Юхан Теорин - The Asylum

‘Fit as fleas,’ she says afterwards.

They gather in the snuggle room, where Marie-Louise leads the weekly suggestion session. The children always have lots of requests.

‘I’d like a pet,’ says Mira.

‘Me too!’ Josefine shouts.

‘But why?’ asks Marie-Louise. ‘You’ve got your cuddly toys, haven’t you?’

‘We want real animals!’

‘Animals that move!’

Mira looks at Marie-Louise and Jan, her eyes pleading. ‘Please... please can we have a pet?’

‘I want stick insects!’ Leo shouts. ‘Lots of stick insects!’

‘A hamster,’ Hugo says.

‘No, I want a cat,’ says Matilda.

The children are excited, but Marie-Louise is not smiling. ‘Animals have to be looked after,’ she says.

‘But we will look after them!’

‘They have to be looked after all the time. And what happens when there’s nobody here?’

‘Then they can live here on their own, in a cage,’ says Matilda with a smile. ‘We’ll just lock them in with loads of food and water!’

Marie-Louise still isn’t smiling; she shakes her head. ‘Animals shouldn’t be left locked up.’

That evening Jan is alone with two of the children, and they both fall asleep quickly. From this week it is only Leo and Mira who will be staying overnight; Matilda now has a foster family who pick her up at five o’clock each day. There is an elderly woman and a man in a grey cap; they seem friendly and reliable. Jan can only hope this is true. But how can you know? He thinks back to Rettig’s comment on the patient who killed himself: He was quiet and pleasant, but his extra head wasn’t nice at all .

We have to be brave enough to trust people. Don’t we? Jan is very trustworthy — except for those few minutes at night when he leaves the sleeping children alone and takes the lift up to the hospital.

He does it again this evening, his heart pounding. The memory of hearing someone coming down in the lift and walking out through the pre-school lingers on, but nothing has happened since, and he is trying hard to forget that night.

His pulse rate increases in the empty visitors’ room, because there is a new envelope waiting for him under the sofa cushions with the instruction OPEN THIS AND POST CONTENTS! Jan would like to open the envelope in the staffroom at the Dell, but he can’t take the risk; it’s twenty to ten, and any minute now Hanna will be arriving to take over.

Sure enough, she comes in from the cold at ten to ten.

‘Everything OK?’ Strands of blonde hair have escaped from beneath her woolly hat, and her cheeks are glowing; she seems unusually exhilarated.

Jan just nods to her and pulls on his jacket. ‘They went off at about half-seven. Things are much calmer with just the two of them.’

He has nothing more to say to Hanna, and picks up his rucksack containing the hidden envelope — but suddenly he realizes he still has one of the key cards in his back pocket. He closed the door leading to the basement when he came back from the visitors’ room, but forgot to return it to the kitchen drawer.

Idiot .

He turns around. ‘I think I forgot something...’

‘What?’ Hanna asks.

But he is already in the kitchen.

‘Did you forget to put back the card?’ Hanna is right behind him, still wearing her leather coat and woolly hat. Her cheeks are not quite so red now.

‘Yes...’ Jan closes the drawer and straightens up. ‘This afternoon, after the last handover.’

‘I’ve done that too.’

Jan doesn’t know if she really believes him, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He wishes her goodnight and sets off home. At least he hasn’t forgotten the envelope from the hospital; it is safely hidden in his bag.

As soon as he gets in his fingers rip open the envelope. His hands are trembling as he sorts through the letters on the kitchen table. It isn’t nerves, but anticipation. He dare not believe that there will be a reply from Rami already, but—

Yes, there is a letter addressed to Jan Larsson, at his old address. Rettig has let it through, if he noticed it at all.

Jan picks it up and puts it to one side. He gathers up the remaining twenty-three letters and places them on the hall table; he will go out and post them late tonight. But first of all he opens his own letter.

There is just one sheet of white paper inside, with three sentences firmly printed in pencil, and no signature:

THE SQUIRREL WANTS TO GET OVER THE FENCE.

THE SQUIRREL WANTS TO JUMP OFF THE WHEEL.

WHAT DO YOU WANT?

Jan places the letter on the table in front of him. Then he fetches a sheet of paper and sits down to write a reply. But what should he call her? Alice? Maria? Or Rami? In the end he writes just a few short sentences, as neatly and legibly as possible:

I want to be free, I want to be a sunbeam you can hang a clean sheet on. I am a mouse hiding in the forest, I am a lighthouse-keeper in a building made of stone, I am a shepherd who cares for lost children.

My name is Jan.

I was your neighbour fifteen years ago.

Do you remember me?

That is all he writes for now; he can’t send a letter to Rami anyway until it is time for the next delivery.

Rami must remember where they were neighbours, and when. She must remember those days in the Unit.

Jan has worn long-sleeved shirts and jumpers ever since. He pulls up his right sleeve now and looks at the faint pink lines following the veins. His own mark, his memory of his schooldays.

He could just as easily have pulled up his left sleeve; the razor blade has left long scars on both arms.

The first thing Jan heard when he woke up was sorrowful music.

Slow guitar chords in a minor key. They sounded close, they were coming from the other side of the wall, and they just kept on and on. Someone was sitting there playing, the same simple chords over and over again.

Jan was lying in a bed, a sturdy bed with rough sheets. He opened his eyes and saw a broad bedstead made of stainless steel. A hospital bed.

The walls around his bed were high and white. He was in a hospital room.

He listened and listened to the guitar music, unable to move; there was no strength in his arms and legs. His stomach and his head were throbbing.

His throat remembered tubes — soft tubes worming their way down to suck out the mess in his guts. The taste of bile, the smell of sour milk.

That’s what happens when you have your stomach pumped . It was terrible. His empty stomach was aching and felt like a balloon, pushing up towards his throat. He wanted to be sick, but he didn’t have the strength.

He heard voices approaching, but closed his eyes and disappeared once more.

The next time Jan woke up, the guitar music had stopped. He closed his eyes again, and when he eventually looked up a tall man with long hair and a brown beard was leaning over him.

He looked like Jesus, dressed in a T-shirt with a yellow smiley on the front.

‘How are you feeling, Jan?’ His voice echoed in the bare room. ‘My name is Jörgen... Can you hear me?’

‘Jörgen...’ Jan whispered.

‘That’s it, Jörgen. I’m a nurse here. Are you OK?’

He wasn’t OK, but nodded anyway.

‘Your mum and dad have gone home,’ said the man. ‘But they’re coming back. Do you remember their names?’

Jan didn’t say anything; he was thinking. It was strange. He could remember Mum and Dad’s voices going on and on, but not their names.

‘No?’ said Jörgen. ‘What about your name, then? What’s your name?’

‘Jan... Hauger.’

‘Good — well done, Jan. Would you like to have a shower?’