Watching You(72)

‘“Good luck.” So she’s pretty far gone?’

‘Let’s just say that you need a bit of patience to reach the moment of clarity,’ Mia Arvidsson said, opening the door wide. ‘But you need to be ready for it when it comes.’

The old lady was sitting in a rocking chair, and she wasn’t particularly old, just distant. They waited until the carer had gone. Berger introduced himself and Blom with imaginative names. He sat down on an armchair in front of the woman, while Blom stayed standing by the wall, her arms folded sceptically across her chest.

Afterwards Berger found himself fascinated by the creative potential of language once all barriers had been removed. He understood the words the old woman said, but their context remained obscure. The tragic thing was that she was no older than sixty-six, her name was Alicia Anger, she was William Larsson’s mother’s sister, and suffered badly from what Berger assumed was Alzheimer’s.

He tried again: ‘Did you have any contact with your sister Stina when she was pregnant? Almost forty years ago now?’

‘The second breath always beat grey grains of truth for little Adelia. The nice sister, the one with a beard, says the archivists eat ants’ eggs. Every quarter. You too, Gundersen, not least you.’

‘Gundersen?’

‘You too. With your Valkyrie’s legs. The ones you fly with. You were courageous in battle, but not in life. Like Anger.’

‘Anger, your husband?’

‘He ran away. Away from me. I kept his name to make mischief. I think it killed him.’

And suddenly the sentences held together. Was the moment of clarity on its way?

‘Do you remember when your sister Stina had a big tummy?’

‘We don’t have children in our family.’

Berger fell silent for a moment and considered the nuances behind that sentence. Then he went on: ‘William was the exception, wasn’t he?’

‘Poor William,’ Alicia Anger said, as she stopped rocking and found solid ground in the late seventies. ‘He was the best argument for why the Larsson family shouldn’t have children. And you ran when you saw him …’

‘I ran?’

‘You know you did. You ran before you even saw him.’

‘Didn’t I ever see my son?’ Berger gambled.

‘If you had, you would have died. His face …’

‘When did you last see me?’

‘Now you’re being cheeky. I’ve never met you.’

‘But Stina talked about me?’

‘Maybe not talked. Vomited. Spewed.’

‘What did she spew? That I was courageous in battle, but not in life?’

‘I realised that for myself, thank you very much. You scum.’

Scum, Berger thought, feeling his heart pounding.

‘What does “battle” mean, Alicia?’

‘You were a warrior, and I’ve heard that warriors often suppress the fact that they are warriors.’

‘Where was I a warrior?’

‘For money, you scum.’

‘Where? Do you know where, Alicia?’

‘I don’t know. Some ruddy Arab country.’

‘In the mid-seventies. Lebanon?’

‘Shut up, you bastard.’

‘And what’s the rest of my name, apart from Gundersen?’

‘Don’t you know? Nils. The way she used to bang on about that bloody name as soon as she got a drink inside her. The few times she was sober she tried to forget it.’

‘I was blonder in those days, wasn’t I, Alicia?’

‘White blond. And you just walked out. How the hell could you just walk out?’

‘I went on fighting. Did I come back?’

‘The first Valkyrie sings the sweetest. Sk?gul, the one who filled Odin’s horn with mead. Hrist, Mist, Hildr, G?ndul. God, they could fight, those women. So, Se?or Cortado, have you ever heard about the red girl?’

‘No,’ Berger said, almost speechless.

‘Ulster, Ireland. Ingen ruaidh. Led a gang of Vikings in the tenth century. Much feared. Don’t say anything to the bearded lady, but I’m the red girl. Call me Ingen.’

‘Do you know if William ever met his father?’

‘From time to time the cockerels crowed, Nils. Your blood curdled.’

When Berger shut the door on the red girl, alias Alicia Anger, the rocking chair was moving again. He met Blom’s gaze. They stood there for a moment, reaching for words. It was as if language was barely possible any more.

In the end Berger managed to say: ‘What do you think?’

‘Very hard to say,’ Blom said. ‘It could be nothing but senile nonsense. But it’s probably worth checking if there’s a blond mercenary by the name of Nils Gundersen. How did you find her?’

‘She was on the edge of William’s family tree on your whiteboard. You were the one who found her.’

Blom pulled a grim face and set off down the stairs. Berger lingered and watched her go. That oddly energetic stride. He saw her reach the window at the turn in the stairs. He saw her stop abruptly and draw back from the window. He saw her look up at him and beckon him closer.

It was a big window, facing the road. He stood close beside her as she pointed up Lupinstigen. He had noted of all the parked cars when they entered Vendels?g?rden Care Home. Something had changed. There was a new car parked across the street, a graphite-coloured Volvo. It was raining again, pouring, and no matter how Berger tried he couldn’t see if there were one or two people sitting in the front. He looked at their Mercedes Vito, which was parked right in front of the home, just a dozen metres from the Volvo. They’d never be able to reach it without being seen.