Red Wolf_ A Novel - Liza Marklund [76]
‘Do we have to go down to the canteen?’ she said, looking round, suspicious of the newfound warmth.
Berit hung up her coat on a hanger, brushing the garment’s shoulders with her hand.
‘We could go out if you like, but I did go past the Seven Rats, and it looked pretty empty. They’ve got stir-fried chicken with cashew nuts downstairs.’
Annika bit the nail of her left index finger, considering the offer, then nodded.
‘What have you been out doing?’ she asked as they went down the stairs.
‘Rumours about a government reshuffle,’ Berit said, puffing her hair where it had been squashed by her hat. ‘The Prime Minister hasn’t got long before the EU elections, and if he’s going to rearrange his ministers he has to do it now.’
‘And? Who’s likely to go this time?’ Annika said, picking up an orange plastic tray in the canteen.
‘Well, Björnlund, for a start,’ Berit said. ‘She’s the worst Culture Minister we’ve ever had. She hasn’t come up with a single proposal in nine years. There are rumours that Christer Lundgren is on his way back from exile at Swedish Steel in Luleå.’ Berit opened a bottle of low-alcohol beer.
‘Really?’
‘Well, he never left the management committee, so a ministerial post was probably always in the pipeline.’
Annika nodded. Several years ago she had told Berit her thoughts about Christer Lundgren’s resignation, showing her the documents and travel receipts that proved that the Trade Minister hadn’t even been in Stockholm the night Josefin Liljeberg was killed. He had been meeting someone in Tallinn in Estonia, a meeting that was so controversial that he would rather accept a murder charge than reveal who he had met. There was only one explanation, Annika and Berit had agreed: Christer Lundgren was sacrificing himself for his party. Who he met in Tallinn and what they discussed could never be revealed. And she had told Karina Björnlund.
She had made the mistake of trying to get a comment from Christer Lundgren by telling the whole story to his press secretary. She never got a reply. Instead, Karina Björnlund had suddenly become a cabinet minister.
‘My stupid question paved the way for our Minister of Culture,’ Annika said.
‘Probably,’ Berit said.
‘Which means that it’s really my fault that Sweden’s got such useless cultural policies, doesn’t it?’
‘Quite right,’ Berit said. ‘What did you really want to see me about?’ Berit leaned back in her seat.
‘I’m after your past,’ Annika said. ‘What was the 9 April Declaration?’
Berit chewed a mouthful of food, a thoughtful look in her eyes, then shook her head. ‘Nope, no idea. Why do you ask?’
Annika drank the last of her water.
‘I saw it in the caption to a picture on the net, some lads in the sixties who were going to mobilize the masses in the name of Chairman Mao.’
Berit stopped chewing and stared at her. ‘Sounds like the Uppsala Rebels.’ She put down her knife and fork, ran her tongue over her teeth, and nodded to herself. ‘Yes, that fits,’ she said. ‘They made some sort of declaration in the spring of sixty-eight. I can’t swear that it was April ninth, but they were certainly extremely active that spring.’
She laughed and shook her head, then picked up her knife and fork again and went on eating.
‘What?’ Annika said. ‘Tell me!’
Berit sighed and smiled. ‘I told you how they would phone and make threats to us at the Vietnam Bulletin?’ she said. ‘The Uppsala Rebels were proper little idiots. Every day they held marathon meetings, in various locations. They would start at one in the afternoon and carry on till long after midnight. A friend of mine went along once, said there was very little politics involved – he described it as more of a hallelujah orgy.’
‘A revivalist meeting?’
Berit took another mouthful, some water, and swallowed.
‘That’s what they reminded some people of, yes. Everyone who attended was a committed Maoist. They stood up one by one and bore witness to the way Mao’s thoughts had been like a spiritual atom bomb for them. After every speaker there was wild applause.