Let The Right One In Part 14

"No."

"So start now. Hit them back. Hard."

"There's three of them."

"Then you have to hit harder. Use a weapon."

"Yes."

"Stones, sticks. Hit them more than you really dare. Then they'll stop."

"And if they keep hitting back?"

"You have a knife."

Oskar swallowed. At this moment, with Eli's hand in his, with her face in front of him, everything seemed simple. But if they started doing worse things if he put up resistance, if they . ..

"Yes, but what if they..."

"Then I'll help you."

"You? But you are ..."

"I can do it, Oskar. That That... is something I can do." Eli squeezed his hand. He squeezed back, nodded. But Eli's grip hardened, so hard it hurt a little. How strong she is. How strong she is.

Eli loosened her grip and Oskar took out the page of code he had written down for her at school, smoothed out the folds, and gave it to her. She wrinkled her forehead.

"What's this?"

"Let's go over to the light."

"No, I can see fine. But what is it?"

"The Morse code."

"Oh, right. I see. Awesome!' Awesome!'

Oskar giggled. She said it in such a-what was it called?-artificial way. The word somehow didn't fit in her mouth.

"I thought... we could like ... talk through the wall to each other." Eli nodded. Looked like she was thinking of something to say. Then she said: "That will be amusing."

"You mean fun?"

"Yes. Fun. Fun. Fun." Fun."

"You're a little strange, you know that?"

"Am I?"

"Yes, but it's OK."

"You'll have to show me what to do, in that case. Not to be strange."

"Sure. Want to see something?"

Eli nodded.

Oskar showed her his special trick. He sat on the swing like before, kicked off. With each pump of his legs, with every arc a notch higher, something grew in his chest: freedom.

The illuminated apartment windows went past like multicolored, glowing strands and he swung higher and higher. He didn't always manage to do this trick, but now he was going to do it, because he was as light as a feather and could almost fly.

When the swing got so high that the chains loosened and started to jerk on the back swing he tensed his whole body. The swing went back one more time and then at the top of the next forward swing he let go of the chains, and pushed his legs forward, as high as they would go. The legs went around half a turn and he landed on his feet, bending over as far as he could so the swing wouldn't hit him in the head, and when it had gone past he stood up and stretched out his arms. Perfect.

Eli applauded, shouted: "Bravo!"

Oskar caught the swing, put it back in its normal position, and sat down. Yet again, he was grateful for the dark that hid a triumphant smile he couldn't suppress, even though it pulled at his wound. Eli stopped clapping, but his smile was still there.

Things were going to be different from now on. Of course you couldn't kill people by hacking up trees. He knew that.

THURSDAY.

29 OCTOBER.

Hakan sat on the floor in the narrow corridor and listened to the splas.h.i.+ng from the bathroom. His knees were pulled up so his heels touched his b.u.t.tocks; his chin rested on his knees. Jealousy was a fat, chalk-white snake in his chest. It writhed slowly, as pure as innocence and childishly plain.

Replaceable. He was... replaceable.

Last night he had been lying in his bed with the window cracked. Listened to Eli saying good-bye to that Oskar. Their high voices, laughter. A ... lightness he could never achieve. His was the leaden seriousness, the demands, the desire.

He had thought his beloved was like him. He had looked into Eli's eyes and seen an ancient person's knowledge and indifference. At first it had frightened him: Samuel Beckett's eyes in Audrey Hepburn's face. Then it had rea.s.surred him.

It was the best of all possible worlds. The young, lithe body that gave beauty to his life, while at the same time responsibility was lifted from him. He was not the one in charge. And he did not have to feel guilt for his desire; his beloved was older than he. No longer a child. At least he had thought so.

But since all this with Oskar had started something had changed. A ... regression. Eli had started to behave more and more like the child her appearance gave her out to be; had started to move her body in a loose-limbed and careless way, use childish expressions, words. Wanted to play. play. Hide the Key. A few nights ago they had played Hide the Key. Eli had become angry when Hakan had not showed the necessary enthusiasm for the game, then tried to tickle him to get him to laugh. He had relished Eli's touch. Hide the Key. A few nights ago they had played Hide the Key. Eli had become angry when Hakan had not showed the necessary enthusiasm for the game, then tried to tickle him to get him to laugh. He had relished Eli's touch.

It was attractive, naturally. This joy, this . . . life. life. But also frightening, since it was something so foreign to him. He was both hornier and more scared than he had ever been since meeting her. But also frightening, since it was something so foreign to him. He was both hornier and more scared than he had ever been since meeting her.

Last night his beloved had gone into Hakan's bedroom and locked the door and proceeded to lie there for half an hour tapping on the wall. When Hakan once again was allowed in he saw a piece of paper taped to the wall above his bed. The Morse code.

Later, when he was lying there and trying to fall asleep, he had been tempted to tap his own message to Oskar, something about what Eli was. was. Instead he had copied the code onto a sc.r.a.p of paper so he could decode what they said to each other in the future. Instead he had copied the code onto a sc.r.a.p of paper so he could decode what they said to each other in the future.

Hakan bent his head, rested his forehead on his knees. The splas.h.i.+ng from the bathroom had stopped. He couldn't go on like this. He was about to explode. From desire, from jealousy.

The bathroom lock turned and the door opened. Eli was standing in front of him. Completely naked. Pure.

"Oh-you're sitting out here."

"Yes. You're beautiful."

"Thank you."

"Will you turn around for me?"

"Why?"

"Because ... I want you to."

"No; why don't you get up and move?"

"Maybe I'll say something .. . if you do this for me." Eli looked quizzically at Hakan. Then turned 180 degrees.

Saliva spurted into his mouth, he swallowed. Looked. A physical sensation of how his eyes devoured what was in front of them. The most beautiful thing there was in the world. An arm's length away. An endless distance.

"Are you ... hungry?"

Eli turned around again.

"Yes."

"I'll do it for you. But I want something in return."

"What is it?"

"One night. All I want is one night."

"OK.".

"I can have that?"

"Yes."

"Lie next to you? Touch you?"

"Yes."

"Can I. .."

"No. Nothing more. But that. Yes."

"Then I'll do it. Tonight."

Eli crouched down next to him. Hakan's palms burned. Wanted to caress. Couldn't. But tonight. Eli looked up and said, "Thanks. But what if someone ... that picture in the paper ... there are people who know you live here."

"I've thought of that."

"If someone comes here during the day when ... I'm resting."

"I've thought of that, I said."

"How?"

Hakan took Eli's hand, got up and went out into the kitchen, opened the pantry, and took out an old jam jar with a twist-on gla.s.s lid. The jar was half-filled with a clear liquid. He explained what he had planned to do. Eli objected vehemently.

"You can't."

"I can. Do you understand now how much ... I care about you?"

When Hakan was ready to leave he put the jam jar into the bag with the rest of his equipment. During that time Eli had gotten dressed. She was waiting in the hall when Hakan came out. Eli leaned over and lightly planted a kiss on his cheek. Hakan blinked and looked at Eli's face for a long time.

I'm lost.

Then he went to work.

Morgan was slurping his way through Four Small Dishes, one by one, mostly mostly ignoring the small bowl of rice by his side. Lacke leaned forward and said in a low voice: ignoring the small bowl of rice by his side. Lacke leaned forward and said in a low voice: "Mind if I take the rice?"

"h.e.l.l, no. Want some sauce?"

"No, I just want a little soy."

Larry looked up over his copy of Expressen, Expressen, made a face when Lacke took the bowl of rice and poured soy sauce over it with a glug-glug-glug and started to eat as if he had never seen food before. Larry motioned at the deep-fried shrimp that were heaped on Morgan's plate. made a face when Lacke took the bowl of rice and poured soy sauce over it with a glug-glug-glug and started to eat as if he had never seen food before. Larry motioned at the deep-fried shrimp that were heaped on Morgan's plate.

"You could offer to share, you know."

"Oh, sure. Sorry. You want a shrimp or something?"

"No, my stomach can't take it. But Lacke."

"You want a shrimp, Lacke?"

Lacke nodded and held out his bowl of rice. Morgan put two fried shrimp in the bowl with a grandiose flourish. Offered a little more. Lacke thanked him and dug in.

Morgan grunted and shook his head. Lacke had not been himself since Jocke disappeared. He had been hard up before but now he was drinking more and didn't have a cent left over for food. It was strange, this whole business with Jocke, but there was no reason for despair. Jocke had been missing for four days now and who really knew? He could have met a chick and gone to Tahiti, anything. He would turn up eventually. Larry put down the paper, pushed his gla.s.ses up onto his head, rubbed his eyes and said: "Do you know where the nearest nuclear shelter is?" Morgan guffawed. "What, are you planning to hibernate or something?"

"No, but this submarine. Hypothetically speaking, what if there was a full-scale invasion-"

"You're welcome to come over and use ours. I was down there a few years ago and checked it out when a guy from some defense something was there to run an inventory-check. Gas masks, canned food, PingPong table, the whole deal. It's all there."

"Ping-Pong table?"

"Sure, you know. When the Russians land we just say 'Stop and take cover boys, put down your Kalashnikov-ies, we're going to determine this thing with a Ping-Pong match instead.' Then the generals go after each other by serving screwb.a.l.l.s."

"Do the Russians even know how to play table tennis?"