Karin Alvtegen - Shadow

To my family,
the very foundation

W hen you hear the tone ding-a-ling it means its time to turn the page. Now well begin.

The voice on the tape had changed. It almost sounded like aman now, although he knew it was a lady. Once again he openedthe Bambi book to the first page and listened to the story on thetape player. He knew it by heart. He had known it for a long time,but today hed listened so many times that the ladys voice wasbeginning to turn dark.

It had begun to grow dark around him as well; not as manymammas and pappas with kids and balloons were coming by anymore. He was hungry. The buns hed been given were all eaten upand the juice had made him want to pee, but she had told himthat he should stay here, so he didnt dare move. He was used towaiting. But he really had to pee now, and if she didnt come andcollect him soon he might wet himself. He didnt want Mamma toget that look. The one that made him hurt and sometimes madeher leave him alone in the dark. He put his hand on the sore spothed got yesterday when he didnt want to go with her. Her eyeshad turned so angry and shed told him he was being naughty. Andthen his back had hurt. She wanted to go to that house so often.First take the bus and then the long walk. Sometimes she stayedwith him out there, but sometimes she was gone for a long time,and he wasnt allowed to bother her. There was a strange house ofglass in the garden where it was rather fun to play, but not all thetime and never alone. There was a little shed with wood in it too,where he could carve things even though he wasnt allowed to playwith knives. Sometimes she took such a long time it got dark. Thenthe ghosts came creeping out, and the thieves. The knife in the woodshedwas his only protection. And the magic floorboard with thedark spot that looked like an eye. If he stood on it with the knifein his hand and sang Twinkle, twinkle, little star then they couldntget at him. Before, she used to say they were going to live in thathouse someday, not in the glass house or the one with the wood,but in the big one, and then he would have his own room. Everythingwould be all right then, she said.

He looked around. He was sitting at the top of a wide staircase,and behind him there was a pond with birds in it. For a momenthe wondered whether he dared leave his spot and walk up to havea look, but he remembered what hed been told and stayed rightwhere he was. The stone step began to feel cold. The voice on thetape player was speaking more slowly now. It almost sounded likeshe was falling asleep inside. Finally the button popped up and thevoice stopped altogether. He suddenly felt lonely. And soon hewouldnt be able to hold it any longer. He didnt know where therewas a toilet, and now he began to feel a little sad too. He didntwant to sit here any more. He had waited so long and now he hadto go and pee and after that he wanted to leave.

Hi.

He jumped at the sound of the voice. In front of him stood aman dressed in green. It looked like he was wearing a police uniformbut it was the wrong colour. There was writing on his chest just likea policemans shirt.

Whats your name then?

He didnt answer. Mamma had told him never to talk to strangers, and he lowered his eyes and stared hard at the stone step.

Were closing now, so its time for everyone to go home. Whereare your mamma and pappa?

The mans voice didnt sound angry. It sounded rather nice, buthe knew he wasnt allowed to answer. At the same time he couldntbe rude, and suddenly he didnt know what to do. Two big dropslanded at his feet, making dark spots on the stone. And then twomore.

Are you here with your mamma or pappa?

He shook his head slowly. That way he wouldnt have to talk.

So who are you here with?

He shrugged his shoulders.

Dont be sad. My name is Sven and Im the guard here atSkansen amusement park. Anybody who needs help in here cancome to me. If youve lost your parents or cant find your way orneed help.

It was quiet for a moment.

How old are you?

Cautiously he held out the fingers of his left hand, and with hisother hand he folded down his little finger and thumb.

Are you three??

He shook his head a little.

No, four.

He clapped his hand to his mouth. Now hed spoken to him.What if the old man told his mamma?

He sat in silence, his eyes fixed on the ground. Then he glancedat the man to see if he looked like somebody who would tell. Theman smiled at him.

If you want, you can come with me to the little house downthere where I work. We can wait there until they show up.

He had to pee so badly. Soon he was going to wet himself, andthen Mamma would be even angrier.

I need to pee.

The man nodded, still smiling.

The toilets are down there. You run along, and Ill watch yourthings. Do you see the door there?

He hesitated a moment before doing as he was told.

Sven Johansson waited on the steps, concerned as he watched thelittle boy running off towards the toilets. He had noticed him earlierthat afternoon, and now he was worried. When the boy disappearedinto the toilet, he squatted down and had a look at his belongings.A tape player, a Bambi book, a clear plastic bag with crumbs in it,and a small juice bottle with a yellow plastic top and a few dropsof juice left inside. He opened the book to see if the boys namewas written in it. A folded piece of paper fell to the ground. Witha sense of foreboding he unfolded it and his worst fears wereconfirmed. The brief message was written in a flowing script:

Take care of this child. Forgive me.

T he key to the flat had arrived in a padded envelope from the police. A brown-veneered door in an old-fashioned stairwell that had been gnawed by time. Gerda Persson had lain dead for three days by the time the home help discovered her body. After ninety-two years and a little more than three months she had filled her lungs one last time and turned into a memory. That was all Marianne knew. And since she was the one now standing outside the door of the flat, it was also clear that neither the police nor the home help had managed to find any relative who could take care of all the details required when a life came to an end. That was why the task had landed on Marianne Folkessons desk. A strangers key to an unknown life whose past shed been assigned to retrieve.

She had been in the neighbourhood before. The blocks were full of small flats, and many of their residents were in contact with Social Services care for the elderly. Sometimes, when one of them died, there was no one to contact. No one except the district commissions estate administrator, Marianne Folkesson.

She opened her bag and took out the thin plastic gloves, but left the mask. She never knew what awaited her behind these strangers doors, but out of respect for the deceased she tried to go in with an open mind. Sometimes the home was as neat as a dolls house, left to posterity in spotless condition, with meticulously cared-for possessions that no one would ever want. But sometimes among the belongings that filled the home of the deceased there was an inexplicable feeling of