The bell on the door rang every time a customer came in to buy stamps or something to give as a birthday present. In this jingling draught I went to sit with my folders at a café table next to the coffee machine. A worn looking old man was sitting opposite me slurping coffee into his toothless mouth. He smelled of my childhood. Katarina’s death hadn’t exactly made me grieve but sad thoughts were murmuring inside my head. He leaned forward and patted my hand. Looked at me through his opaque cataracteyes and blinked an elderly tear away.

It will get better he said. It takes time but it will get better.

The variety of coffins seemed endless. Simple plain ones in birch. Luxury coffins in handcarved walnut. I wondered what katarina herself would have chosen. Probably something inbetween. And it would look a bit obvious to pick one for seventytwothousand so I decided on one costing nineteenthousand instead. 90

The interior wasn’t up to much but it would only hold an urn and not a whole corpse. But the exterior was solid oak stained white and had goldplated handles. Great choice katarina said so loudly the old boy leaned forward again and asked what was that you said my dear. I showed him the picture of the coffin and he nodded.

A very decent coffin at an indecent price. I could have made one for you he said and examined his hands. They were twisted and bent by rheumatism. If only I wasn’t in such a bad way.

I went to get us another coffee each and opened the next folder. It was for choosing flower tributes and prices for funeralmeats and other catering. I chose a heartshaped arrangement of red roses that was to be placed on the coffin. Fredrik’s tender love must not go unnoticed. Also four floor decorations of white lilies and pale pink roses tied with black silk ribbons that contrasted the loveliness of spring with the saddening presence of impermanence.

But I hesitated about the catering. Presumably the most usual offering was coffee and cakes. But the fredrikname came back to mind. After the funeral he would leave the village forever. People would need something to remember him by.

I ticked items on the preprinted list. Sandwichlayercake with beer or wine. A display of assorted cakes to follow also a cream-gateau covered in white marzipan. Coffee and brandy. Free refill.

Nordin was humming approvingly. Good decisions he said. The bereavement of such a young person calls for dignity.

Yes I said. And her grieving husband.

Are there any particular hymns he asked. His hands were clasped in front his back slightly bent like a servant.

The Final Countdown I said. And perhaps The Show Must Go On. Is that gospel he wanted to know. I nodded. Something like that.

91

SIXTEEN

As i had promised I called in at ingelahansson’s on the way home.