The Princess of Burundi - Kjell Eriksson [51]
There were those who said that Aina and Albin had never fully recovered from losing their daughter. Some even hinted that Albin had taken his own life when he slid off the roof of the Skytteanum that day in April in the early 1970s. Others, especially his fellow workers, maintained that he had been sloppy with the safety ropes and hadn’t managed to compensate by gaining a foothold on the slippery roof.
Albin would never have committed suicide, and even if he had entertained the crazy idea it would never have happened during his work hours, on a roof. But the uncertainty hovered over the family like a cloud.
“I haven’t talked so much with her,” Lennart admitted. He got up and Micke thought he was getting himself another beer but instead he walked over to the window.
“Did you watch him as he was leaving? Did you happen to look out the window, or something?”
“No,” Micke said. “I stayed on the couch. Jeopardy was on.”
“Do you remember Teodor?”
“You mean Teodor from when we were little? Of course.”
“I think of him sometimes. He took care of me and John after Dad died. He put us to work.”
“Do you remember when we played marbles?” Micke smiled. “He was phenomenal.”
“John was his favorite.”
“He looked out for all of us.”
“But especially John.”
“That’s because he was the youngest,” Micke said.
“Just think if our teachers had been like Teodor.”
Clearly, the loss of his little brother was causing Lennart to look back at his Almtuna childhood, and there was no better person than Micke to relive it with. Micke understood Lennart’s need to access these comforting memories of early childhood. He didn’t have anything against it himself either, reveries of the busy playgrounds, the games, bandy matches on Fålhagen ice rinks, and track-and-field practice on Österängen.
It was the life they’d been given, that’s how Micke felt, and he thought it was even more true for Lennart. After those early childhood days, all hell had broken loose, starting with their attendance at Vaksala High School.
Lennart had been placed in a remedial class because he had “trouble following standard instruction,” and thus he fell into the hands of Stone Face, whose instruction was not particularly hard to follow since it consisted mainly of playing table tennis. Lennart was good at Ping-Pong from all the matches with Teodor in the boiler room. So good that he creamed Stone Face in match after match.
But where Teodor had figured as a portal to an adult life with as full a register of emotions as the sentimental janitor could muster, Stone Face was merciless about drumming his particular brand of life knowledge into his pupils.
Lennart would have none of it. He cut class, or hit back. From ninth grade on he was absent more and more, which had resulted in his poor reading and writing abilities. He knew nothing of history, math made him uncontrollably enraged, and he even cut shop classes.
The alternatives for Lennart were the pool hall in Sivia, Lucullus restaurant—which made the town’s first pizzas—and Kullen. He stole to survive, in order to finance his pool and pinball habit, to buy cigarettes and soda. He stole to impress, and fought in order to frighten others. If he couldn’t be loved he would be feared, he seemed to reason.
He didn’t accuse anyone, or direct blame at others, but inside he hated his teachers and the rest of the adults. At home, Albin stuttered out his admonitions. Aina became nervous and could oftentimes not take care of herself, let alone her difficult son. Aina found comfort in her youngest, John, whom she nonetheless saw being dragged into his older brother’s increasingly wild escapades.
“John was a good guy,” Micke said. He heard how inadequate it sounded, how flat.
“There’s one thing I’ve been wondering,” Lennart said and sat down at the table again. “Did John have another woman?”
Micke looked at him in disbelief.
“What are you saying? That he was fooling around on the side?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he said something to you.”
“No, I never heard him talking about another girl. You