I had always assumed that something was wrong with me. The classical therapy answer was that I ended up in the same situation again and again in order to relive my childhood. I had heard telly psychologists say this kind of thing to explain the phenomenon of the divorced wife of an alcoholic often finding another alcoholic to marry next. I had heard the men themselves say it. Those who play with fire will be burned by the fire. On the other hand I had never heard the blame put on the men. Nobody said that they were alcoholsoaked violent bastards who again and again hooked up with women and children even though aware they would probably end up harming them. 136

Because if the woman hadn’t come into their lives whatever it was wouldn’t have happened. If bror and I had not let ourselves be born father wouldn’t have had to beat us up. Mea culpa.

The last figure I shaped was mother. I had planned to do her in a brown coat with a hood but she became a child. The child stood in the naughtycorner with her hands covering her face as if playing it in hideandseek. One sock had slipped down. The heels on her shoes had worn unevenly.

I had never thought of mother as a child. I held her between my hands with a creator’s tenderness. Used a toothpick to make her hair look right. Clean and tidy I said. A nice girl must always be clean and tidy.

I saw mother for the last time when I left home. I had packed a case with as little as possible. A few changes of clothes drawing pencils and books I had bought with my own money.

I had been accepted by a school of art in stockholm. I didn’t want my luggage to hold any physical kippo reminders.

I didn’t even take mother’s packed lunch. She held it out like a peace offering.

From now on we will never meet again I said. But never mind you’ve got your parish work.

She had aged. Tears trickled from her elderlyeyes.

I hope that one day you can forgive me she said.

Scant chance I said and set out to walk to the efourbus.

137

TWENTYFIVE

I woke early the day after the funeral. The house was still silent. I wandered and opened the doors to all the rooms. Even checked the cellars but didn’t find bror.

Outside it was pouring with rain. I made myself a cup of coffee and listened to the news. Things had been happening. Portugal had won the European football championships.

Then I put on a raincoat and bror’s rubberboots. The rain was persistent but warm. Summer rain.