John Lindqvist - Little Star

‘Be careful,’ said Lennart. ‘She’s not a toy.’

How much had Laila told him? Lennart waved at her and said, ‘Laila, come here,’ whereupon he turned on his heel and headed for the studio, where they could talk undisturbed. But Laila didn’t follow him.

When he came back into the kitchen, Jerry said, ‘Don’t start, Dad. Sit down.’

Lennart walked over to Jerry and held out his arms for the child. Jerry didn’t hand her over. ‘Sit down, I said.’

‘Give her to me.’

‘No. Sit down.’

Lennart couldn’t believe this was happening. ‘Is this some kind of…hostage situation, or what?’

Jerry laid his cheek against the girl’s. ‘This is my little sister, for fuck’s sake. Well, nearly. Can’t I spend some time with her?’

Lennart perched on the very edge of the chair, ready to leap to his feet if Jerry tried anything. It was many years since Lennart had thought he had the slightest idea what went on inside Jerry’s head. He was afraid of him, as we are afraid of everything unknown and therefore unpredictable.

The girl looked small and fragile as she sat there wrapped in Jerry’s great big arms. All he had to do was squeeze, and she would crack like an egg. It was hard to bear, and Lennart tried to speak the only language he was sure Jerry understood.

‘Jerry,’ he said. ‘You can have five hundred kronor if you give her to me.’

Jerry looked down at the floor, apparently considering the offer. Then he said, ‘Do you think I’m going to hurt her or something? Is that really what you think of me?’

The offer of money had been a mistake. If Jerry realised how much the girl meant to Lennart, the situation could only get worse. So he picked up the newspaper and pretended to be interested in the US air-raids on Iraq without even glancing at the child.

After a while Jerry said, ‘She’s so bloody quiet. I mean, she doesn’t make a sound.’

Lennart carefully folded the paper and rested his hands on it. ‘Jerry. What do you want?’

Jerry got up, still holding the girl in his arms. ‘Nothing in particular. How long were you intending to carry on like this?’ He held the girl out to Lennart, but when Lennart reached up to take her, he pulled her away and gave her to Laila.

Lennart’s fingers itched but he controlled himself. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Keeping her hidden like this. I mean, somebody’s going to find out in the end. Somebody’s bound to say something.’

Lennart managed to keep his tone indifferent as he asked, ‘There’s just one thing puzzling me. How did you find out we had her?’ He glanced at Laila, whose lips were tightly clamped together.

Jerry shrugged his shoulders. ‘Just glanced through the cellar window. And there she was. Anyway. I’ve been thinking.’

Lennart stopped listening. There was something wrong here. Why would Jerry decide to ‘just glance’ through the cellar window? And anyway, could you actually see the cot properly from the window?

Jerry’s hand waved in front of his eyes. ‘Are you listening to me?’

‘No.’

‘A computer. I want a computer.’

‘What for?’

‘You’re always complaining that I’m not interested in anything,’ said Jerry. ‘Well, now I am. Computers. I want a computer. A Mac.’

It had indeed been a hostage situation; it was still a hostage situation even though Jerry had handed over the child.

‘How much,’ Lennart asked. ‘How much does one of those cost?’

‘It’s a Classic I have in mind,’ said Jerry. ‘A Macintosh Classic. Ten thousand kronor, more or less.’

‘And what do I get for that?’

Jerry snorted and punched Lennart on the shoulder. ‘You know what I like about you sometimes, Dad? You cut to the chase. No pissing about.’ Jerry rubbed the back of his neck and thought it over. Then he said, ‘A year. Or six months. Roughly. Something like that.’

‘And then?’

‘And then we’ll see.’

Lennart hid his face in his hands and rested his elbows on the kitchen table. At some point during Jerry’s worst years, Lennart had wished his son dead. Now he was doing it again. But what use was that? He heard Laila’s voice beside him.

‘Well, it’s good if Jerry has an interest. That’s what I think.’

Lennart dug his nails into his scalp and said, ‘Not a word. Not one word.’ Then he raised his head and turned to Jerry. ‘Would you like the home delivery service as well?’

‘Yes, that would be nice. Cool. Thanks.’

Lennart’s throat was so constricted with rage that he could barely manage a whisper. ‘You’re welcome.’

As Jerry moved towards the door, Laila got up and handed the child to Lennart without looking at him. She went over to Jerry, lowered her head and said quietly, ‘Jerry, can’t I come with you?’

Jerry frowned and he looked from Laila to Lennart. Then he seemed to realise what was going on, and said, ‘I couldn’t give a fuck what you two get up to, actually. But let’s put it this way.’ He turned to Lennart. ‘If you so much as touch Mother…you can forget the kid. Got it?’

It wasn’t only Lennart’s throat that was constricted. Every muscle in his body had been twisted into ropes and pulled as tight as possible, until they started to tremble. Jerry took a step towards him. ‘I’m asking you if you’ve got it. You leave Mother alone. One bruise, that’s all it will take. Gone. OK?’

Lennart managed to move his head up and down in a stiff nod. The child moved uneasily in his arms. Jerry stroked the girl’s cheek and said, ‘Toot, toot, toot.’

Then he left. Laila didn’t go with him.

Jerry was named after Jerry Lee Lewis.

For a few years it looked as though he too would go down a musical path, hopefully without the tragic consequences suffered by Jerry Lee. Under Lennart’s supervision he started to practise on a little guitar when he was five years old. By the time he was seven he was already able to move through the basic chords with ease, and produce simple rhythms.

Lennart didn’t quite see himself as a Leopold with a young Wolfgang to raise, but with some decent training Jerry could well become a competent musician, and that would do nicely.

Then came the business of the Swedish charts and ‘Tell Me’.

Laila never revealed that Lennart was responsible for the demolition of her knee. She said she had fallen on a sharp stone and even when she was pressed she never changed her story. She spent ten days in hospital and underwent a series of operations.

When she came home, the atmosphere in the house had changed forever. Lennart showed no regret for what he had done; instead he started to regard Laila as some kind of not-quite-human being and treated her accordingly.

He started to hit her. Not much and not often, just when he felt she had stepped outside her not-quite-human boundaries. Laila had two choices: leave or put up with it.

The years passed and since Laila never did make a decision, it was made for her. Day by day, a new skin was painted onto her body until she became the person Lennart thought she was. Half a person. Cowed.

Jerry did his guitar practice without making any significant progress, but he plodded on. In the emotional chill that pervaded his home he became skinny and introverted, like a child who is cold all the time. The bullying started at junior school. Not much and not often, but enough to make sure he knew his limits, and to keep him well within those limits.

He had just turned twelve when he discovered David Bowie or, more accurately, he discovered ‘The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars’. And if he played that record until the needle started to wear the grooves away, he played ‘Starman’ until it wore a hole in the vinyl.