Фредрик Бакман - Anxious People

“But you can’t just…,” Estelle began.

“You haven’t hurt anyone!” Anna-Lena went on.

“There must be some way of solving this,” Julia nodded.

“Perhaps we could find a way out?” Lennart suggested.

“We certainly need a bit of time to gather all the information before you let us go!” Roger declared.

“And the bidding hasn’t even started yet,” the real estate agent piped up.

“We could just wait for the pizzas, couldn’t we?” Ro suggested.

“Yes, let’s have something to eat. This has all turned out to be rather pleasant, hasn’t it, getting to know each other like this? And that’s all thanks to you !” Estelle beamed.

“I’m sure the police won’t shoot you. Not much, anyway,” Anna-Lena said comfortingly.

“Why don’t we all go outside with you? They won’t fire if we all leave at the same time!” Julia insisted.

“There must be a way out, if it’s possible to sneak into a viewing, then it must be possible to sneak out,” Lennart pointed out.

“Let’s all sit down and make a plan!” Roger demanded.

“And make bids on the apartment!” the real estate agent added hopefully.

“And eat pizza!” Ro said.

The bank robber looked at each of them in turn for a long time. Then she whispered gratefully: “Worst hostages ever.”

“Help me lay the table,” Estelle said, taking her by the arm.

The bank robber didn’t resist, and went with Estelle into the kitchen. She returned with glasses and plates. Julia carried on sorting out the fire. Zara wrestled with her personality for a while, then handed Julia her lighter without her having asked for it.

Roger was standing beside the fireplace, unsure of how to make himself useful, and said to Julia: “Do you know how to do that?”

Julia glared at him, and was about to tell him that her mom had taught her how to make a fire, in such a way that Roger couldn’t be sure that didn’t mean Julia and her mother had set fire to her father. But it had been a long day, they had all heard one another’s stories, and that made it harder to dislike one another, so Julia said something incredibly generous instead.

“No. Can you show me how to do it?”

Roger nodded slowly, crouched down, and started to talk to the wood.

“We can… I’m assuming we can, unless you… we can do it together,” he mumbled.

She swallowed and nodded.

“I’d like that.”

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

Then he showed her how he usually started fires.

“Is it supposed to smoke that much?” Julia wondered.

“There’s something wrong with the wood,” Roger grunted.

“Really?”

“There’s something wrong with the damn wood, I tell you!”

“Have you opened the damper?”

“Of course I’ve opened the damn damper!”

Julia opened the damper. Roger muttered under his breath and she started to laugh. He joined in. They weren’t looking at each other, but the smoke was stinging their eyes and tears were streaming down their cheeks. Julia glanced at him.

“Your wife’s nice,” she said.

“So’s yours,” he replied.

They each poked at separate pieces of wood in the fireplace.

“If you and Anna-Lena would really like the apartment, then—” Julia began, but he interrupted her.

“No. No. This is a good apartment for children. You and Ro should buy it.”

“I don’t think Ro wants it, she finds fault with everything,” Julia sighed.

Roger poked harder at the fire.

“She’s just scared she isn’t good enough for you and the baby. You need to tell her that’s nonsense. She’s worried she won’t be able to mend the baseboards herself, so you’ll just have to tell her that no one can fix the damn baseboards until they’ve done it once. Everybody has to start somewhere!”

Julia let that sink in. She stared into the fire. Roger did the same. Each of them staring at a different piece of wood, a bit of flame, a lot of smoke.

“Can I say something personal, Roger?” she whispered after a while.

“Hmm.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to Anna-Lena. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone anymore. You’re good enough.”

They each poked at the fire. And they both got a hell of a lot of smoke in their eyes. They said nothing more.

There was a knock at the door. Because the policeman outside had finally figured out that the doorbell didn’t work.

62

“I’ll get it,” the bank robber said.

“No! What if it’s the police?!” Ro exclaimed.

“It’s probably just the pizzas,” the bank robber guessed.

“Are you mad? The police would never send a pizza delivery guy into a hostage situation! I mean, you’re armed and dangerous!” Ro said.

“I’m not dangerous,” the bank robber said, hurt.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Ro said, apologetically.

Roger got to his feet over by the fireplace, which was smoking considerably less now, and pointed at the bank robber with a lump of wood as if it were his hand.

“Ro’s right. If you open the door, the police might shoot you. It would be better if I went!”

Julia agreed, albeit a little too readily for Roger’s liking. “Yes! Let Roger go! Who knows? We might manage to come up with a way to help you escape, and then the police will never know that you’re a woman. Everyone will just assume that the bank robber’s a man!”

“Why?” Roger wondered.

“Because women aren’t usually that stupid,” Zara interjected, ever helpful.

The bank robber sighed hesitantly. But Anna-Lena took a tiny, tiny step toward the middle of the room and whispered: “Please, don’t open the door, Roger. What if they shoot?”

Roger got some smoke in his eyes, even though there wasn’t any now. He didn’t say anything. So Lennart stepped forward and said: “Oh, let me do it! Give me the mask and I’ll pretend to be the hostage taker. I’m an actor, after all—I was in The Merchant of Venice at the local theater.”

“Isn’t it The Merchant from Venice ?” Anna-Lena wondered.

“Is it?” Lennart asked.

“Oh, I like that play, there’s a lovely line in it. Something about a light!” Estelle declared happily, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember what it was.

“God, just stop babbling and concentrate for a minute!” Julia snapped, because there had just been another knock on the door.

Lennart nodded and held his hand out to the bank robber. “Give me the mask and pistol.”

“No, give them here, I’ll go!” Roger snapped, with a renewed need for validation.

The two men squared up against each other, as well as they could. Roger would probably have liked to hit Lennart again, all the more so now that the rabbit’s head was gone. But perhaps Lennart could see how much Roger was hurting, so before Roger had time to clench his fists, he said: “Don’t be angry with your wife, Roger. Be angry with me.”

Roger still looked angry, but that must have struck home somewhere, making a tiny crack in his anger where the air slowly seeped out of it.

“I…,” he grunted, not looking at Anna-Lena.

“Let me do this,” Lennart asked.

“Please, darling,” Anna-Lena whispered.

Roger looked up, only as far as her chin, and saw it was quivering. And he backed down. It could have been a touching moment, actually, if only he could have stopped himself muttering: “For what it’s worth, I hope they shoot you in the leg, Lennart.”

It was nicer than it sounded.

At that moment Estelle managed to remember the line from the play, so she declared: “That light we see is burning in my hall. How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.”