Red Wolf_ A Novel - Liza Marklund [55]
That was where he belonged, his spiritual home, where he had discovered all that was inadequate and evasive in the great tented meetings and grinding services of Læstadianism. This was where he encountered the Master’s words for the first time: People of the world, unite and defeat the American aggressors and all their lackeys. People of the world, be courageous, and dare to fight, defy difficulties and advance wave upon wave. Then the whole world will belong to the people. Monsters of all kinds shall be destroyed.
He shut his eyes and it was suddenly dark around him and within him. It was late at night again, as it had been before, windswept and cold, he was a lone island in the night sea, standing between ecstasy and the applause rolling out through one of the modern building’s misted windows. Mao’s words were like fireflies in the darkness, recited by trembling young voices and received euphorically, without any trace of doubt: The Chinese and Japanese peoples should unite, the people of various Asian nations should unite, all oppressed people and nations of the world should unite, all peace-loving countries should unite, all countries and individuals subject to US imperial aggression, control, intervention or bullying should unite and form a broad united front against US imperialism to frustrate its plans for aggression and war and to defend world peace.
Soon afterwards they came out – sweaty, pumped up, happy, satisfied, and he went up to them and they saw him. People saw him, they asked him if he was a true revolutionary and he said yes, people of the world, unite and defeat the American aggressors and all their lackeys. And they slapped him on the back and said, tomorrow, comrade, Laboremus, seven o’clock, and he nodded and was left standing there with a new fire in his soul. The landing strip of life suddenly lit up beneath him and he knew it was time to go down.
He opened his eyes with a sigh. It had got dark, and he was tired. He would soon have to take his medicine again. It was quite a way to the motel he had booked into, and he had to find the right bus again. Anonymous rooms in a large establishment, never taxis.
He walked back towards the central station, one hand on his stomach and the other hanging by his side.
Aware that he was an almost invisible man.
Monday 16 November
21
The clouds had gathered overnight. Annika stepped out of the door holding her children’s hands, cowering beneath a sky that lay heavy as lead above the rooftops. She shuddered, hunching her shoulders against the cold.
‘Do we have to walk, Mummy? Can’t we get the bus? We always get the bus with Daddy.’
They took bus number forty the two stops from Scheelegatan to Fleminggatan. After a painless dropoff she re-emerged onto the street, her heart and mind empty. She had planned to walk to the paper but she was tired and couldn’t be bothered to splash through the miserable slush all the way to Marieberg, so she boarded another bus. She got her usual two cups of coffee before going into her room, closing the door carefully behind, then discovered that the machine must be broken: the drinks were no more than lukewarm.
Without any fuss she wrote a focused and straightforward article about the attack on F21, using previously known facts and the new information from the police about the suspects: the potential terrorist who went under the name Ragnwald and his little comrade.
She read the text grumpily, the lack of caffeine throbbing dully in her head. It was thin, but that couldn’t be helped. Schyman wanted hard facts, not a poetic description of a time that had once existed