Stieg Larsson, My Friend - Kurdo Baksi [32]
For Stieg it was a case of working until 5.00 or 6.00 in the morning, then falling asleep worn out. Only a few hours later he would start a new day by taking breakfast and reading a book and newspapers in a café. Then he would go first to the Svartvitt editorial office, then to Expo and embark on another packed working day.
The doctors I have spoken to point out that insomnia can be dangerous, especially if it persists for a long time. In Stieg’s case it probably lasted for the whole of his working life. They say it can be hereditary, but I have found nothing in Stieg’s past to suggest that this applies to his case. I asked Erland, his father, about it.
“No,” he said, “I sleep soundly at night and nobody else in the family has ever had any trouble getting to sleep.”
I met Erland on 19 March, 2001. It was in Umeå and the whole town was covered in snow. Later that evening I was due to give a lecture in Mimerskolan about the integration of youngsters with an immigrant background into Swedish society.
Quite a long time had passed since Stieg and I had begun to call each other big brother and kid brother. They had become our nicknames, even though we only used them when we were alone together. That was also how I had introduced myself to Erland when I’d phoned to arrange our meeting. “Stieg said that as I am his kid brother, I must have lunch with Dad.” Erland had had a good laugh at our absurd way of addressing each other.
The first thing that struck me when I met Erland was how amazingly young he looked. So it was not difficult to work out where Stieg had got that trait from. Erland was wearing a dark cardigan and a black shirt. It was easy to infer that he came from northern Sweden, not just because of his dialect but also because of a tendency to express himself in few words without unnecessary embellishment. His eyes also seemed to wander as he talked, something I took to be linked to the Norrland shyness of which I had become so fond.
The moment we finished our salad, Erland said, “Stieg ought to visit me more often. What’s he up to in Stockholm? He always sounds so stressed. It would be good if the three of us could meet some time.”
I immediately tried to explain what kept Stieg so busy. It was a long explanation, but Erland listened intently as we sat at our window table. What I really wanted to get across was how Stieg’s work was the very breath of life for him; it wasn’t a question of stress in the usual sense of the word. When Erland and I said our goodbyes, we decided that we would definitely arrange that lunch with Stieg. “Then it will be my turn to get the bill,” I insisted.
Stieg, Erland and I never did manage to have lunch together. The fact is that we only once met, the three of us, and that was in a Stockholm hospital. In order to write about that moment, so painful and inscribed for ever in my memory, I have needed to gather my strength for four and a half years. That was how long it took before I was able to start writing this book.
As I sit thinking about this, I find myself returning again and again to one particular thing. I think about Stieg and his fight to ensure that one day he would win the peace. When that day came, we used to say, he would finally be able to get a good night’s sleep.
8
The feminist compromise
For four years in succession, on International Women’s Day – 8 March – I have handed out a thousand roses to women in Sergels Torg in Stockholm. I have frequently felt a bit ambivalent about this celebration, initiated in 1910 by the German Communist and champion of women’s rights Clara Zetkin.