The Princess of Burundi - Kjell Eriksson [91]
“Just leave,” she hissed. “To think you have the nerve to come here with your dirty mouth.”
“I’ve talked to Mossa and Micke,” Lennart said calmly.
Berit threw a quick look over her shoulder. Justus was still there, frozen in place. There was something reminiscent of John in him.
“Go away. Please. We can talk later.”
“There’s not going to be a later,” Lennart said.
A quiet power struggle was going on between them. If only he had been drunk, she thought, it would have been easier. But Lennart looked unusually clearheaded. His cheeks were ruddy and there was no lingering smell of alcohol or sweat on him.
“What happened to your lip?”
“None of your business. We’re not here to talk about my lips,” he chuckled, pleased with his improvised joke.
Berit lowered her head and drew a deep breath.
“Lennart, for heaven’s sake, think of Justus. He has lost his father. He doesn’t need this now. It’s enough, we…”
She sobbed once.
“This is a fine time to cry. You should have thought of it before.”
Berit went over to Justus, put a hand on his shoulder, and looked him in the face.
“Justus, please go to your room. He’s either drunk or crazy. He’s talking bullshit. I don’t want you to have to hear this.”
“I live here too,” Justus said, without looking up.
“Of course you do,” Berit said. “But why don’t you let us alone for a minute.”
“What is he talking about?”
“I don’t know,” she said in a low voice.
“The hell you don’t!” Lennart shouted from the door. “Justus needs to hear a little about his mother. You go putting on some act like you’re the grieving widow and crying and shit. Who says you weren’t behind it?”
“That’s far enough. Even if you’ve gone stark raving mad, then think of your nephew. Justus, go to your room. I’ll take care of this.”
“I don’t want to,” Justus said.
“We’ll talk about this later. Go to your room and close the door,” Berit said in a firm voice and more or less forced him into his bedroom. Then she turned to Lennart.
“Who sent you here with this disgusting babble?”
“Dick, do you remember him? Sure you do, you probably remember his teeth.”
“Stop it!”
The anger made her voice rise an octave.
“Shut the door!” she shouted at Justus.
“You can’t scare me by screaming. There are people who say you had something to do with John’s death.”
She stared at him.
“Fucking idiot,” she hissed. “You goddamned fucking idiot.”
“Shove it up your ass.”
“First you tell me who is spreading these lies about me.”
“They aren’t lies. Micke told me.”
“Micke Andersson? I thought you knew me. And John,” she said.
“In the stillest waters,” he said, and she slapped him in the face.
“It’s time for you to go now.”
“Look here, bitch,” he said and grabbed her arm as Justus burst out of his room.
“Stop fighting!” he shouted. “Stop!”
Berit embraced her son but he freed himself. Anger convulsed his face, he sniffed and stared helplessly at her.
“Justus, don’t listen to him.”
“Suit yourself,” Lennart said derisively. “Mossa called you a whore and that’s a good name for you, the way you carried on with that neighbor of yours.”
“You mean Stellan? He’s gay! He hugs everyone. You know that, Justus. That’s just Stellan.”
“And what about Dick Lindström. You’ve been with him too, haven’t you? Did you like the way he bit you?”
“You are not in your right mind,” Berit said calmly. “You are a sick man living in a sick world.”
“Who’s Dick?” Justus asked.
“He’s a friend of John, someone Berit has been getting it on with. Going behind John’s back with.”
“He came on to me once, tried to feel me up, but I fought him off. You were here, for God’s sake. I was cooking in the kitchen, while the rest of you sat in here playing cards. I didn’t want to say anything because John would have tried to kill him.”
“So that’s your story now, is it?”
“There’s never been a different story. He tried to feel me up, he was disgusting. Do you really think I would…”
Berit didn’t finish the sentence.
“Don’t believe a word he says,” she told Justus. “He’s sick.”
“Don’t say stuff like that,” Lennart