Karin Alvtegen - Shadow

Kristoffer hung his duffel coat over the back of the chair. ‘So. Would you like anything?’

Jesper shook his head, and Kristoffer went over to the short queue at the counter. He stood a little too close to the person in front of him. Just as a test. The man took a step forward and Kristoffer followed. The man’s discomfort was apparent, but he did his best to hide it. He stood his ground, looking out of the corner of his eye as if he wanted to watch Kristoffer without being noticed. Why was it so threatening when a stranger got too close? Kristoffer had long pondered why it was so important to keep one’s distance. Maybe it was precisely there, in the discomfort, that the unconscious touched upon the knowledge that everything that exists is a unity, that everything is interrelated. He had read that in the science books on the shelves in the flat, that atoms never die but only change form. It was enough to see a photograph of the earth taken from space to sense the truth. If that realisation were ever taken seriously, the prevailing worldview would come crashing down. No one would any longer be able to watch what was going on without being forced to take action.

The man in front of Kristoffer took another step to increase the distance. Kristoffer let him be. He ordered a double espresso, and while he waited he watched Jesper. He was still sitting with his chin resting in his left hand, drawing invisible figures on the tabletop with his right. Gloomy, Kristoffer thought. Not the first time. Jesper was an open book when it came to where he was on the emotional scale, and gloomy was not that unusual. Kristoffer thrived on clarity. There was nothing vague that could create brooding, only visible messages. He suddenly felt himself smiling as he looked at Jesper, struck by how much he valued their friendship. Jesper was a teetotaller for ideological reasons, which made their interaction easier. Since Kristoffer had stopped drinking he needed to avoid certain situations. Enjoying a whole evening in a pub was like being a diabetic at a cake party. He could still get thirsty, and sometimes he really had to steel himself not to take that first drink; the one that would produce that numbing sense of relaxation, the peaceful sensation that everything became smoothed out and tolerable, the feeling he used to spend so many nights trying to recapture, even though it passed so quickly.

Jesper was the only person he could call a friend. His lonely work sitting at the computer and his abstinence from pub life had not gained him a big circle of acquaintances since he’d broken off with the old ones.

But even to Jesper he hadn’t revealed his secret. It was so fraught with shame that the very words refused to come out. Thirty-one years had passed, and he had not told anyone.

The fact that at the age of four he had been found on the stairs at Skansen amusement park.

That he had been rejected.

He went back to the table.

‘How’s it going, anyway?’

Kristoffer sat down at the table and began to sip his double espresso. Jesper didn’t say a word. Gloomy, Kristoffer thought again.

‘I don’t know, I suppose I should be happy. But I’m not.’

‘What is it?’

Kristoffer drank some more coffee. Jesper leaned back and stretched as if he wanted to shake off something unpleasant. And then he said the words that made the room turn inside out.

‘They want to publish my book.’

Kristoffer froze, his hand in mid-air, and was shocked at his own reaction. He ought to be happy, ecstatic, jump up from his chair and buy a cake. The way a good person would react. His best friend, after all his struggles, had reached the goal of his dreams. But instead of rejoicing on his behalf Kristoffer sat as if paralysed, invaded by a huge, black envy.

‘Well, that’s fantastic,’ he managed to say. And the blackness grew bigger.

‘Is it?’

Jesper didn’t look the least bit happy. Kristoffer gratefully welcomed the confusion that began to compete for space.

‘Of course it is. Isn’t it? Isn’t that why you wrote the book?’

There was a moment’s silence. Jesper wasn’t one to say something unless he had first deliberated carefully. A trait that Kristoffer admired. The world would be a better place if there were more people who chose their words carefully.

‘Mostly I think it feels empty somehow, almost as if I’ve been robbed.’

‘What do you mean, robbed? Now you can start eating something besides noodles for a change.’

He could hear it in his own voice. That the words concealed what he actually felt.

‘I don’t mean the money, you know that. I mean, I don’t know how to say it, my life has sort of been robbed. What the hell am I going to do now? I’ve been writing that fucking novel for so long that I don’t know what I’ll do when I can’t work on it anymore.’

‘Then you’ll have to write another one.’

The idea did not seem appealing, and another silence settled in.

‘But what if I can’t?’

‘Stop it. You can at least give it a try before you give up. Besides, you’ll have to go out and promote the book, travel around and do interviews, go on TV chat shows and give readings.’

He could feel the envy growing. The dream of success. To be in demand and finally have your worth confirmed.

‘But that’s just it. How the hell do you think I could manage to go on a talk show? Can you see me sitting there? Can you? Or doing interviews? What would I say? Read the book, you fucking idiot! Everything I wanted to say is in there. How do you think that would come across?’

Kristoffer didn’t answer. He had seen Jesper get tongue-tied just trying to order coffee and realised that to some extent he was right. And yet he couldn’t help being irritated at his whining.

‘And anyway, I’m too ugly.’

‘Give me a break.’

‘It’s easy for you to say, with that cherub face of yours.’

‘It doesn’t matter one damn bit what you look like.’

‘Yeah, right.’

Jesper looked utterly hopeless. He put his head in his hands and sighed. Kristoffer finished his coffee and shoved his cup away. If only it had been him. Maybe he should write a novel himself. If Jesper could get his published, he could manage it too.

‘It’s obvious that I want the book to be read by as many people as possible, obviously I want that, that’s why I wrote it. Because I want something. But I didn’t think about what it would really involve. You know me, I can’t cope with being the centre of attention. This was my way to try and say something anyway. I simply don’t fit as a brand name. The people I met at the publishing company, I told them the truth, that I didn’t know if I could handle a lot of interviews and stuff like that.’

‘So what did they say?’

‘They didn’t exactly jump for joy.’

‘Well, shit, there must be some other way.’

‘I knew they were disappointed when they met me. They were so positive on the phone after they’d read the book, but that was before they met me.’

Kristoffer stopped arguing with him and they sat quietly for a moment. He tried in vain to silence the thought that the publishers’ reaction was a relief to him. Desperately he struggled to shove the envy back into the rubbish-heap it had crawled out of, because what sort of person reacted the way he had done? In an attempt to pull himself together he reached out and patted his friend’s hand. The gesture was so unlike him that Jesper gave a start at the touch.

‘I’m sure it will all turn out fine.’

Kristoffer pulled back his hand and smiled.

‘Shit, I know a real author!’

But the words only intensified his envy. He had always been the one who was more successful; their respective roles had been well-established. Their entire friendship hinged on those unwritten rules, but now the balance had been disturbed. He wanted to go home and keep working on his play, see to it that every critic would end up prostrate with rapture.