* * *
She leaves him. Closes the door behind her. Doesn’t take the business card.
* * *
Maggan Lyt is still on her feet, too proud to back down now. She turns to the board and demands:
“I think we should have an open vote.”
The club’s president addresses the whole meeting:
“Well, I feel obliged to point out that according to the statutes, it is within the rights of anyone here to demand a secret ballot . . .”
He realizes too late that this is precisely what Maggan is after. She turns to the room and asks:
“I see. Is there anyone in here who isn’t prepared to stand by their opinion? Who can’t look the rest of us in the eye and say what they think? By all means, stand up and ask to be allowed to vote anonymously!”
No one moves. Peter turns and leaves. He could have stayed to defend himself, but he chooses not to.
* * *
Amat puts his headphones in his ears. Walks through his own neighborhood, and the rest of the town. Passes his whole childhood, a whole life. There will always be people who won’t understand his decision. Who will call him weak or dishonest or disloyal. They are probably people who live secure lives, who are surrounded by people who share their own opinions and only talk to people who reinforce their own worldview. It’s easy for them to judge him—it’s always easier to lecture other people about morality when you’ve never had to answer for anything yourself.
He goes to the rink. Joins his teammates. He may have left his war-torn country before he could talk, but he has never stopped being a refugee. Hockey is the only thing that has ever made him feel like part of a group. Normal. Good at something.
William Lyt slaps him on the back. Amat looks him in the eye.
* * *
Ramona is standing in the hallway, waiting for Peter. Leaning on a stick, smelling of whisky. It’s the first time in a decade that he’s seen her more than five paces outside the Bearskin. She grunts at him.
“They’ll feel ashamed, in the end. One day they’ll remember that when the word of a boy was set against that of a girl, they believed the boy blindly. And then they’ll feel ashamed.”
Peter pats her on the shoulder.
“No one’s asking . . . no one . . . You don’t have to get involved in this just for my family’s sake, Ramona,” he whispers.
“And you can fuck off if you’re going to tell me what I can and can’t do, boy.”
He nods, kisses her cheek, and leaves. He’s reached his car by the time she opens the door to the cafeteria with her stick. One of the men on the board, dressed in a suit, is just loosening his tie and says, possibly as a joke, possibly not:
“How on earth could it have happened anyway? Has anyone asked themselves that? Have you seen the jeans those young women wear these days? Tight as snakeskin! They can hardly take them off themselves, so what chance would a teenage boy have if she didn’t want him to? Eh?”
He laughs at his own wit, a few others join in, but the bang when the door flies open silences the whole room as everyone turns around. Ramona is standing there, drunk and furious, pointing at him with her stick:
“Really, little Lennart? That’s what you’re wondering? Shall we have a bet—your annual salary, perhaps?—that I could get that whole suit off you against your will without a single bugger in here doing a damn thing about it?”
She slams her stick down in drunken rage on the back of a chair, making the perfectly innocent man sitting on it gasp for breath and clutch his chest. Ramona shakes her stick at them all.
“This isn’t my town. You’re not my town. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”
One man stands up and shouts:
“Shut up, Ramona! You don’t know anything about this!”
Three men in black jackets step silently out of the shadows by the wall, one of them takes several strides across the room, stops in front of the man, and says:
“If you tell her to shut up again, I’ll shut you up. For good.”
* * *
Amat stands outside the rink, looking his teammates in the eyes. Then he takes a deep breath, turns away from them, and starts walking. His first step is hesitant, the second more confident. He hears Lyt start shouting behind him, but carries on into the rink, not bothering to close the door behind him. He walks past the ice, up the stairs, into the cafeteria, forcing his way between the rows of chairs, stops in front of the board, and looks each and every man and woman in there in the eye. A man named Erdahl first of all, and longest of all.
“My name is Amat. I saw what Kevin did to Maya. I was drunk, I’m in love with her, and I’m telling you that straight so that you lying bastards don’t have to say it behind my back when I walk out of here. Kevin Erdahl raped Maya Andersson. I’m going to go to the police tomorrow, and they’ll say I’m not a reliable witness. But I’m going to tell you everything now, everything that Kevin did, everything that I saw. And you won’t ever forget it. You know that my eyes work better than anyone else’s in here. Because that’s the first thing you learn on the Beartown Ice Hockey Club, isn’t it? ‘You can’t teach that way of seeing. That’s something you’re born with.’ ”
* * *
Then he tells them. Every detail. Everything that was in Kevin’s room. The posters on the wall, the exact arrangement of trophies on the shelves, the scratches on the floor, the color of the bedclothes, the blood on the boy’s hand, the terror on the girl’s face, the muffled screams, stifled beneath a heavy palm, the bruises, the violence, the incomprehensible, hideous, unforgiveable nature of it all. He tells them everything. And no one in the room will ever forget it.
* * *
When he’s finished, he leaves them. He doesn’t slam the door, doesn’t stomp down the stairs, doesn’t shout at anyone on the way out. William launches himself at him the moment he reaches the parking lot:
“What have you done? What have you done you fucking stupid little bitch? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”
The hands that push between them are half the size of Lyt’s, actually even smaller than Amat’s, but they keep the boys apart as if they possessed infinite strength.
“That’s enough!” Ann-Katrin roars at William.
Bobo is standing a couple of yards away, watching his mother stare down a young man twice her size. He’s never felt more stupid. Never felt prouder.
* * *
Inside the cafeteria Filip’s mother stands up. Waits until the noise has died down. Claps two damp palms together. Looks at the board and says:
“Can anyone demand that we vote anonymously?”
The president nods.
“Secret ballot. Of course. According to the statutes, one person requesting it is enough.”
“Then I request it,” Filip’s mother says, and sits down.
Her best friend is sitting beside her, and tugs at her arm with insulted outrage.
“What are you doing? What are you DOI . . .”
And then Filip’s mother says three little words that all best friends have to say to each other occasionally:
“Shut up, Maggan.”
* * *
Amat backs away without looking at his former teammates, knows what they’re thinking anyway. He puts his headphones in, casts a last glance inside the rink, sees the ice shimmering beneath a single fluorescent light. He knows he’s put himself on the losing side—he’ll never win this. Maybe he’ll never get to play again. If anyone had asked him there and then if it was worth it, he would have whispered: “I don’t know.” Sometimes life doesn’t let you choose your battles. Just the company you keep.
He walks back through the town. There’s snow on the ground, but the air smells of spring. He’s always hated this time of year, because it means that the hockey season is over. He has walked nearly all the way home when he turns into the stairwell next to his, climbs to the third floor, and rings the doorbell.
* * *
Zacharias is clutching a video-game handset wh
en he opens the door. They look at each other until the snow melts around Amat’s shoes. He’s breathing heavily, can feel his pulse in his ears.
“Happy birthday.”
Zacharias steps back into the hall so he can come in. Amat hangs his jacket on the same hook where he’s hung it every day since he was old enough to reach up there himself. Zacharias is sitting on the bed in his room, playing a video game. Amat sits next to him for half an hour. Then Zacharias gets up, goes over to a shelf, fetches another handset, and puts it in his friend’s lap.
They play without speaking. They’ve never needed words.
* * *
Meanwhile, at a meeting at a rink, the members of a club vote on the GM’s future. But just as much on their town’s future. Their own. Everyone’s.
* * *
Ramona is sitting in a corner next to a man in a black jacket. He’s got a tattoo of a bear on his neck, and is twirling his car keys nervously around his fingers. Ramona pats him on the cheek.
“You didn’t have to threaten to shut him up. I could have managed. But thanks.”
The man smiles weakly. His knuckles are covered in scars, one of his arms bears the marks of a stab wound, and she’s never admired or judged him for that. He and the other men in black jackets grew up at the Bearskin. Ramona has stood by them when everyone else kept their distance, she’s defended them even when she hasn’t agreed with them, she’s had their backs even as she’s yelled at them. They love her. But still he says:
“I’m not sure I can get the guys to vote the way you want here.”
She nods and scratches his cropped hair.
“I looked Amat in the eye tonight. I trust him. And I’m going to act accordingly. How you choose to act is up to you. It always has been.”
The man nods. The tattoo on his neck moves up and down as he swallows.
“I don’t know if we can get involved in this. The Pack and the team have to come first.”
Ramona gets slowly to her feet, but before she goes to cast her vote she pats him on the knee and asks:
“Whose club is it?”
* * *
The man sits and watches her go. Twirls his car keys around his fingers; the Saab logo on them appears and disappears from his palm. Then his eyes wander across the room to a man sitting on a chair in the very front row. He saw him in the Hollow, together with Amat. Kevin Erdahl’s father. The man in the black jacket puts his hand in his pocket. He still has the five crumpled thousand-kronor notes there, the ones he picked out of the snow.
* * *
He still hasn’t decided what he’s going to do with them.
44
The love a parent feels for a child is strange. There is a starting point to our love for everyone else, but not this person. This one we have always loved, we loved them before they even existed. No matter how well prepared they are, all moms and dads experience a moment of total shock, when the tidal wave of feelings first washes through them, knocking them off their feet. It’s incomprehensible because there’s nothing to compare it to. It’s like trying to describe sand between your toes or snowflakes on your tongue to someone who’s lived their whole life in a dark room. It sends the soul flying.
* * *
David rests his hand on his girlfriend’s stomach, aware that his whole life is being taken over by love for someone he’s never met. His mom always said that every child is like a heart transplant. He understands that now.
His girlfriend’s fingers stroke the back of his neck. He’s spent all evening talking on the phone, finding out about the meeting, the decisions. He’s received an offer he’s been dreaming of ever since he started coaching the little league team.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“You have to trust your heart,” his girlfriend says.
“I’m a hockey coach. That’s all I want to be. The rest is politics. It’s got nothing to do with sports.”
His girlfriend kisses his hand.
“So be a hockey coach, then.”
* * *
Maya rings Ana’s doorbell. She says nothing about Kevin on the jogging track, nothing about anything at all. Not long ago the idea of keeping secrets from Ana was unthinkable, and now it’s perfectly natural. It’s a terrible feeling. They go back to Maya’s house. Peter, Kira, and Leo are sitting in the kitchen. They’re waiting for their phones to ring, for someone to tell them how everything went at the meeting. But so far all is quiet. So they do the only thing they can do. Maya fetches her guitar, Peter gets his drumsticks, Ana asks if she can sing. She’s a terrible singer. She sings so badly that it helps a whole family put up with the wait.
* * *
In another part of town, in a rink on the way down to the lake, a meeting of the members of a hockey cub is coming to an end. A vote has come to an end. The results have been counted. Everyone is dealing with the consequences.
* * *
A group of men in black jackets are scattered throughout the gathering. Some with their families, others alone. Men and women disappear into the parking lot. Everyone is talking, but no one is saying anything. It’s going to be a long night in houses where all the lights are off, but all the people are awake.
* * *
The club’s president remains seated at the table in the cafeteria long after everyone has left. Tails is standing alone in the darkness out in the stands. This club is their lives. Neither of them knows who it belongs to now.
* * *
Amat is sitting on Zacharias’s bed when his phone buzzes. A single text. A single word. From Maya.
“Thanks.”
Amat replies with a single word. “Sorry.”
The thanks is for what he has done. The apology is for how long it took him to summon the courage to do it.
* * *
Kevin’s parents are the first to leave the meeting. His dad shakes a few hands, exchanges a few brief words. His mom says nothing. They get in separate cars, drive in different directions.
* * *
Sune goes home. Feeds the puppy. When the phone rings he is both surprised and not remotely surprised. It’s the president of a hockey club. Sune stays up after he ends the call, suspects he’ll soon be getting a visitor.
* * *
Kevin’s mom stops her car. Switches the engine off but contemplates switching it straight back on again. She turns the headlights off, but doesn’t move. Her body has no energy, she feels feverish, can hardly grip the wheel with her fingers. Her insides have burned to ash, her body is just a shell—that’s how she’ll remember feeling.
She gets out of the car, walks into the residential area, finds the right row house, and rings the doorbell. It’s the last building before the Hollow.
* * *
The puppy hears the visitor before the knock on the door. Sune opens up and tries to tell the little creature to go away, but his voice doesn’t even come close to hiding who already has the power in their relationship.
“Any difference between hockey players and dogs?” David smiles grimly outside.
“At least hockey players occasionally do what you tell them,” Sune mutters.
The two men look at each other. Once upon a time they were mentor and pupil. Once upon a time the love between them was unshakeable. Times change.
“I wanted to come round so you heard this directly from me . . . ,” David begins.
“You’ve got the A-team job,” Sune nods.
“The president called?”
“Yep.”
“It’s nothing personal, Sune. But I’m a hockey coach. This is what we do.”
* * *
Benji’s plastered foot isn’t a plastered foot anymore, it’s a wooden leg now. He’s got a black patch over one eye, his room is a pirate ship, and his sister’s children are the enemy. They’re fencing with hockey sticks, shrieking with laughter as he chases them around, hopping on one leg. They pull the quilt and sheet off the bed and throw them over his head, making him stumble and nearly pull over an entire ch
est of drawers. Gaby is standing in the doorway, arms folded, doing her special Mom face.
“Shit,” one of the kids says.
“It was mostly Uncle Benji’s fault!” the other one claims instantly.
“Hey! You don’t tell on your friends!” Benji shouts, trying to crawl out from under the bed linens.
Gaby points at her children and says sternly:
“You’ve got five minutes to tidy up in here. Then you go and wash your hands, and come out and eat dinner. Grandma’s nearly ready. And that goes for you too, little brother!”
Benji grunts beneath the covers. The children help him. Gaby goes into the hall so they can’t see how hard she’s laughing. Laughter that’s sorely needed in this town tonight.
* * *
Sune draws a deep breath, down to the very depths of his bulky frame. He looks at David.
“Do you really hate Peter so much that you couldn’t be in the same club if he stayed?”
David sighs in frustration.
“This has nothing to do with him. I just can’t accept what he stands for. This is hockey; we have to be capable of putting the club’s best interests ahead of our own.”
“And you don’t think Peter’s done that?”
“I saw him, Sune. I saw him in the parking lot when the police took Kevin off the team bus. Peter drove there and watched because he wanted to see it happen. It was revenge.”
“Wouldn’t you have done the same in his place?”
David looks up, shakes his head.
“If I was in his place, I’d probably have had a gun with me. That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“So what are you talking about?” Sune wonders.
“I’m talking about the fact that hockey only works well if it’s in a world of its own. If we don’t get all sorts of crap from outside mixed up with it. If Peter’s family had waited until the day after the final to report Kevin to the police, he’d still have suffered EXACTLY the same judicial consequences. Police, prosecutor, trial, the whole lot, it would all have happened exactly the same, just one day later.”