Karin Alvtegen - Shadow

Halina fell silent and picked at the napkin. He wanted to put his hand on hers but couldn’t pluck up the courage.

‘Have you any other family in Sweden?’

She shook her head and took a gulp of wine. He watched her, fascinated. She was a survivor. And as beautiful as could be. He sat quietly and searched for something to say. Suddenly she shifted in her chair, as if she wanted to shake off what she had told him, let the conversation take another tack.

‘You know, they’ve tried this moral dilemma on a great many people. Almost no one puts Eva at the top of the list.’

‘Well, I’d say she’s most likely to be thought of as self-sacrificing. Nothing she does is for her own sake.’

‘But one thing is rather interesting. If instead of calling her Eva we give her a foreign-sounding name, the result is altogether different. I don’t recall the percentage, but a good number of people suddenly think she’s the one who is most in the wrong.’

‘Can that really be true?’

‘Yes, really. A foreign name is not an advantage, I can tell you that. A publisher I was in touch with who liked what I wrote told me straight out that I ought to write under a pseudonym if I wanted to get anything published.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

She said nothing, but looked at him for a long time. Then she gave a little smile.

‘You’re pretty naïve for someone who’s supposed to be so wise and so brilliant.’

‘I’m no more brilliant than anyone else; a rumour often grows larger than the source itself.’

A comfortable silence followed.

‘So are you happy?’

He smiled and thought it over for a moment. ‘That depends on what you mean by happy.’

She gave a little shrug. ‘Happy as in content with life, I should think.’

‘I don’t know. Are you?’

With a resolute movement she crossed her arms.

‘You never answer questions, do you? You just bat them back.’

‘Do I?’

‘You’ve just done it again! Is it so awful to let somebody get close to you?’

‘That depends.’

Her arms relaxed and she leant forward, resting her chin in her hand.

‘On what?’

It was so long since Axel had been challenged he no longer knew how to react. He felt both annoyed and excited. Annoyed because she was threatening his integrity, and most people refrained from doing that. Excited because she dared to do so, because she offered him a resistance that was worth countering.

‘Nowadays happiness is looked on as a right, almost as an obligation. There’s a great risk of being disappointed if one’s expectations are too high.’

‘So are you afraid of being disappointed?’ The whole time she was smiling, as if she were teasing, her eyes fixed on his. Both of them were aware of what was going on.

‘I don’t know. Are you?’

‘There you go again.’

‘I’d already answered.’

She took a sip of wine. ‘I read somewhere that someone who always puts caution first stifles the life he’s trying to save.’

Suddenly her finger stroked his hand. A quick caress was all it took.

No one in the room paid any attention; they were all deeply involved in their own conversations. His cock was throbbing, and he needed to adjust his trousers, but didn’t dare lower his hand. It had been so long since anyone had touched him, so long since he had touched anyone else. What he’d thought was dead had suddenly come to life, a glimpse of the man he had once been.

‘What about you? Is Torgny the man who makes you happy?’

She pulled back her hand.

‘Torgny is my friend, but not my man. We’re not a couple or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

She glanced at Torgny over on the sofa. He was asleep with his mouth open.

‘He’s… a little too shallow, one might say.’

The next moment her eyes were on his, and he felt her foot between his thighs.

‘I like it better in deeper waters.’

White noise filled his ears. The others in the room were no longer there. Only her foot on his cock and the bra-less swelling under her jumper. There was no writer’s block, no Alice, nothing was important any more. Only the goal of his desire, within reach on the other side of the table.

Why should he say no? Nobody would thank him. Least of all Alice, who no longer wanted him.

Why in the world should he say no?

‘No person has had so great an influence on my father and his writing as a man by the name of Joseph Schultz. He was my father’s ideal and a great role model. I remember my father telling me about him and I suddenly understood that although it’s certainly good to think good thoughts, it is only through action that genuine goodness is born.’

The stalls in Västerås Theatre were almost full. Kristoffer had taken a seat at the back, but only a few minutes into the lecture he wished he’d sat closer to the stage. He had finally found himself in a place where something important would be said, and he didn’t want a bunch of fat necks and greasy hairdos between himself and the speaker. He listened attentively to Jan-Erik Ragnerfeldt’s account.

‘Seven of the eight in the patrol did not hesitate; they were ready to obey the order and raised their weapons. But Joseph Schultz suddenly felt that he’d had enough.’

Kristoffer looked around. The audience sat spellbound. They appeared to feel as he did, amazed at finally having stumbled upon someone who was saying something important, who really had a mission. Someone who kept his head above water in the sea of superficialities and cynicism that was so typical nowadays. A person who dared to believe in his audience’s ability to think, their will to be enlightened.

‘How was it possible for a person to make the choice that Joseph Schultz did? What characteristic was it that differentiated him from the others in the patrol?’

Kristoffer was reminded of the science book he’d read several times by now. It said that what made it possible for human beings to leave the primitive stage and develop a civilisation was that the strong defeated the weak, the skilled the incompetent, the intelligent the slow-witted. He had wondered whether it might be true that this weeding-out was still going on. But in that case, why did the incompetent and slow-witted take up the most space and were heard the most often?

‘Perhaps Joseph Schultz realised that death would strike him even if he chose to remain with his patrol and fire his weapon. Perhaps he realised that if he chose to obey the order he would also extinguish the last little fragment within himself, the one that made him human.’

Kristoffer smiled. He was meant to hear this; fate had reached out its hand and accompanied him to Västerås so that he could hear Jan-Erik Ragnerfeldt’s words. The hope for humanity, so difficult for him to maintain, had acquired new strength, and feeling gratefully calm he let himself be touched by the rest of the story about Joseph Schultz.

To risk his life for his beliefs, to die rather than conform.

A true survivor and role model.

He had longed to be able to find someone like this. Everything he had heard convinced him he was on the right track. Maybe it was high time for the natural leaders to rise above the mediocre masses and take command. The creators of the new and the courageous who refused to let themselves be enslaved, who would promote what was genuine and were intelligent enough not to let themselves be duped. He’d read about people who bought environmentally friendly cars, but when the ethanol got a few pence more expensive they went back to using petrol. He had confronted customers who would walk right past the cartons of organic milk and organic vegetables, claiming that they were too expensive, while their shopping basket overflowed with soft drinks and sweets. Maybe it was genetically determined. Maybe some people were better suited from birth. So few people tried to set a good example and take responsibility. Now it was time for the visionaries to take on the task of crushing the tyranny and begin shaping the future. The others, those who had renounced responsibility and subjugated themselves, had to accept guidance. What was needed was a revolution, since the bovine masses didn’t know what was good for them.