The Princess of Burundi - Kjell Eriksson [2]
“If I hadn’t had them, it would all have gone to hell,” John had said once.
It was only when he was getting regular work at the factory that he started to move away from life on the streets and the gangs. Regular work, a new sense of being appreciated, decent wages, and then Berit.
Lennart delivered groceries by day and hung out at the pool hall in Sivia at night. John was there too. He was the better player of the two, though that hardly bothered Lennart, who spent most of his time on the flipper machines down below.
That was where Berit met them. She had come with a girl named Anna-Lena, who was in love with a boy who frequented the place.
She fell in love with John at first sight. He snuck around the pool table with the cue in his hand and played with intense concentration, something that appealed to Berit. He rarely said anything.
His hands were slender. She studied his fingers splayed on the green mat, his gaze focused along the stick, serious. It was the seriousness she noticed. And eyelashes. His gaze, the intense gaze.
She wasn’t sure what made her start thinking about the pool hall. It had been years since she had been there. It was probably because she had been thinking about Brother Tuck, and about how John was probably with him. She didn’t want to call. They were probably drinking. Sometimes John felt he had to have a real session with Lennart. It didn’t happen very often nowadays, but when his mind was made up nothing could stop him. Not even Justus. The boy knew it, knew his father deep under the skin, and his protests were never particularly loud or long-lived.
Once, when Justus was about twelve, John let himself be talked out of it and came home. Justus had called his uncle himself and demanded to speak to his father. Berit was not allowed to listen; Justus had locked himself in the bathroom with the portable phone. John came home after half an hour. Staggering, but he came home.
It was as if these occasional evenings with his brother functioned as a temporary return to his former existence. These drinking sessions kept the brothers close. Berit had no idea what they talked about. Old times, their childhood in Almtuna, or something else?
They didn’t have much common ground. They cleaved to each other because of their shared past. Berit sometimes felt something akin to jealousy when confronted with this world that was largely foreign to her. Their childhood, the early years, appeared to be the only source of joy when they were talking. Even Lennart’s voice, normally void of emotion, grew warm.
And Berit stood outside all of this. Her life with John didn’t count, or so it seemed to her. She entered his life when everything turned, when his childhood reached a definitive end. She wasn’t there in the early, light-filled days, the happy years that would be remembered and retold.
“When is he coming?”
“Soon,” she replied, shouting.
She was grateful that Justus was in his bedroom.
“He’s probably clearing snow somewhere. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
She expected him to say something else, but he didn’t. She wanted to hear his voice, but he didn’t say anything. What is he doing, thinking? Did she dare leave the kitchen and go to his room? But the half-darkness of the kitchen was all she could handle. No light, no quick flickering characters on a computer screen, no questioning looks from Justus.
“Maybe you can help Harry,” she shouted. “Make a little extra.”
No response.
“He’ll probably need some help with the basement stairs.”
“I don’t give a shit about his snow.”
Justus had suddenly reappeared in the doorway.
“It’s not just his snow,” Berit