Jonas Karlsson - The Room

I looked at the picture Jörgen usually leaned against when we had meetings here in Karl’s office and tried to enjoy the moment when the new order here at the Authority slowly began to take shape. The picture was of some appetising-looking fruit. You could almost have believed it was real. I came to think of an artist who could draw an empty sheet of paper and make you think it was a real piece of paper, so you’d go up to it wondering why someone had put an empty sheet of paper in a glass frame, but then you’d discover that it was a drawing, like an optical illusion. Quite funny, actually.

The thought made me smile.

‘I didn’t know …’ Karl said, and I could see he was having severe difficulty coming to terms with the idea of me as a leading light in this field. He had regarded me as a nothing, an encumbrance, someone who needed to be watched and looked after. Now that he’d made his bed he was having to lie in it.

He looked up at me and smiled. Clearly uncertain about how to treat me. It was like there was something inside him that was still fighting against the idea. I could easily draw this out a bit longer, I thought, let him squash me even further down. I could exploit my lowly status and make the turnaround even greater, even more of a shock.

But this was where we were. At last he had realised, and maybe I ought to have been pleased that he was at least intelligent enough to recognise talent when he saw it. That isn’t always the case.

‘You surprise …’ he went on, waving my texts.

I stayed quiet. And smiled. Knowing when to keep your mouth shut is an art.

‘If you could imagine carrying on … that you might be able to take on some more …’

I cleared my throat and frowned gently. Taking my time.

‘I’d be happy to help in any way I can,’ I said, ‘but bearing in mind my other duties …’

I glanced towards the photocopier and Karl took the hint.

‘We can sort that out, Björn.’

‘I just mean that it might be difficult finding the time to look after the printers and …’

‘Obviously, you wouldn’t have to do anything of that sort …’

‘And the quality assurances …’

Karl raised his voice slightly to indicate that he was serious. That all that sort of nonsense was at an end now.

‘I’m sorry, Björn, if I underestimated you …’ He got up from his chair and I could see the tension in his face as he steeled himself to say what was coming. I smiled and waited. ‘… but it isn’t always easy to see the skills of all your colleagues. Especially not …’

He fell silent and sat down on the edge of the desk. He looked tired. He sighed and ran his hand over his hair.

‘I apologise, Björn, there’s been a lot going on recently.’

‘Apology accepted,’ I said, and made myself comfortable in his office-chair.

He looked down at me with his mouth wide open. I leaned back and folded my hands over my stomach.

‘Would you like to talk about it?’ I said.

The following morning I was able to run my finger slowly over the numbers on the cover of my first framework decision, which now had its own reference number: 16c36/1.

I had gone down to reception and asked for it the day it became publicly accessible. I could smell the fresh ink, and I let Margareta behind the counter get a glimpse of the casemanager’s name on the flyleaf. You could have been a part of all this, I thought. But drugs got in the way.

‘How are things going for you these days?’ she asked after a pause.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t even look at her. I had decided to regard her as a stranger, a complete unknown. And neither condone nor condemn what she did in her own time.

Rumours of my success swept through the whole department like a wave. Someone had heard and carried the news to the rest of the group. I saw Hannah with the ponytail talking to Karin outside the kitchen, and via Karin I was able to follow the path of the news to John and the gang in the section for the financing of inspection visits. After a while almost the whole of Supervision stood up, talking to each other and looking in my direction. I tried to read their reactions, but it was difficult as I was constantly having to pretend I hadn’t noticed and was preoccupied with my work.

In fact things were relatively stress-free, and I didn’t have to rush my fifty-five-minute periods seeing as the most concentrated part, the actual formulation itself, always happened inside the room. In the evenings and at night.

One day when Håkan got back from a coffee-break I noticed that even he had been hosed down by the torrent of information about the new star in the office. He smiled when he asked but I could see the icy chill in his eyes.

‘So how long were you planning on keeping your talent hidden, then?’ he said.

I didn’t answer. He had a large white patch on one shoulder and going part way down his chest. Hadn’t he noticed? It looked scruffy.

‘Do you think it’s funny going round pretending to be unstable, just so you can show everyone your tightrope routine later on?’

I said nothing. I recognised the nature of his questions. They were rhetorical. It’s always best to ignore those. Treat them like they don’t exist. But the stain was real.

‘Don’t you think you should go and change your shirt?’ I asked after a while, nodding towards the stain.

Håkan glanced sullenly down at his shoulder. Then he hissed through gritted teeth: ‘When did you nick those files?’

I adopted a questioning look that I had practised at home in front of the mirror. I thought it gave the desired impression.

John caught up with me on the way to the canteen. He held out his hand.

‘Congratulations, Björn,’ he said with a crooked smile. ‘It’s great that things are going so well for you now.’

I took his hand and thanked him.

‘I’m sorry about all that business before,’ he said. ‘You know how things get in stressful workplaces. There isn’t always enough time to talk things through calmly.’

I decided to hold back from responding and just gave him a quizzical look.

‘I mean, places like this aren’t exactly famous for taking care of their staff when they get a bit — well, how can I put it? — overwrought.’

I went on looking at him in silence. It was obvious that it was starting to make him nervous.

‘But I’m really pleased you’re back on track, Björn. I just wanted you to know. Even the DG is pleased, he’s let us know how happy he is.’

He let out one of those exaggerated laughs, as if he was hoping I’d join in. I didn’t. His laughter died out. He looked round, leaned forward and said in a confidential tone, ‘Even the Minister is said to be pleased with our recent progress. You might manage to save all our jobs.’

He patted me on the shoulder and walked off.

I worked on the investigations in the room in the evenings and at night. I edited them during the day and found every part of the job as good as you might expect when it’s done by an expert. Inside the room I found a structure for the work. I regarded the investigator’s words as gospel, and through a process of elimination all that remained in the end was a clear and unambiguous decision. I found it easy.