Åke Edwardson - Sun and Shadow

“Were there any newspapers or magazines?”

“You must be joking. The hall was full of old copies of Göteborgs Posten.”

“I mean in addition to those.”

“Not many. Is there anything specific you have in mind?”

“I don’t know,” Winter said.

He was reading Sacrament’s texts. The hero in song number three flew into space imprisoned in his own hatred. There was a lot about hatred, of oneself and others.

This is the most idiotic load of old crap I’ve ever read, thought Winter.

They’re teasing us.

Here is the dream I live with, this is my plan. To kill mankind and destroy the universe.

A big task that others have tried before.

Most of the text was in the first person. Whoever it was rarely stayed on earth. Just a short visit to Manhattan. A voyage on the Red Sea. A voyage on the Black Sea. Otherwise it was alien worlds.

This could keep a dozen psychologists going for years, Winter thought. But it’s not much good to us. I can ask the guys at Desdemona if this is any different from other lyrics in the genre.

He noticed several references to walls, a few in every song. Wall of Hate. Wall of Blood. Wall of Corpses. Wall of Horrors. It became tedious after a while, worn, like flaking wallpaper.

He took off his reading glasses and examined them. The lenses seemed to have been dirtied by the words, covered by a thin layer of translucent soot.

His mobile phone rang in the inside pocket of his jacket. The display showed his mother’s number in Nueva Andalucia. Winter felt a sudden shooting pain in his chest.

“Hello, Mom.”

“Hello, Erik. I can never get used to the idea that the person I’m calling can see my number.”

“Makes you wonder why some people never answer, eh?”

“You always answer, Erik.”

“Of course! How are things?”

“I’m taking it a day at a time, as they say. But it’s going… quite well. I visit the grave almost every day. It’s a sort of outing. You can see the sea from there.”

“It’s an attractive place for a grave.”

“It’s so lovely with the mountain and the sea. He’s gone to a beautiful place, at least.”

“Yes.”

“And now Christmas is approaching. I suppose serious Christmas shopping is getting under way now?”

“I don’t honestly know. Not for me it isn‘t, at least.”

“I can understand that. Another murder. It’s terrible. And just when you got back home from here.” There was a pause and Winter could hear the sound of ice cubes in a cocktail glass of Tanqueray and tonic.

“I read about it in GP. Awful. And only a few doors away from where you live.”

“Where I live isn’t a crime-free zone, Mother.”

“I was thinking mainly about Angela. She must be wondering what kind of a place she’s landed in.”

“She is.”

“No, that was a silly thing for me to say. How’s she doing?”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Have you felt any kicks yet?”

“Yes.”

“What was it like? Tell me!”

“It was… fantastic. A very special experience.”

“I remember when you… when I…” and Winter heard her voice break and the sound of ice cubes rattling next to the receiver. “I’m sorry, Erik. I was thinking about when you… and Dad…” and her voice broke again, more rattling, and then she was back. “It was like you say. A… very special experience. When we felt Lotta and when we felt your… kicks.”

“You can feel for yourself when you come.”

“Yes, well…”

“What’s the matter?”

“Well, er…”

“Don’t say you’re not coming home.”

“I seem to feel more unsure the closer it gets…”

“It’s nothing to hesitate about. We’re looking forward to seeing you. Think about Lotta and Bim and Kristina. And Angela. And me. But maybe most of all think about yourself.”

“It might be better for me to stay here. I mean, you have your own life to lead.”

This is really what you might call a role reversal, Winter thought. Before, she was the one urging us to come to Spain, and now it’s us urging her to come to Sweden.

“Everything’s ready,” he said. We’ve bought the Tanqueray, he thought. “You have to come.”

“Yes, well… I want to.”

“I’m expecting you at the airport on December 23.”

“As long as it’s not snowing.”

“The snows will have thawed or been washed away by rain before then.”

“Give my love to Angela.”

“Of course.”

“To both of them.”

“Naturally”

“Have you got a name? For the baby?”

“Lots of them.”

It was thawing the next morning. The air looked heavy, as if it had been hung up like a curtain as the night drew to a close. Winter stood in his boxer shorts, cup in hand, listening to Angela’s Springsteen while she was in the bathroom. Happy, happy in your arms.

He was seldom at home as late in the morning as this. There was less traffic now than at the time he usually drove to work.

Angela emerged from the bathroom and headed for the hall.

“We have to be there in half an hour,” she shouted.

“I’m ready” Winter said.

“What?”

“I’m nearly ready” he yelled, and took his empty cup to the kitchen before heading for the bathroom.

It wasn’t raining, but the air was just as damp as it had appeared to be from the window.

“Let’s walk,” Angela had said on the way down in the elevator.

“It’s wet.”

“I need a walk.”

It was the first time for him. He felt nervous.

It was only a ten-minute walk to the Social Services Clinic. Thin sheets of ice were floating down the canal. A car passed and splashed slush onto Angela’s coat. Winter memorized the license plate number.

“Do you want us to find the driver?” he asked.

“Yes,” Angela said, who was trying to brush off the dirty liquid. “Put him behind bars.”

They hung up their coats and waited in a room with two other women. Winter was the only man. He leafed through a women’s magazine he’d never heard of before while Angela went off with the nurse to have samples taken. Winter read about why women in Stockholm preferred to stay single. That’s not the case in Gothenburg, he thought. This isn’t a place for singles anymore.

Angela came back.

“What samples did they take?” he asked.

“Blood tests. Hemoglobin, blood group, blood sugar.”

“Couldn’t you have done that yourself? At home?”

“Stop it now.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. They did HIV and rubella, in the tenth week. When I first registered.”

“What’s rubella?”

“German measles.”

Winter wondered what it had to do with the Germans. The Berlin Wall. The writing on the wall…

‘Are you nervous, Erik?“

“What do you mean?”

“You sound as if you are.” A woman opened a door and beckoned to them. “It’s our turn now.”

They followed the woman through the door. She ushered them into a smallish room with a desk and two comfortable-looking chairs.

The woman was normally dressed. No white coat, no uniform, Winter thought. He shook the hand she offered him.

“My name’s Elise Bergdorff. I’m a midwife, as I’m sure you know. Welcome! I’m glad you could come.”

Winter introduced himself and sat down.

Angela and the midwife talked about the previous couple of weeks. It only took Winter a few seconds to realize that there was an understanding between the two women. Angela felt secure. He relaxed, listened, made the occasional contribution.

Time for the ultrasound. Angela lay down on a hospital bed, the midwife applied a translucent gel to her stomach, and held up a microphone connected to a machine.