on his back with his hands on his stomach, looking gravely at them, and David felt as if he and the others were performing for an audience that was refusing to play along.

'Congratulations, darling.'

David's mother was the first one to reach the bed and the serious look in Magnus' eyes softened when the packages were laid across his feet. For a while he seemed to forget. There were Pokemon cards, Legos and movies. Finally they brought in the cage.

For a while, David had been afraid that Magnus had decided simply to humour them but there was no mistaking his enormous, unfeigned joy as he lifted the rabbit up into the bed, stroking its head and kissing it on the nose. The first thing he said after he had cuddled it for a while was: 'Can I bring it to show Mummy?'

David smiled and nodded. Since the day after the accident, Magnus had hardly mentioned Eva and when David fished a little he had realised that Magnus resented Eva for disappearing. As if Magnus himself saw that this was an unreasonable attitude and was ashamed of it, he refused to talk about Eva at all.

Therefore: if he wanted to bring the bunny, he could bring the bunny.

Sture rubbed Magnus on the head and asked, 'What do you think it's called?'

Magnus answered immediately, 'Balthazar.'

'I see,' Sture said. 'Lucky that it's a boy.'

The cake was brought in. David had bought a ready-made marzipan cake in a bakery and Magnus said nothing about it. Coffee and hot chocolate were poured. The munching of the sugary treat, the silence between the mouthfuls would have been difficult to bear if it hadn't been for Balthazar. He hopped around on Magnus' bed, sniffing the cake and getting cream on his nose.

Instead of talking about Eva, whom they couldn't talk about, they talked about Balthazar. Balthazar was the fifth living creature: Balthazar replaced Eva. They laughed at his antics, discussed the challenges and joys of

rabbits.

After David's mother had left, David and Magnus played a couple of Pokemon matches so that Magnus could use the new cards. Sture followed the game with interest, but when Magnus tried to explain the complicated rules he shook his head.

'No, that's too hard for me. I'll stick to snap and gin rummy.'

Magnus won both of the matches and went into his room to play with Balthazar. It was half past nine. No more coffee could be drunk without courting indigestion and they had almost two hours to kill before they could set off. David was about to suggest a game of snap, but felt it would seem contrived. Instead he sat down emptyhanded across the kitchen table from Sture.

'I see you're performing tonight,' Sture said.

'What? Tonight?'

'Yes, or that's what it said in the paper anyway.'

David took out his calendar and checked. 17 August . NB 21.00. Sture was right. He also saw to his dismay that he had a corporate gig in Uppsala on the nineteenth. Mission: to joke, clown, make people laugh. He rubbed his face.

'I'll have to call and cancel.'

Sture's eyes narrowed, as if he were squinting at the sun. 'Should you really do that?'

'Well you know, standing up there and… prancing around. No. I can't.'

'Maybe it would be good for you to get out a little.'

'Yes, but my routine. It'll be like having a mouth full of rocks. No.'

He could have added that a fair percentage of the audience would know what had happened to him after the story on TV4. The dead woman's husband performing. Most likely Leo had already cancelled him but forgotten to pull the ad.

Sture interlaced his fingers on the table. 'I can watch the boy if you like.'

'Thanks,' David said. 'We'll see. But 1 don't think so.'

Bondegatan 09.30

Saturday morning the doorbell rang at Flora's apartment. Maja, one of her few friends from school, was standing outside. She was a head taller than Flora, maybe thirty kilos heavier. On the lapel of her army surplus greatcoat there was a button that said, 'I bitch & I moan. What's your religion?'

'Come out for a bit; she said.

Flora was happy to. The apartment felt breakfast-stuffy, the smell of toast an unhappy reminder of absent harmony. In addition, Flora only really smoked when she was with Maja-and she had a hankering to smoke.

They strolled aimlessly on the street as Maja lit up the first of the day and Flora took a couple of puffs.

'We've been talking about doing something at the Heath; Maja said, and held out the cigarette.

'We?'

'Yeah, the group.'

Maja belonged to a sub-group of Young Left-mostly girls-

who considered themselves creative. When cafe magazine had their tenth birthday party on a boat, Patricia had poured out ten buckets of wallpaper paste on the docks in front of the gangplank and put up a sign, 'WARNING! SPERM!' The guests had been forced to wade through the grey-white mess until, with some effort, it was scrubbed away.

'What kind of thing?' Flora asked and gave the rest of the cigarette back. She had had enough.

'It's just…' Maja said and pointedly averted her gaze from a girlygirl in white linen pants who was out on a morning walk with a Maltese terrier,

'it's sick what they're doing with them. First they use them as some kind of guinea pigs and now they're going to herd them into a bloody ghetto.'

'Sure,' Flora said. 'But what's the alternative exactly?'

'Alternative? It doesn't matter what the alternative is. This is wrong. Society can only be judged… '

'… by how it treats its weakest members,' Flora filled in. 'Yes, I know, but… '

Maja waved her cigarette impatiently. 'There's never been a weaker group than the dead.' She gave a laugh. 'When was the last time you heard the dead speak up for their rights?They have none. The authorities can do what they want with them, and that's what they're going to do. Did you read that thing in DN, what the philosopher-bitch said?'

'Yes,' Flora said, 'and I get that it's wrong. I agree with you, so calm down. I'm just wondering…'

'You can wonder later. You identify the wrong, you do something to put it right. As soon as there's something new, you have to work out who has the power to make use of it. Let's say they do come up with an antidote to death, OK? What do you think they'll use it for? Make sure the population of Africa can live forever? I don't think so. Let every black person die of AIDS first, and we'll see what we can do with Africa after that. You've got to understand that the spread of AIDS is largely controlled by American pharmaceutical companies.' Maja shook her head. 'Ten to one they're out there sniffing around the Heath too.'