Bianca Diaz lives in a neat apartment not so different from Tuula Ahonen’s, except smaller, more sparsely furnished and located on the ground floor of a five-storey apartment building in central Jordbro.
She asks me and Letit to sit down at the kitchen table which only has two chairs, and then goes into the living room.
Through the doorway to the hall, I see a stroller wrapped in plastic parked next to the wall.
Letit follows my gaze, but the eyes behind his wire rims reveal no emotion.
‘Need help?’ I shout to Bianca.
Bianca enters, carrying a small stool.
‘No,’ she smiles, ‘I’m pregnant. Not handicapped.’
Letit stands up.
‘Sit here, love,’ he says and takes the stool.
Bianca smiles, shrugs and obediently takes the chair.
I also sit down and try to ignore the pain in my knee.
Bianca Diaz is twenty years old, same as Johannes, but she looks much younger. Her hair is long and dyed a honey-brown shade that’s lightest at the ends. Her body is thin, but her stomach is huge, as if she might give birth at any second, though I know she has a month left.
Something about her reminds me of Afsaneh when she was expecting Nadja, which causes a stab of pain in the region of my heart.
‘I’m so sorry about Johannes,’ I begin.
Bianca nods.
‘Yeah. It sucks.’
Her voice sounds strangely matter of fact. She shows no emotion at all. It almost sounds as if she’s remarking on a broken washing machine, or saying she’s run out of milk.
‘How are you doing?’ I ask.
Bianca’s dark eyes meet mine.
‘I’m getting by,’ she says. ‘I’ve always had to do that. Of course. It’s terrible he’s dead. Really terrible. But he wasn’t someone you could depend on. He was all over the place from the start. I’ve been working double shifts and studying to be a biomedical analyst the whole time we’ve been together. And what did Johannes do? Did he help? Did he contribute any money? No. I already knew when I got pregnant that I’d have to raise this child by myself. Besides, all he wanted to do was head for Brazil, because he had some friend who lived there.’
She looks down and puts her hand on her large belly. Runs her hand over the taut, knotty fabric of her sweater.
‘Weren’t you planning to raise the child together?’ Letit asks.
Bianca shakes her head.
‘Johannes absolutely did not want a kid,’ she says and her eyes wander out of the window, where a large bush with pink flowers is visible. She purses her lips into a thin line and for the first time I sense something resembling pain in her face.
‘So how did he react when you told him you were pregnant?’ Letit asks.
‘He got angry,’ Bianca says calmly, still staring at the window. ‘Very angry.’
A short pause.
Letit’s light eyes meet mine.
‘It’s probably just as well that it turned out like this,’ Bianca murmurs. ‘I mean, not that he died, but that I have to take care of the child on my own. He would have just made a mess of it. He always did.’
‘Do you know if Johannes was under any kind of threat?’ Letit asks and makes a note on his pad.
Bianca frowns.
‘Threat? No, I don’t think he had any enemies. But he did borrow a huge amount of money from somebody. And he was stressed about it, because he couldn’t pay it back.’
‘Do you know who he borrowed money from?’ I ask. ‘Or the amount?’
‘Not a clue. I was very careful not to get involved in his so-called business.’
I lean towards Bianca and meet her gaze. She doesn’t waver an inch. Her eyes are shiny and her face serious, but also completely unsentimental.
‘His mother says he’s been on the straight and narrow lately,’ I say softly. ‘That he wasn’t involved in drugs or anything criminal. That—’
Bianca interrupts me.
‘Sorry,’ she says and raises her hand. ‘But Tuula is so fucking naive. She thinks he’s practically a saint. But sure, I haven’t seen him doing any drugs or anything like that. I definitely haven’t. Then I would have dumped him right away. But on the straight and narrow?’
She rolls her eyes and makes air quotes when she says the last phrase.
‘No. Johannes was many things, but on the straight and narrow was not fucking one of them.’
*
When we reach the street, Letit takes a deep breath, runs his hand over his beard and his expression turns melancholy.
‘I feel for humanity,’ he says. ‘Love brings nothing but misery. Still, it can’t be avoided.’
He adjusts his too short pants a little and ambles away towards the car with his back hunched.
*
Afsaneh hugs me tightly when I get to the hospital.
Since I’m actually working full-time now, I had decided to go there over lunch. It’s mostly for Afsaneh’s sake. I doubt Nadja would have much to say on the matter. After questioning Ahonen’s girlfriend, Letit and I returned to the city. I dropped him off at the police station and then headed on to the hospital. On my way, I took the opportunity to call my older kids. Alba didn’t answer, but I talked for a bit with Alexander and then with Stella. Told them how their little sister was doing and asked the usual questions.
They’re worried, of course. Worried and sad, even though they’re so much older than their half-sister, they’ve loved her from the first minute.
‘Good,’ Afsaneh murmurs in my ear. ‘Really good that you’re here.’
She takes a step back and smiles. Her back is straight, her eyes sparkle and her skin has a new glow.
‘Did something happen?’ I ask.
Afsaneh nods eagerly and takes my hands.
‘They’re going to Nadja wake up. The doctor said so. They will begin weaning her off the sedatives tomorrow.’
‘They are?’
My voice is a whisper.
Afsaneh pulls me closer and hugs me again.
‘We’re going to get her back, Manfred. We’ll get our Nadja back.’
Afsaneh’s thin body trembles in my arms, and I don’t dare say what I think. What the doctors have been trying to explain to us all along.
What happens when you open the box holding Schrödinger’s cat?
Well, pretty soon it’ll be clear to everyone if the cat is very dead or very alive. Clear that that strange territory – when the fucking cat is somehow both dead and alive – is just an academic construct.
And the same is true of our child.
Only after the powerful medication has been discontinued, only once the tubes and machines have been disconnected, will we know if we’ll get our Nadja back or if she’s gone forever.
Of course, it would be best if she woke up.
But even this is better than losing her completely, because I would rather have a child connected to tubes in the intensive care unit than no child at all. The equation is very simple and at the same time unbelievably cruel.
But it can be counted on, even death can be counted on.
We sit for a while beside Nadja’s bed.
This time we sit on the same side of the bed, with our chairs so close together that I can feel the warmth of Afsaneh’s body.
Nadja looks like she’s asleep, despite all the tubes and machines. Her face is peaceful and her mouth half-open. On the cast on her arm, someone’s drawn a tiny bird and a heart in red felt-tip pen.
I take a deep breath.
I have always had a hard time with hospitals.
Of course, it started when Aron got sick. He spent almost two months at the paediatric oncology ward before he died.
I was there every day.
For the first few weeks, Aron responded well to the treatment. He got stronger, and we slipped away to explore the ward, sometimes even going outside. Once we even went down into the culverts. We ran around down there – me first and Aron behind me, with his IV stand in hand.
But then he got too weak. He mostly lay in bed and slept. I couldn’t even talk to him.
In the end, he just fell asleep.
That’s how it happened, not very dramatic or remarkable. He’d been unconscious for several days and eventually his heart just gave up.
One second alive, the next dead.
Since then I’ve had a tough time with hospitals.
Maybe it’s the smell, but it’s odd, I have no problem at all with visiting the medical examiner or attending autopsies, and quite frankly, that stinks. But the smell of the hospital, that strange combination of detergent, urine and overcooked potatoes, that I can’t stand.
It’s like something inside me jams up, and I’m twelve again.
My phone vibrates in my jacket, and I take it out.
It’s Malin.
‘Sweetheart, I have to take this.’
‘Sure,’ Afsaneh responds quickly, much to my surprise.
She doesn’t even sound annoyed.
I head out into the hallway and answer while groping for my cigarettes in my pocket.
‘Hey,’ Malin says. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Absolutely. I’m just at the hospital for a bit.’
‘Well, something’s happened. Another body’s been found. Wrapped in a sheet and wound with a chain. Can you meet me at two?’