John Lindqvist - Handling The Undead

He looked like a large, grey dove himself. He'd bought the worn suit jacket fifteen years earlier, when he became fat and could no longer use his old clothes. Same thing with the pants. Of his hair, only a wreath above the ears was left and the bald spot on top had become red and freckled from the sun. It was easy to imagine that Mahler was carrying empty bottles in the bag, that he was rooting around in garbage bins-a big pigeon plucking goodies from discarded takeaways.

This was not the case. But it was the impression he gave: a loser. In the shadow of Ahlens Emporium, on his way down to Angermannagatan, Mahler dug under his double chins with his free hand and took hold of the necklace. A present from Elias. Sixtyseven colourful plastic beads threaded on a fishing line, now tied around his neck for all eternity.

While he continued to walk he rubbed the beads one by one like a rosary, like prayers.

It was three flights up to his daughter's apartment; he had to stop and catch his breath for a while. Then he unlocked the door with his own key. Inside it was dark, stuffy and stale from unaired heat.

'Hi sweetheart. It's just me.'

No answer. As usual he feared the worst.

But Anna was there, and still alive. She lay curled up on Elias' bed, on the designer sheets that Mahler had bought, her face turned to the wall. Mahler put down the shopping bag, stepped over the dusty Lego pieces and perched himself gingerly on one corner of the bed.

'How's it going, little one?'

Anna drew in air through her nose. Her voice was weak. 'Daddy…I can feel his smell. It's still there in the sheets. His smell is still here.'

Mahler would have liked to lie down on the bed, against her back. Put his arms around her and been Daddy, and made everything hurtful go away. But he didn't dare to. The bed slats would crack under his weight. So he simply sat there, looking at the Lego pieces that no one had built anything with for two months.

When he had been looking for an apartment for Anna, there was one on the ground floor of this same building. He hadn't taken that one, out of fear of burglars.

'Come and have something to eat.'

Mahler put out two servings of roast beef and potato salad from plastic containers, cut up a tomato and placed the slices on the edge of the plates. Anna did not answer.

The blinds in the kitchen were drawn, but the sun pressed ill through the cracks, drawing glowing lines across the kitchen table and illuminating the whirling motes. He should clean. Lacked the energy.

Two months ago, the table had been full of things: fruit, mail, a toy, a flower picked during a walk, something Elias had made at daycare. The stuff of life.

Now there was just the two plates of supermarket food. The heat and the smell of dust. The bright red tomatoes; a pathetic attempt.

He went to Elias' room, stopped in the doorway. 'Anna… you need to eat a little. Come on. It's ready.'

Anna shook her head, said into the wall, 'I'll eat it later. Thanks.'

'Can't you get up for a while?'

When she didn't answer, he went out into the kitchen again and sat down at the table.

Started loading the food into his mouth automatically. Thought the sound of his chewing echoed between the quiet walls. Finally he ate the tomato slices. One by one.

A ladybug had landed on the balcony railing.

Anna had been busy packing. They were going to Mahler's summer house in Roslagen, staying a couple of weeks.

'Mummy, a ladybug…look.'

She had come out into the living room in time to see Elias standing on the outdoor table, reaching out for the ladybug as it flew away. One of the legs of the table gave way. She didn't get there in time.

Below the balcony was the parking lot. Black asphalt.

'Here, pumpkin.'

Mahler held out the fork with a serving of food for Anna. She sat up in bed, took the fork and put it into her mouth. Mahler handed her the plate. Her face was red and swollen and there were grey streaks in her brown hair. She ate four bites, then handed back the plate.

'Thank you. That was delicious.'

Mahler put the plate down on Elias' desk, put his hands in his lap.

'Have you been out today?' 'I've been with him.'

Mahler nodded. Couldn't think of anything else to say. When he i stood up he banged his head into the wooden duck suspended over the bed. It flapped its wings a few times, swishing air across Anna's. face. Stopped.

Back in his own apartment on the other side of the courtyard, he removed his sweat-drenched clothes, showered, pulled on his robe and took a couple of painkillers for the headache. He sat down at the computer and logged into Reuters. Spent an hour searching for and translating three items.

A Japanese gadget that could translate the meaning of dogs' barks. Siamese twins separated. A man who had built a house of tin cans in Lubeck. There was no photograph of the Japanese machine, so he searched for a picture of a Labrador and attached that. Sent it ' to the paper.

Then he read an email from one of his old sources in the police who wondered how things were going for him these days, it had been: a long time. He replied that things were hell, that his grandson had.: died two months ago and that he considered suicide daily. Deleted it without sending.

The shadows on the floor had grown longer, it was past seven. He stood up out of the chair, massaging his temples. Went out into the kitchen and fetched a beer from the fridge, drank half of it standing up, wandered back to the living room. Ended up next to the couch.

On the floor below the arm of the couch there was the Fortress.

It had been a present to Elias on his sixth birthday four months earlier. The biggest Lego fortress. They had built it together and afterwards they had played with it in the afternoons, arranging knights in different places, making up stories, rebuilding and extending. Now it stood there just as they had left it.

Every time Mahler saw it, it hurt. Each time he thought he should throw it away or at the very least take it to pieces, but he couldn't.

Most likely it would stay there as long as he lived, just as he would take the necklace to the grave.

Elias, Elias…

The abyss opened inside him. Panic came, the pressure on his chest. He hurried to the computer, logged into one of his porn sites. Sat and clicked for an hour, without so much as a movement in his groin. Only indifference, revulsion.

Shortly after nine he logged out and shut down the computer. The screen wouldn't turn off. He couldn't be bothered with it. The headache had started to press on the insides of his eyes, making him agitated. He walked around the apartment a few times, drank another beer; finally stopped and crouched in front of the fortress.

One of the Lego knights had leaned over the edge of the tower, exactly like he was shouting something to the enemy trying to break the door down.

'Watch out or I'll pour out the contents of our toilet on you!' Mahler had said in a creaky voice and Elias had laughed until he lost his breath, shouting, 'More! More!' and Mahler had gone through all the terrible things that a knight could conceivably pour on someone else. Rotten yogurt.

Mahler picked up the piece, turned it in his fingers. The knight had a silver helmet that partially concealed his resolute facial expression. The little sword he held in his hands was still shiny. The colour had flaked off the ones Elias had at home. Mahler looked at the shiny sword and two realisations dropped down through him like black stones.

This sword will always remain shiny. I will never play, ever again.

He replaced the knight, stared at the wall. I will never play, ever again.

In the grief after Elias he had gone over all the things that he would never get to do again: walks in the forest, the playground, juice and sweet rolls at the cafe, the zoo park and more and more and more. But there it was, in all its simplicity: he would never play again, and that was not restricted to Legos and hide-the-key. With Elias' death, he had lost not only his playmate but also his desire to play.