Jonas Karlsson - The Room

The fluorescent light flickered and clicked inside the room like a hot tin roof in the summer. It was quiet and cool. The desktop fan with its rotating blades inside a stainless-steel mesh lent the room an almost foreign feeling. It wasn’t new, but had been extremely well maintained. Classy. Un-Swedish.

It was easy to think of bygone times in the room. A whole series of eminent decision-takers behind the perfect desk.

It felt indescribably good to be back inside this small space again. I stood there for a long time just enjoying it. Resting one hand gently on the desk.

The desktop felt completely smooth under my fingertips. You could probably rest your cheek on it if you felt like it. I didn’t. I pulled out the comfortable office-chair, sat down, my back straight, and read through the entire bundle of papers.

It was surprisingly simple. Words and formulations that would otherwise take a long time to grasp flowed into my consciousness in a perfectly natural way. I understood at once.

Most of it seemed obvious. As if someone had asked me to fill in the right answers in a third-year maths book.

I looked up at the ceiling and tried to memorise a few keywords. As I was resting my eyes on the red painting with its plain motif I formulated a couple of simple phrases in my head. I realised at once that they worked well. Simple and clear.

I leafed back and forth through the material. It was clumsily expressed. I had to agree with Håkan on that. Some sections were completely unfocused, but could clearly be formulated the way I had just tried out. It was as if I had cleaned the document in order to reveal its pure lines.

Now that I knew how it ought to be expressed, it struck me as odd that no one had thought of it before. Had I missed something? Was there something I didn’t understand? Or was it really this simple?

‘Excellent!’ Karl exclaimed as he came over and slapped Håkan on the back with the palm of his hand the following day.

Håkan turned round, looked at Karl and raised his eyebrows lazily.

‘What?’

Karl smacked 1,636 down on the desktop. Håkan leaned over and read.

‘This is exactly what I meant,’ Karl said. ‘This is brilliant, Håkan. Bloody hell, it’s genius! Factual and concise. No room for misunderstanding.’

It was clear that he was in an extremely good mood. His whole face was beaming. Håkan turned to Karl.

‘That isn’t mine,’ he said bluntly.

Karl’s joy was interrupted and he frowned. He picked up the document and pulled his glasses down, perched them on his nose and looked at the number: 1,636.

‘What?’

‘This isn’t mine.’

‘Of course it’s yours. I gave it to you.’

‘Okay,’ Håkan said, ‘but I didn’t write that.’

Karl pushed his glasses up onto his forehead again.

‘What do you mean, you didn’t write it?’

‘Someone else must have written it,’ Håkan said.

He turned back to what he was doing, leaving Karl holding 1,636 in his hand, a mass of furrows on his brow.

‘But …’ Karl began.

He went back inside his office and I saw him sit in there, inspecting the document from all angles, all the while with that bewildered look on his face.

That afternoon Karl called Ann and John into his office. I watched him show them my printout, but they both shook their heads. It was actually rather a shame, I thought. If one of them had falsely taken the credit for my work, the situation would have been even better. We would have been able to increase the bounce of my trampoline, so to speak. But evidently neither of them was brazen enough. I would have to carry on as planned.

Just before I went to lunch I felt I needed to go to the toilet. I took the long route past the lift so that everyone would clearly see that I was avoiding the room. When I came out again I took the same route back, passing several of my colleagues on their way to the lift. They could all see that I was coming from the toilet. I passed the door of the room as if it didn’t exist.

When the working day was over and everyone had gone home, I smuggled the next investigation into my briefcase, closed it firmly and snuck into the room.

I unpacked my things on the magnificent desk and started work on 1,842.

As soon as I emerged I wrote a couple of short sentences in my notepad so I didn’t forget my train of thought in there. I sat down at my computer and wrote up the text. The whole process went much quicker today. It was like I’d learned something about the way things fit together. Something about the way time and space interact.

I went over to Karl’s office, opened the glass door and put the document on his desk just after half past ten in the evening.

The next day I repeated the process with case 1,199, the only difference being that I took the neatly typed document home with me overnight.

The next morning I went into Karl’s office before he got in, making sure that Ann witnessed it. I could clearly see how watchful she became the moment I entered Karl’s little glass cube. She stared at me as I left the document on his desk. And just after Karl had arrived and hung up his outdoor clothes on the hanger, sure enough, she was there telling tales.

I couldn’t have arranged it better.

‘Ann tells me you’re the person who left this on my desk?’ Karl said, holding up framework decision 1,199.

I nodded.

‘Who wrote it?’

‘I did.’

He stood there for a while, just looking at me without saying anything. As if he were trying to work out whether or not I was telling the truth. He cleared his throat and scratched an earlobe.

‘You did?’

I nodded again, and couldn’t help noticing that Håkan was suddenly listening.

‘Who … who asked you to do it?’ Karl said.

I raised my eyebrows and answered slowly.

‘I took it for granted that it was my duty, seeing as the files were on my desk.’

‘The files were on your desk?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who put them there?’ Karl said, glancing at Håkan, who quickly looked down and pretended to be reading his papers.

‘I’ve no idea,’ I said. ‘I assumed—’

‘Please, come with me.’

He led the way towards the little glass box without waiting for me. I looked at Håkan, who was still pretending not to have noticed anything, but his neck was bright red. I got up and walked very slowly after Karl into his office. Karl sat down behind his desk.

‘Close the door,’ he said.

I did as he said and tried to adopt a concerned expression, as if I were expecting another reprimand for something. There was a certain pleasure in playing the innocent schoolboy seeing as I knew what was coming. Karl fixed his eyes on me.

‘Björn, what’s going on here?’

‘I’m sorry if I’ve caused any trouble. I didn’t mean to take someone else’s work. I was just convinced I was meant to do it because the case-notes were on my desk and—’

‘Can you tell me who wrote 1,842 and … let’s see, 1,636?’

‘I did.’

‘Björn, I hope you are aware that all of us in this department … we always stick to the truth.’

‘That is the truth.’

Karl spun his chair slightly and stroked his chin with his fingers. He picked up the documents and seemed almost to be weighing them in his hand.

‘The DG is very pleased,’ he said out of nowhere.

‘Oh?’ I said, trying to look surprised.

‘He says we’ve finally got the right tone. That these texts you’ve written ought to be the template for all future framework decisions in the communal sector.’