Beartown

  “And Kevin would have been able to play in the final. And maybe the juniors would have won the final,” Sune concludes, although evidently without agreeing.

  David is adamant:

  “That’s what justice is, Sune. That’s why society has laws. Peter could have waited until after the final, because what Kevin did had nothing to do with hockey, nothing to do with the club, but Peter chose to impose his own punishment. So he damaged the whole team and the whole club. The whole town.”

  The old man’s breath wheezes as it fills his big body. He’s old, but his eyes haven’t aged.

  “Do you remember, David, just after you got onto the A-team, we had a guy who suffered three serious concussions in two seasons? Everyone knew that if he got one more he’d have to stop playing. We came up against a team who had a huge hulk of a guy on defense, and he knew about that, and after the first shift, he purposefully went straight for our guy’s head in a hit.”

  “I remember,” David says.

  “Do you remember what you did to the other guy?”

  “I decked him.”

  “Yes. Our guy got another concussion, that match was his last. And the referee didn’t even give the back a penalty. So you decked the other guy. Because sometimes referees get things wrong, and sometimes there’s a difference between breaking the rules, and offending morally, and you believed you had the right to impose your own justice out there on the ice.”

  “This isn’t the same thing,” David replies, more confidently than he really feels.

  Sune thinks for a long time, pats the puppy, scratches his eyebrow.

  “David, do you believe that Kevin raped Maya?”

  David takes an eternity to consider his answer. He’s been considering it every second since the police picked Kevin up. He’s tried to see it from every angle, and he’s ended up trying to be rational. Responsible. So he says:

  “That’s not for me to decide. That’s up to a court. I’m a hockey coach.”

  Sune looks desolate.

  “I can respect you, David. But I don’t respect that attitude.”

  “And I can’t respect Peter for playing God with this team and this club and the whole town just because this is about his daughter. Let me ask you one thing, Sune: If Kevin had been accused of raping a different girl, if it hadn’t been Peter’s daughter, do you think Peter would have encouraged that girl’s family to report him to the police on the day of the final?”

  Sune leans his head against the doorpost.

  “Let me ask you something in return, David: What if it wasn’t Kevin who was reported to the police? If it had been any other guy? If it had been a guy from the Hollow. Would you still think the same way you do now?”

  “I don’t know,” David replies honestly.

  Sune lets those words sink in. Because in the end that’s all anyone can ask of another person. That we are prepared to admit that we don’t know everything. Sune steps aside and makes space in the hall.

  “Would you like coffee?”

  * * *

  The doorbell of the Andersson family’s house rings. It takes a long time before anyone answers. Kira and Leo are playing cards in the kitchen, and an electric guitar and drum set are echoing from the garage. The bell rings again. Eventually Peter, sweat marks on his shirt and a pair of drumsticks in his hand, opens the door. The club’s president is standing outside.

  “I’ve got bad news. And good news.”

  * * *

  David and Sune sit opposite each other at the kitchen table. David has never been here before; they’ve seen each other every day at the rink for almost fifteen years, but this is the first time either of them has been inside the other’s home.

  “So, you got your A-team job in the end,” Sune says magnanimously.

  “Just not the one I was expecting,” David replies in a subdued voice.

  Sune pours coffee. After the members’ meeting Sune had certainly been expecting a phone call from a club president, one who had offered David a job as A-team coach—he had just been expecting it to be in Beartown.

  “Milk?” Sune asks.

  “No, black is good,” replies the new coach of the A-team of the Hed Ice Hockey Club.

  * * *

  The president clears his throat. Kira appears in the hall. Leo and Maya are standing farther back; the little brother takes hold of his big sister’s hand.

  “The members voted. They don’t want to fire you,” the president says.

  His words aren’t met with rejoicing. Not even a smile. Peter wipes the sweat from his brow.

  “What does that mean?”

  The president turns his palms up, and slowly shrugs.

  “David’s handed in his notice. He’s been offered the job of A-team coach in Hed. All the best junior players will go with him. Lyt, Filip, Benji, Bobo . . . they don’t play for the team, Peter, they never have. They play for David. They’d follow him anywhere. And without them we can forget all our plans of building up the A-team. Pretty much all the sponsors have called me this evening to cancel their sponsorship deals.”

  “We can sue them,” Kira growls, but the president shakes his head.

  “They put all their money in last year on the understanding that the juniors would become a good A-team. We can forget ‘good’ now—we won’t even be able to pay any wages. I don’t even know if we’ll actually have a team at all next year. The council aren’t going to invest, they don’t want to put the hockey academy here after . . . the scandal.”

  Peter nods.

  “What about the Erdahl family?”

  “Kevin’s dad is withdrawing his money, obviously. Switching it to Hed instead. He wants to crush us, naturally. And if Kevin doesn’t get convicted in court for . . . everything that’s happened, then . . . well, he’ll be playing for Hed too. All our best players will follow him.”

  Peter leans against the wall. Smiles sadly.

  “So, good news and bad news, then.”

  “The good news is that you’re still GM. The bad is that I’m not sure we’re even going to have a club next season for you to be GM of.”

  He turns to go, but changes his mind. He looks over his shoulder and says:

  “And I owe you an apology.”

  Peter sighs through his nose and shakes his head slowly.

  “You don’t have to apologize to me, it’s . . .”

  “You’re not the one I’m apologizing to,” the president interrupts.

  And he gazes past Peter, down the hall, and looks Maya directly in the eye.

  * * *

  David holds the cup in both hands. Looks down at the table.

  “I might sound like a sentimental old woman now, Sune, but I want you to know that I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Everything you’ve taught me.”

  Sune scratches the puppy. Fixes his gaze on its fur.

  “I should have cut you more slack. I was too proud a lot of the time. I didn’t want to admit that the game had grown away from me.”

  David drinks coffee. Looks at the window.

  “I’m going to be a dad. I . . . It’s silly, really, given the circumstances, but I wanted you to be the first to know.”

  At first Sune can’t get a word out. Then he stands up, opens a cupboard, and returns with a bottle of liquor.

  “I think we’re going to need stronger coffee.”

  They drink a toast. David lets out a short laugh, but quickly falls silent.

  “I don’t know if being a hockey coach makes you a better or a worse dad,” he says.

  “Well, I think being a dad makes you a better coach,” Sune replies.

  David drinks, puts his empty cup down.

  “I can’t stay at a club that mixes up hockey and politics. It was you who taught me that.”

  Sune fills his cup again.

  “I don’t have any children, David. But do you want to hear my best advice about being a parent?”

  “Yes.”

  “ ‘I was wrong.’ Good w
ords to know.”

  David smiles weakly, and takes a gulp of the drink.

  “I can understand you being on Peter’s side. He was always your best pupil.”

  “Second-best,” Sune corrects him.

  They don’t look at each other. Their eyes are glistening. Sune exclaims dully: “It’s Peter’s daughter, David. His daughter. He only wants justice.”

  David shakes his head.

  “No. He doesn’t want justice. He wants to win. He wants Kevin’s family to feel more pain than his. That’s not justice, that’s revenge.”

  Sune fills their cups. They toast with minimal gestures. Drink thoughtfully. Then Sune says:

  “Come and see me when your child turns fifteen. Maybe you’ll feel differently then.”

  David gets to his feet. They part with a firm but short embrace. Tomorrow they will head for different rinks, one in Hed and one in Beartown. Next season they will be opponents.

  * * *

  Adri is standing in her mom’s kitchen. Katia and Gaby are arguing about setting the table, about which bowls to use, which candles to light. When Benji comes into the kitchen, his mother kisses him on the cheek and tells him she loves him and that he’s the light of her life, then she swears at him about his foot again and informs him that he might as well have broken his neck instead, seeing as he clearly doesn’t use his head anyway.

  The doorbell rings. The woman outside apologizes for disturbing them so late. Her skin looks too big, her skeleton can barely carry her. She has to spend ten minutes getting Benji’s mother to agree that she really doesn’t need to be invited to dinner, but Benji’s mother still taps Adri on the head and hisses, “Get another plate out,” then Adri nudges Gaby and whispers, “Get a plate,” then Gaby kicks Katia and groans, “Plate!” Katia turns to Benji, but stops midmovement when she sees the expression on his face.

  Kevin’s mother stands in the doorway and manages to say in a voice that is weak and unlike her own, “Sorry. I’d just like a word with Benjamin.”

  * * *

  Kevin is standing in the garden outside the house. Shooting puck after puck after puck. Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang. Inside the house his dad is sitting with a newly opened bottle of whisky in front of him. They didn’t get everything they wanted this evening, but they haven’t lost either. Tomorrow their lawyer will start to prepare all the arguments why a drunk young man who is in love with the young woman is not a credible witness. Then Kevin will start playing for Hed Ice Hockey, taking his team with him, almost all the sponsors, and all their plans for life will be intact. One day very soon everyone around them will simply pretend that this has never happened. Because this family does not lose. Not even when they do. Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang.

  * * *

  Benji is sitting on a bench outside his house. Kevin’s mom is sitting next to him, leaning her head back and looking at the stars.

  “I remember that island you used to row out to in summer, you and Kevin,” she says.

  Benji doesn’t answer, but he’s also thought about that. They found it when they were little. Not in the big lake behind the rink, where everyone from the town goes swimming in the summer; they could never have any peace there. They had to walk for hours through the forest to reach another, smaller lake. There was no dock there, no people, and in the middle of it was a small cluster of rocks and trees that from the water looked like no more than an overgrown jumble of stone blocks. The boys dragged a boat through the forest, rowed out, and cleared the interior of the little island until they had a space big enough for a tent. And that was their secret place. The first summer they were only there overnight, the second summer a few days. When they became teenagers, several weeks. Every second that hockey didn’t need them, until summer training began. They simply vanished in a puff of smoke and disappeared from town. Swam naked in the lake, dried off in the sun on the rocks, fished for their meals, slept under the starry sky.

  Benji looks up at that same sky now. Kevin’s mother looks at him intently.

  “Do you know, Benjamin, I find it so odd that so many people in this town seem to believe that it was my family who looked after you when your dad passed away. Because it was actually the reverse. Kevin has spent more time in your mother’s house than you have in ours. I know you used to mess up the house after we’d been away to make it look like Kevin had slept there, but . . .”

  “But you knew?” Benji nods.

  She smiles.

  “I also know that you kick my rugs on purpose to mess up the tassels.”

  “Sorry.”

  She looks at her hands. Takes a deep breath.

  “It was your mom who washed your hockey gear and Kevin’s when you were young, who made meals for you both, and when older boys picked on you at school, it was . . .”

  “It was my sisters who showed up and sorted them out.”

  “You’ve got good sisters.”

  “I’ve got three lunatics for sisters.”

  “That’s a blessing, Benjamin.”

  He blinks slowly, presses his broken foot to the ground so that that pain becomes worse than the other. The woman bites her lip.

  “It’s hard for a mother to admit certain things, Benjamin. I noticed that you didn’t meet us at the police station. I noticed that you didn’t come round to the house. That you didn’t go to the meeting this evening. I . . .”

  She very quickly puts her forefinger and thumb to her eyes, swallows hard, whispers. “Ever since you and Kevin were small, every time the two of you caused any trouble, the teachers and other parents always said it was you who started it, and blamed the fact that ‘you have no male role model.’ And I’ve never known what to say to that. Because I’ve never heard anything more stupid in my life.”

  Benjamin glances at her in surprise. She opens her eyes, reaches out her hand, and touches his cheek softly with it.

  “That hockey team . . . that bloody hockey team . . . I know you all love each other. How loyal you all are. Sometimes I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse. I remember when you made catapults when you were nine years old, and Kevin broke the neighbor’s window—do you remember? You got the blame. Because when all the other boys ran away, you stayed where you were, because you realized that someone had to take the blame, and that it would be worse for Kevin if he got the blame than it would be for you.”

  Benji wipes his eyes. She’s still holding her hand against his cheek. She pats him and smiles.

  “You may not be an angel, Benjamin, I know that much. But, dear God, you haven’t lacked a role model. All your best qualities come from the fact that you’ve been raised in a house full of women.”

  She moves closer. The boy’s whole body is shaking. She hugs him tight and says: “My son has never been able to lie to you, Benjamin, has he? Kevin has been able to lie to everyone in the whole world. To his dad. To me. But never to you.”

  They sit there, her arms around him, for a single minute of their lives. Then Kevin’s mom stands up and gets back in her car.

  * * *

  Benji tries to light a cigarette. His hands are shaking too much to hold the lighter. His tears extinguish the flame.

  * * *

  The dad is still sitting in the kitchen. The whisky bottle is open but untouched. Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang. The mom comes home, looks at her husband, stops briefly in the hall, and looks at one of the pictures on the wall. A framed family photograph. It’s hanging crookedly, the frame is smashed, and there’s glass on the floor. One of the dad’s hands is bleeding. The mom says nothing, just sweeps the glass up and disposes of it. Then she goes out into the garden. Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang. When Kevin goes to collect the pucks she grabs his arm. Not hard, not in anger, just enough to force him to turn around. She looks him in the eye and he lowers his gaze, her fingers take hold of his chin and force his face up again. So that the son has to look at his mother. Until she knows.

  This family doesn’t lose. But they will know.

  * * *

 
The Andersson family are sitting in their kitchen. All five, including Ana. They’re playing a childish card game. No one’s winning, because they’re all trying to let everyone else win. The doorbell rings again. Peter answers it. He stands there in silence, just staring. Kira follows him, but stops when she sees who it is. Last comes Maya.

  Kevin’s mother stands outside the house, broken, seemingly drowning in her own clothes. Her legs are shaking, struggling until they give way beneath her. They’ve told her that too much time has passed for the police to use anything as reliable evidence. The girl should have taken photographs, she shouldn’t have showered, she should have reported the incident at once. Now it’s too late, that’s what they said. But the bruises are still visible on the girl’s neck and wrists. Kevin’s mother can see them. The marks left by strong fingers forcing her. Holding her down. Stopping her from screaming.

  She sinks to her knees at the girl’s feet, reaches out her hand as if to touch her, but her trembling arms can’t reach. Maya stands there empty for a long time, just looking on. She closes her eyelids, stops breathing, her skin is mute, her tear ducts so numb that her body doesn’t feel like it’s her own. Then, with infinite care, she reaches out her fingers, as if she were picking a lock, and strokes the woman’s hair soothingly as she sobs uncontrollably against the girl’s legs.

  “I’m sorry . . . ,” Kevin’s mother whispers.

  “It isn’t your fault,” Maya replies.

  One of them falls. The other starts to climb back up.

  45

  Bang-bang-bang.

  There are few words that are harder to explain than “loyalty.” It’s always regarded as a positive characteristic, because a lot of people would say that many of the best things people do for each other occur precisely because of loyalty. The only problem is that many of the very worst things we do to each other occur because of the same thing.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Amat is standing by the window in Zacharias’s bedroom and sees the first of them making their way between the buildings. Hoods over their heads, their faces hidden behind scarves. Zacharias is in the bathroom. Amat could ask him to come out with him. Or he could hide here all night. But he knows that the hooded figures out there are looking for him, he knows that more of them are on their way. They stand up for each other—that’s what a team is built on, and their hate now isn’t about what they believe Kevin has or hasn’t done. It’s about Amat going against the team. They’re an army, and they need an enemy.