_There Are Things I Want You to Know_ About Stieg Larsson and Me - Eva Gabrielsson [36]
So: Stieg had decided that what now came first was us, as a couple. That’s why he planned to have the money from the first three novels go toward improving our living situation, the first step of which was to pay off the 440,000 kronor ($64,500) debt remaining on our mortgage. Then we’d agreed to donate the proceeds from the fourth novel to Expo, to put the magazine on a solid financial footing and assure its continued publication. The income from the fifth book would be invested in the establishment of safe houses for women victims of violence. As for the other books, there was plenty of time to think about that.
Our absolute dream, as I’ve already said, was to have—at long last—our own cabin on an island. This would be “our little writing cottage,” as we called it, where we’d go regularly to work. And thanks to the publication of the trilogy, this dream was going to come true. To us, this cottage was more than a hideaway; most of all, it was the symbol of a new life. Our chief requirements were modest. Stieg wanted it to be near a cafe and a place that sold newspapers. I wanted a cabin that was soundly built and easy to maintain. The single thing we both wanted was two wooden settees. Why? At home, the battle for the single one in the living room was escalating into silliness. We could both stretch out on it by facing each other at opposite ends, but as soon as one of us got up, the other would spread out or, even worse, snag the coveted spot over by the corner of the wall. Aside from this most vital detail, we wanted our cabin to be gray, not red in the Swedish style, and the slanting roof was to be covered in sedum, a plant of the Crassulaceae family. Sometimes called stonecrops, these flowering succulents are known especially for their fat, stubby leaves, which provide protection from both heat and cold. I also wanted to use new construction techniques, such as a compact, insulated rubber floor for the bathroom. We daydreamed for weeks about our paradise, drawing pictures of it while we were apart and then comparing our sketches on weekends.
At the same time, we were also looking for the right piece of property. And later, in the autumn, I would prepare a computer rendition of the final sketch and floor plan for our cabin. (By that time, I’d managed to fit in our two famous settees and even a little corner for overnight guests, so in October I sent the computer proposal to a factory specializing in the construction of “green” houses with a request for a cost estimate.)
The last summer with Stieg was completely different from all the others. Of course, Stieg was very tired, and no wonder: in addition to readying the first volume of the trilogy for publication with Norstedts, he’d been continuing his work at Expo and still giving lectures. In June, for example, he’d gone to Paris with a Swedish delegation sent by the Ministry of Justice to a conference on hate crimes and the Internet, organized by the OSCE (Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe). But now that we had some time to spare, it seemed important to “make the rounds” of our friends. (And after Stieg’s death, how thankful we were, our friends and I, that we hadn’t postponed our tour until the following year.)
Transformed into a walking travel agency, I busied myself with the itinerary and with organizing our transportation and lodgings. My sister Britt accompanied us to Scania, the province on the southern tip of the Scandinavian Peninsula, as well as to Gothenburg and the scenic Koster Islands off the west coast of Sweden. It was on this trip that I realized how tired Stieg actually was. When Britt and I would go off for a walk, for example, instead of going with us as usual he would remain at the hotel, reading the papers. I wasn’t particularly alarmed, though. For his fiftieth birthday, which we’d recently