He looked sad. I felt sad. Wanted to touch him. Scratch at the driedup scab on his cut forehead. Cut logs at his side. Lie on his arm in bed and just chat. But it was not possible. I couldn’t live with a ticking timebomb. I owed myself a decent ordinary life. 204

Thank you for the wood. I said. Say hello to diana from me. I have no idea what I should write in a letter to her. It was all too late anyway.

Our goodbye was friendly. We hugged. I went from window to window following him with my eyes until he disappeared out of sight. Work had bent his body. He clenched his fists now and then as he walked downhill.

205

THIRTYSIX

A dance band would be playing in the rotunda in the evening. I had promised to go out with a few people from work who went dancing every second Saturday. It was to be my strategic start to an ordinary life.

Their tradition for an evening out was to meet up at jeanette’s for drinks and pizza. The drink was hooch mixed with lingonberryjuice and the pizzas came from the pizzaturk. His proper name was papparastapopoulos at least if one was to believe the huge neon sign that covered the front of his shop. Because no one could pronounce it he was known as the pizzaturk or just the turk. It mattered not at all to smalångerfolk that he was greek.

I dropped by in the jeep and ordered a few different pizzas. Papparastapopoulos or pappa for short swung the dough above his head like a juggler and made an attempt at small talk.

I haven’t seen you here before. Have you just moved here he asked.

Not exactly I said. But I haven’t been living here for quite a long time. I came back a while ago.

You remind me of somebody he said. I told him that my brother was one of his customers.

He snapped his fingers. That’s the one. Bror. How is he. I hope he’s still alive.

Yes he’s alive I said. I guess he must’ve gone off pizza for a bit. 206

Pizzapappa leaned across the counter and gestured at me to come closer. I held my breath. Just a habit of mine and not because he smelled badly. The skin of his cheeks was covered in pale prickly stubble. He reminded me of the dalton brothers.

Your brother owes me money he said. Quite a lot of money even.

He pulled a notebook out of a drawer and leafed through his entries of how much smalångerfolk owed him for pizzas. He found bror’s name and keyed the sums into his calculator. It took him a while.

Onethousandfourhundredandninety kronor he said and turned the calculator so I could check.

Right I said. You had better call him.

Isn’t it better that you pay me right now.

Better for whom.