He’s quite good handling a gun I said. A good cook too. He is kind to animals and a skilled carpenter. Above all he killed our father with a spade. And did some other great things that I can’t recall just now.

Bror smiled. Smiled broadly and then began to laugh. I burst out laughing too. Only he and I laughed. We struggled to stop. Nobody else seemed to get the joke. 214

Relatives were allowed to stay the night but I went back home. Bror was recovering and that was the main thing. At least he was showering regularly.

On the way home petra phoned.

Dad is unwell again she said. He sits in the kitchen and weeps. Are you there now I asked.

Yes. I don’t dare to leave him. He says he wants to die. Please can you come.

Does he want me to I asked.

I don’t know but I can’t handle this on my own.

Ten minutes later she phoned me again.

I’ve locked myself in the loo she said. Please hurry. He has lost it completely. Got into his head that I’m not me but my mum. Says he’ll kill me.

I heard him hammering on the door. And heard the things he was shouting.

Call the police if he doesn’t calm down. I’ll be there as soon as I can I said. The line was cut.

Ten minutes later I turned into the yard at eskilbrännström’s. Shut the car door and listened to get a hang of what was going on. From where I stood the house was silent.

I should have phoned the police and göranbäckström or someone else in the village but it was too late now. I couldn’t leave petra alone with him. It would be like mother who always abandoned us to father when he went out of control.

I needed a weapon. There was a spider wrench in the boot but I changed my mind. The heavy wrench meant too much blood. I couldn’t handle blood.

I picked up a chunk of birchwood from a basket of logs on the veranda. It would have to do. The door wasn’t locked. 215Behind the pane somebody moved. I pressed my ear to the glass.

Don’t you understand his voice said. The shame of it. They were my neighbours. Some even my friends. He hammered on the loo door. Petra said something from the other side of the door.

I cautiously pushed the front door open and looked through the gap. John was kneeling as if at prayer or waiting to be executed. His face was buried in his hands so he didn’t see me. I gripped the birchlog in one hand.

Dad petra began.

I’m not your father he roared.