Part 59 (1/2)
”Hi. My name is Bertil Svanberg and I am, as you may know, the princ.i.p.al of the school that you . . .”
He hung up. The phone rang again. Oskar stood there for a while, looking at the ringing phone, imagining the princ.i.p.al sitting in his checkered sport coat, fingers drumming on the desk, making faces. Then he put his clothes on and went down into the bas.e.m.e.nt. Picked at the puzzles, poked at the little white wooden box where the thousand pieces of the gold egg glittered. Eli had only taken a couple of thousand and the Cube. He closed the lid of the puzzle box, opened the other, mixed up the rustling bank notes with his hand. Took a fistful of them, threw them on the ground. Pushed them down into his pockets. Took them out one by one, played ”The Boy with the Gold Pants” until he grew tired of it. Twelve wrinkled thousand kronor and seven hundred kronor bills lay at his feet.
He gathered up the thousand kronor notes into a pile and folded them up. Put the hundred kronor notes back, closed the box. Walked up into the apartment, found an envelope that he stuffed the money into. Sat with the envelope in his hand and wondered what he should do. Didn't want to write, someone could recognize his handwriting.
The phone rang.
Stop it. Understand that I don't exist anymore.
Someone wanted to have a long talk with him. Someone wanted to ask him if he realized the gravity of what he had done, which he did. As did Jonny and Tomas probably. Quite well, in fact. Nothing more to talk about.
He walked over to his desk and took out his rubber letters and ink set. In the middle of the envelope he stamped a'T' and an 'O.' The first 'M' went askew, but the second one was straight, like the 'Y.'
When he opened the door to Tommy's building with the envelope in his coat pocket he was more nervous than he had been at his school the night before. His heart thumping, he gingerly eased the envelope through the mail slot in Tommy's door so no one would come to the door or catch sight of him through the window.
But no one came and when Oskar was back in his apartment he felt a little better. For a while. Then it sneaked up on him again.
I won't.. . be here.
At three o'clock his mom came home, several hours earlier than usual. At that point Oskar was sitting in the living room with the Vikings'
alb.u.m. She walked into the room, lifted the needle, and turned off the record player. By her face he sensed that she knew.
”How are things with you?”
”Not so good.”
”No ...”
She sighed, sat down on the couch.
”The princ.i.p.al called me. At work. He told me that... there was a fire there last night. At your school.”
”Really. Did it burn to the ground?”
”No, but...”
She closed her mouth, her gaze getting stuck in the hooked rug for a few seconds. Then she lifted her eyes and met his.
”Oskar. Was it you?”
He looked straight back at her and said: ”No.”
Pause.
”No. It's just that it seems that although much of the cla.s.sroom was destroyed, that... that Jonny's and Tomas' desks ... that it was there it had started.”
”Oh.”
”And they were apparently quite sure that... that it was you.”
”But it wasn't.”
His mom sat on the couch, breathing through her nose. They sat a meter apart, an endless distance.
”They want to ... talk to you.”
”I don't want to talk to them.”
It was going to be a long evening. There was nothing good on TV.
That night Oskar couldn't sleep. He got up out of bed, tiptoed to the window. He thought he saw something in the jungle gym down on the playground. But it was just his imagination, of course. Nonetheless he continued to stare at the shadow down there until his eyelids grew heavy. When he got back into bed he still couldn't sleep. He gently tapped on the wall. No answer. Just the dry sound of his own fingertips, knuckles against the concrete, knocking on a door that was closed forever.
THURSDAY.
12 NOVEMBER.
Oskar threw up in the morning and was allowed to stay home another day. Despite the fact that he had only slept a few hours the night before he was unable to rest. There was a gnawing anxiety in his body that forced him around the apartment. He picked things up, looked at them, put them back.
It was as if there was something he had to do. Something absolutely necessary, but he simply couldn't think of what it was.
At the time he had thought he was doing it it while he set fire to Jonny's and Tomas' desks. Then he had thought while he set fire to Jonny's and Tomas' desks. Then he had thought it it was giving the money to Tommy. But that wasn't was giving the money to Tommy. But that wasn't it. it. It was something else. It was something else.
A great theater performance that was now over. He paced back and forth on the emptied, darkened stage and swept up that which had been left behind. When it was something else....
But what?
When the mail arrived at eleven there was only a single letter. His heart made a somersault in his chest as he picked it up, turned it over. It was addressed to his mom. ”South Angby School District” was printed in the upper right-hand corner. Without opening it he ripped it into pieces and flushed them down the toilet. Regretted it. Too late. He didn't care what was written written in it, but there would be even in it, but there would be even more more trouble if he started messing around with this, than if he just let it be. But it didn't matter. trouble if he started messing around with this, than if he just let it be. But it didn't matter.
He undressed, put on his bathrobe. Stood in front of the mirror in the hall, studied himself. Pretended he was someone else. Leaned over to kiss the gla.s.s. At the same time that his lips met the cold surface the phone rang. Without thinking he lifted the receiver. ”Hi. It's me.”
”Oskar?” ”Yes.”
”Hi. Fernando here.” ”What?”
”Avila. Mr. Avila.” ”Oh. Yeah. Hi.”
”I just wanted to ask ... are you coming to the training tonight?” ”I'm ... a bit sick.”
Silence on the other end. Oskar could hear Mr. Avila's breaths. One. Two. Then ”Oskar. If you did. Or did not. I do not care about this. If you want to talk; we talk. If you do not want to talk; we don't. But I want you to come to the training.” ”Why?”
”Because Oskar, you cannot sit like caracol, caracol, how do you say... the snail. In the sh.e.l.l. If you aren't sick, you will get sick. Are you sick?” ”... Yes.” how do you say... the snail. In the sh.e.l.l. If you aren't sick, you will get sick. Are you sick?” ”... Yes.”
”Then you need physical fitness training. You will come tonight.” ”What about the others?”
”The others? What are the others? If they are stupid I will say boo, they stop. But they are not stupid. This is training.” Oskar didn't reply. ”OK?