Back in the hotel, I racked my brains over what I was going to tell Magdalena; how I was going to break it to her that her nice dream of our twin careers in TV was over, that I would rather stack shelves in a supermarket than write texts I despised. That morning already we’d had a quarrel when I had poked fun at the American and those American films that always offered an audience what it expected and wanted. I had been puzzled how passionately Magdalena had stood up for films she hadn’t in some cases even seen; I couldn’t shake the suspicion that what was at issue between us was more than a few mediocre Hollywood productions. Even now I wasn’t sure whether what I was running away from was being a TV wage slave or Magdalena and her notion of a happy and fulfilled life.
I could no longer bear to wait for her. The hotel room felt like a prison, I needed to get out, walk around, breathe the air, and think.
It was dark outside. The shops were still open, it was the sale season, and lots of people were out and about, their hands full of shopping bags and parcels. I avoided the big, lit-up avenues, and after a while found myself wandering through residential streets, deserted commercial districts, large shopping centers, anonymous office blocks, factories, and warehouses. All I had on was a thin raincoat, and I felt hungry and cold. There were no restaurants where I was, but on a corner I saw a pub with a selection of bar food.
It was gloomy in there. A few of the tables were occupied by men on their own, drinking beer and staring into space. I ordered a beer and something to eat. As I was eating, I was forcibly reminded of the early days with Magdalena, that now, in retrospect, struck me as the happiest time of my life. At some point we must have mislaid our happiness, I couldn’t say how or when it had come about. I had decided on a different path for myself. The notion of middle-class contentment that Magdalena had devised for us was not mine, and in my story, there was, to be brutally honest, no room for her.
After I’d eaten and warmed up a little, I set out again, walked on, and found myself in more welcoming areas. Between tenement buildings there was an ice rink that was lit up by powerful lights on poles, a white square, cut out of the dark world by dazzling brightness. For a while I stood and watched the skaters slide effortlessly over the surface and trace their circles. I could still have gone back, Magdalena surely wasn’t expecting me before midnight. But I walked on. My agitation eased a little, and at the same time my certainty grew that there was no way back. It was too late, too late to be happy.
I had no idea where I was going, even so I felt somehow liberated. I got to a lake, and then a broad landscaped expanse full of large buildings. One entrance was lit up, and when I approached, I saw that it was the university library. There was almost no one inside. I walked up to the top floor, where there were a few chairs and tables and cubicles, pulled a book off the shelf at random, and sat down at one of the tables, which were partitioned in the middle. Facing me was a woman, neither young nor especially striking-looking, with a stack of books and notebooks. I browsed in my book, a Norton poetry anthology, and read some of the poems in it. After some time, the woman asked me a question in Swedish. I replied in English that I didn’t understand. The time, she said, now in English, tapping her wrist with a finger. I forgot my watch. Damn, she said, when I told her, they’re about to close. Would you happen to know if there’s a hotel anywhere near? I asked. I don’t think so, she said, there’s no shortage of student accommodation, but you can’t get into that unless you’re registered with the university, and there’s a long waiting list. Are you a student? No, I said, I’m just looking for somewhere to stay the night. You’re leaving it a bit late, she said, laughing. I asked if she was a student. She said she was a postgraduate. I’m working at the Karolinska Institut, across the lake from here. There’s a Best Western there, I think. She said her name was Elsa. Something was announced over the public-address system. They’re closing, said Elsa, we’d better go. She packed her things, and we headed for the exit together. Outside, I lit a cigarette, and she asked me for one. I’ve given up, she said, it’s not something you do if you’re a med student, but when there’s one going…She asked me what I was doing in Stockholm. It’s complicated, I said. As we set off, I told her I was attending a screenwriters’ workshop. I didn’t say anything about Magdalena. And they didn’t book a hotel for you? asked Elsa. No, they did, I said, but I ran away. I don’t feel like writing to order. Skipping school then, she said, tsk, tsk. And now you’re scared to go back, because you think you’ll be punished. Something like that, I said. Do you feel like a drink? There’s a bar called the Professorn, she said, that’s just five minutes from here. They don’t shut till one.
It did me good to talk to Elsa. She laughed and joked a lot. She had grown up in a mining town way up in the north called Kiruna. Her father and mother had both worked in the mines. She was a year older than me. I put in a few detours, she said, but it’s a long way from Kiruna to here.
The Professorn was a pretty funky bar, where you could order pizza and kebab. It was situated in a large complex of student accommodations just north of the actual campus. A couple of thousand students live there, said Elsa, myself included.
You don’t need to tell me the rest, said Lena, getting up, I can perfectly well imagine it. She headed quickly for the way out. When I caught up to her, she suddenly stopped and looked at me with shining eyes. I thought she was about to start crying. He’s almost finished the book, she said. That can’t be, I said. I didn’t marry Magdalena, and I only wrote the book later, after we split up. He can’t write it yet because he hasn’t felt what I felt then, the pain at our breakup, the loss, the solitude. Your pain can’t have been that great if you hop into bed with the first Swede you meet, said Lena furiously. I never slept with her, I said. It’s true, she invited me back, but nothing happened.