The Rock Blaster Read online

  It was Magnus who, during a lunch break, asked Oskar whether he wanted to move into his home and share the apartment. The blasters were lying drowsing under the birch trees some distance away from where they were working. They were blasting in preparation for a bridge that was to be built over the railway line.

  * * *

  —

  Without knowing it they found themselves at the back of the very hillock that was to have a tunnel dug through it the following year. A muted, laconic exchange. They are lying on their backs in the grass with their eyes half-shut. One of them asks if anyone has been to listen to the agitator.

  “Yes. He was good.”

  Oskar props himself up on his elbows.

  “He said how important it was for us to join the Party. When I got home, Farsan told me I’d have to move out if I became a socialist.”

  Magnus lying with eyes shut. Without moving, he says:

  “Are you a socialist?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can move into my place. There’s room. You can have the kitchen to yourself.”

  The conversation becomes a dialogue between Magnus Nilsson and Oskar Johansson. The others doze off as soon as the conversation no longer concerns them. One of them falls asleep and snores softly.

  “Do you mean it?”

  “Yes. You can move in whenever you want.”

  After work Magnus and Oskar go off together. There are twenty-two years and thirty centimeters between them.

  * * *

  —

  A fortnight later, Oskar moves in. With two bundles. One in each hand. He arrives at nine in the evening. Magnus makes them coffee and Oskar makes a bed for himself on the kitchen sofa.

  “Locking up won’t be a problem since we come and go at the same time.”

  “Decent of you.”

  “There’s plenty of space.”

  * * *

  —

  When Oskar left home with his bundles there was silence. His father was not back yet and his mother does not feature in Oskar’s accounts. His sister and brother were there. His sister and brother were not there. His mother was there. His mother was not there.

  * * *

  —

  Then they sit at the kitchen table and carefully sound each other out. They are going to live together. By asking some practical questions they get a feel for one another.

  “We’ll have to share everything. It’ll all fall into place as we go along.”

  “Can you cook?”

  “Well I’ve lived on my own for a long time. I’m happy to go on doing the meals. Nothing to it. Just ordinary food.”

  “Do you need to be woken up?”

  “Not at all.”

  Oskar asks about Elly.

  “Naturally. That’s fine.”

  “It’ll only be every now and then. The odd Thursday.”

  “That’ll be fine. It won’t bother me.”

  Oskar asks about other things and Magnus answers. Soon they know each other. Soon they can start to talk.

  * * *

  —

  Oskar talks about Magnus with great affection. There are two words he often uses, “alone” and “exhausted.”

  “Of course it was very exciting to be living on my own. That’s how it felt even though there were two of us. Magnus was not the sort of person one ever noticed. When we got home from work, we were tired, and once we’d eaten and washed the dishes, we went to bed. On Sundays I was out and about. Magnus was always home when I got back. I don’t think he’d set foot outside all day. He sat in his room doing jigsaw puzzles. Or else reading some newspaper.”

  * * *

  —

  As we know, Magnus was a socialist. Sometimes he would comment on something he had heard or read and then he always ended by saying that socialism would change all that.

  “Do you really think so? How?”

  “Through revolution. It’s bound to happen. It goes without saying.”

  “When?”

  “Soon. In ten years.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “It goes without saying.”

  “I find it hard to believe.”

  “It isn’t hard. We’ve been organizing ourselves for twenty years now. And all along people have come to a better understanding of what socialism will do for them. As individuals, that is. The bourgeoisie call it murder, but that’s not what it’s about. It’s about getting us more food and better housing and things like that. We need to have a share in the means of production. We can’t let things go on as they are. It goes without saying.”

  * * *

  —

  It goes without saying.

  How did Oskar answer? Did it go without saying, or did he really understand?

  “But how’s it going to happen? Are we going to fight?”

  “We have to! They’re not going to give anything away. If they do, there’s a catch somewhere. Then they’ve tricked us.”

  “Fight? How?”

  “With weapons.”

  “What weapons?”

  “It goes without saying. We’ve got to get those who have weapons on our side.”

  “The police?”

  “Them too. Some of them. Enough of them.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Their lives will improve too.”

  “And the military?”

  “Well, the soldiers are workers on military service, after all.”

  “But what about the captains? The others. The lieutenants?”

  “How many of them are there?”

  “No, that’s clear, I understand that…But when do we start?”

  “When we’re strong enough.”

  “How will we know?”

  “We’ll know. It’ll be obvious.”

  * * *

  —

  Oskar is lying on his sofa.

  Oskar is lying in his old officer’s bed.

  He is awake.

  * * *

  —

  “I always liked Magnus. You could rely on him. He was a fine worker. A good friend.”

  The trade union’s register of members still exists. They’re listed there. Johansson, Johansson, Karlsson, Lundgren, Larsson, Larsson, Marklund, Moqvist, Nilsson, Nilsson, Nilsson, Nilsson.

  There are two M. Nilssons. One of them is Magnus.

  ELVIRA, ELLY’S SISTER

  Magnus Nilsson meets Elly several times. But he is also there when Oskar marries her sister. Oskar is happy and puts his mutilated arm around Magnus’s shoulders.

  * * *

  —

  Elly, sister.

  Elvira, sister.

  * * *

  —

  “We met at a protest march. There were actually many who did in those days. And perhaps that wasn’t surprising. It was one of the few occasions we were all together at the same time. And you never knew who you would end up walking next to. You laughed at each other and said something. Then when the meeting was over, we had to get back to town. Nothing odd about that. It may sound a bit strange, but it wasn’t.

  “We chatted and she clearly wasn’t bothered by the way I looked. In those days there were many who were injured. Sooner or later it happened to almost all workers. Many had had rickets. Others had coughing fits as we marched and sang and some even had to sit down by the side of the procession to get their strength back. Some were limping. Quite a few had lost a whole arm. I remember that for years there was an old man who carried one of the banners with his one arm. He was incredibly strong. The other arm had been torn off by a cutting machine. Right up by his shoulder. And there were many women too who were missing an arm or some fingers. It was almost normal. We used to go for coffee after marching. I suppose I must have asked if she wo
uld let me invite her. She replied that her name was Elvira and said, yes please. We went to some café. She told me she worked in the textile factory. She used to spin raw wool. She lived at home with her parents. There were seven children. She may have mentioned that one of them was called Elly, but I didn’t think anything of it. We talked about the demonstration. I remember her saying that she only knew the first verse of the song we’d been singing. She found reading so difficult, she said. And then I suddenly noticed that she kept narrowing her eyes because she couldn’t see properly. I asked her why she didn’t wear glasses and she said that then she would lose her job. But what about after work, I asked. She was afraid that some foreman would see her with them on. She did have a pair at home, however. It seems that her poor eyesight was congenital.

  “Afterward I walked her home. We decided to meet again the week after. She lived quite far out of town, where the houses were among the oldest and most dilapidated. I was actually quite pleased to have met her.

  “I had no idea she was Elly’s sister. It was a strange coincidence.”

  * * *

  —

  When Elvira died, Elly came to the funeral. She and Oskar sat next to each other at the crematorium. Oskar’s children sat behind. Then when Elly died, just one year later, Oskar saw it in the newspaper. Otherwise, he would have attended. I know that without his telling me.

  * * *

  —

  There are sticky rings from beer bottles on the table. The place is quite full and Oskar sits in a corner nodding at the people who come and go. Most of them are men. It is an evening in the middle of the week.

  Then Elvira arrives and many eyes turn to her as she stands in the doorway and looks for Oskar. When Elvira goes over and sits down at his table, there are some who smile and wink and nod at Oskar.

  They order coffee. They stir their cups and this time it is harder for them to talk to each other.

  * * *

  —

  Elvira is wearing a white dress. Elly gave it to her.

  “That’s a nice dress.”

  “You think so?”

  “White looks nice. Would you like some more?”

  “Yes, thanks. Thank you, that’s enough.”

  “Don’t you take sugar?”

  “No. Never.”

  “I do. Always.”

  “It tastes better without.”

  “You think?”

  They are sitting in the café and there is a buzz and a clatter. A grating sound of chairs scraping over the wooden floor. Cups and glasses chink.

  Then comes the question and Oskar is expecting it.

  * * *

  —

  “A blasting accident a year ago. The newspapers actually wrote that I died. But I made it.”

  “How did it feel?”

  “I don’t remember. Everybody asks me, but I have no memory of it. It all just went white I think. Like your dress.”

  Elvira giggles and looks down. Oskar asks her how old she is.

  “Twenty-two this year.”

  “I’m twenty-four.”

  “I thought you were older.”

  “I’m not.”

  Spoons stirring.

  “Can I see you on Sunday?”

  “I’ve got to look after my brothers and sisters so that Mor and Far can go to church.”

  “Why don’t I help you?”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Yes. If you like.”

  “Well, come at eleven then.”

  * * *

  —

  After that they walk around town for a while. The seventh of May, 1912.

  * * *

  —

  Elvira pours out coffee. Oskar is wearing his best clothes and sitting at the kitchen table. The younger brothers and sisters romp around. Elvira wants to show that she is firm and tells them not to jump about so much and to make less noise. Oskar says it doesn’t bother him.

  They exchange a few sentences to get to the most important thing.

  “When can we see each other again?”

  “Some evening.”

  “Wednesday?”

  “Thursday’s better.”

  And Oskar begins to take Elvira out on Thursday evenings.

  * * *

  —

  He tells Magnus about Elvira. Magnus gives a little smile and nods.

  “We might come back here for a while.”

  “Do. I can go out.”

  “No. You don’t need to.”

  “I’m quite happy to. As long as it doesn’t get too late.”

  “It won’t.”

  * * *

  —

  And Elvira does come. They sit there even more quietly. They sit at the kitchen table, and only just before Elvira has to leave Oskar reaches out and takes her hand. Left hand, left hand. Elvira is prepared for it.

  * * *

  —

  By writing in to a magazine advice column or calling the Swedish Meteorological Institute in Uppsala, you can find out what the weather was like then. Was it raining as Elvira walked home? The newspaper archives reveal that the textile industry in which Elvira worked was doing well, with strong sales and high production figures.

  * * *

  —

  But they are sitting at the kitchen table. Left hand in left hand. Empty coffee cups. A fly buzzing in the window. Magnus Nilsson walking along the streets.

  * * *

  —

  It hurts when Oskar has to pee. He feels a tightening and tugging in his abdomen. It is a pain that he will have to live with. But now he is lying on the kitchen sofa. Magnus is snoring in his room. Elvira left several hours ago. Soon they will all be working their respective jobs. Oskar feels his penis starting to rise. It has begun to heal and the doctors have said that he can have children. It rises and Oskar senses that it is short. But it does lift and stiffen. Oskar reaches for it with his hand. He thinks about Elvira and then realizes that he can function.

  * * *

  —

  He gets up for a while. Sits down at the kitchen table in his nightshirt, and dreams.

  * * *

  —

  “I began picking her up from work whenever I could make it. The smell there was awful. Just next door there was some factory where they made something that stank. Elvira worked in a sooty brick building. I remember that I used to press my ear against the wall and then you could hear the machines inside. You felt the walls vibrating. Then, as soon as the siren started to howl, they all came pouring out at the same time. It looked as if they were running away. Elvira was never among the first. She used to wash very carefully. Many of them never bothered. They must have been too tired. Or else they wanted to get away as quickly as possible. When the siren began to blare, I used to cross over to the other side of the street and wait there. I suppose that was a bit childish. I was always nervous before she came out through the factory gate. It was one of the times when I met her there that she told me Elly was her sister.”

  * * *

  —

  When Oskar returned to the blasting team he was received with great respect.

  “You’re welcome back. We want you to know that.”

  Norström is standing there, tall and heavy, and slaps Oskar on the shoulder.

  “From now on it’s you who blows up the dynamite, and not the other way round.”

  Norström laughs his loud rumbling laugh.

  “And we don’t have to do those bloody tunnels anymore. No need to make holes that end up collapsing sooner or later. Every single piece of rock has to go.”

  Norström points. They are blasting along the main road. It is to be widened.

  “I don’t see the point. It’s not as though we’re so crowded that we can’t all fit on the road. B
ut never mind. As long as we get to blast it all away.”

  Then the work begins again. Oskar does what he can, given his handicap. He bakes dynamite, he primes charges, he takes care of detonating cables and explosions. But when a charge does not go off, it is one of the others who goes to check. Others carry the metal spikes. Others take the cart and the shovels. Norström walks around, kicks at the young helper, who is new.

  “You see that, Johansson. The last one got so scared when you were blown in the air that he quit. Weaklings.”

  Norström yells at everybody except Oskar. Oskar’s accident is the gem in Norström’s life as a rock blaster. Oskar is a blaster again. For the second time in his life.

  * * *

  —

  One evening Norström asks Oskar to his home. He has invited colleagues, blasting bosses from other teams, and Oskar will be on show. Amid boozing and bragging.

  Oskar arrives at about seven. The same wooden house, the same apartment, but always somewhere else in town. The children have been turned out. The wife stays in the back room. The foremen are in the kitchen, sitting around the table.