Stieg Larsson, My Friend - Kurdo Baksi [14]
I couldn’t help laughing at such an optimistic prophesy, but Stieg merely brushed my laughter aside and continued.
“Now to the nitty-gritty. I want you to fund the printing and distribution of Expo. I’ll take care of the editorial side. Svartvitt’s editorial staff are experienced in administering and funding a magazine. My colleagues and I are good at research and journalism, but we don’t seem to be much good at anything else.”
I leaned back in my chair and wondered what on earth to say. I had thought we were going to have a cup of coffee and chat like we usually did. Now I found myself faced with a proposal to merge our journals.
I said nothing for quite a while. I agreed totally with Stieg that our publications had a lot in common. Unfortunately the financial state of both operations was also more similar than he seemed to realize. The National Council for Cultural Affairs had just cut Svartvitt’s grant to 30,000 kronor. I had been so angry that I had called it “pin money”, or so some cultural journalists had claimed. In order to make a point I had rejected the grant altogether. To make matters worse, we had just moved into larger premises in Pilgatan. You could hardly say that Svartvitt was in a fit state to take on new costs.
“I agree with you,” I said in the end. “Expo is too important to be allowed to collapse. I’m prepared to do my bit. But how will it be done, in practical terms? Shall we have two publishers and two editors-in-chief?”
“I thought Expo’s pages should be yellow instead of white. We’ll design and produce between twelve and twenty-four pages. You’ll pay for the printing and distribution. You can be editorin-chief of both Svartvitt and Expo. Somebody from Expo can be the publisher. That way you can escape being taken to court all the time.”
We both laughed at that. Stieg continued talking. He seemed to be in an exalted state now, gesticulating more and more wildly, with increasing confidence. I had swallowed the bait, and he knew it.
“Behind closed doors I will be the editor, but I don’t want my name linked publicly with the job.”
“As usual, in other words,” I said.
“Expo and Svartvitt will be two independent and equal journals. None of us will have the right to interfere in the editorial work of the other. Is that sufficiently clear?”
“How long have you been thinking about this?”
He smiled and shrugged.
“Maybe I just thought it up.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” I said. “But I have a few questions, Stieg. How come Expo writes so much about equality, but behaves like a men’s club? How can an anti-racist journal find it so difficult to recruit staff with an immigrant background?”
“I agree. We lack credibility in that respect. We must do something about it immediately.”
“O.K.,” I said. “Those are my only objections. We can publish our journals jointly – let’s say until the next election. Then we’ll have to take stock and decide if we should continue. But before we shake hands on it, I want to propose a better deal than the one you offered me. We’ll pay for printing and distribution. Can you pay the rent? If we make a profit, which I don’t suppose we shall, we’ll share the profits. If we run at a loss, I’ll be responsible for the entire amount.”
When we shook hands Stieg smiled more broadly than I had ever seen him do before. Although in fact he seemed more relieved than happy. It was as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Perhaps he wasn’t convinced that he had saved Expo, but he was pretty sure that he had bought enough time to ride out the storm.
“On Monday,” I said, raising my coffee cup as if in a toast, “I’ll arrange for a contract to be drawn up that both parties can sign. We can’t have any misunderstandings just because you and I are such good friends.”
He looked hard at me, then rolled another cigarette and lifted a yellow lighter with his left