The Best Book in the World (25 page)

Lenny looks at his dad, his eyes welling up.

‘I love you too, dad.’

Malin’s shawl is wet from all the tears. But the sadness isn’t so sad any longer. Now the string orchestra is playing inside her again. Now the confetti is slowly falling over the back seat like pretend-snow in a fairy-tale film in the olden days. Now the angels are smiling; now the cherubs are playing their little trumpets. Everything grey has acquired the most beautiful of Technicolor pastel shades.

She will remember this moment for the rest of her life. She carefully dries the tears under her eyes so as not to smudge her mascara on her cheeks.

‘I love you, Lenny. And you too, Ralf.’

Titus’ body and soul have been through a purgatory, and half-way to Gothenburg he falls asleep.

Astra takes the opportunity to phone Evita and give her a rundown of the situation. Evita becomes radiantly happy and can’t praise her enough for having found Titus so quickly. She says that the book fair seems to be a success. Everyone is there. Astra asks Evita to contact the Gothenburg police: Eddie X must be dealt with. What he has done to Titus is terrible. How many years do you get for kidnapping? Eddie has evidently forced Titus to sign a contract while he was imprisoned – Titus has relinquished the copyright of
The Best Book in the World.
He has ‘confessed’ that he has stolen both the ideas and the manuscript from Eddie. Such a contract can hardly be valid, can it? It would be good if the company’s legal department could prepare for a match against both Babelfish and Eddie. Astra says that the police can question Titus
at the fair before they arrest Eddie. Eddie is going to be at the Babelfish stand when everybody mingles at five o’clock and they ought to get there in time. Good, says Evita, and urges Astra to drive carefully.

Astra ends the call and breathes out. It’s going to be all right. She has managed to get
The Best Book in the World
this far, so she will bloody well manage to get it that little bit further.

She looks at Titus snoozing against the window with the safety belt as a cushion. His black suit is grey with soil, cement dust and old, dried-up vomit. His face has lines of dirt. He stinks.

This isn’t good enough, Astra thinks. We must tidy him up. Put him under a shower. She looks at the road signs to check if there is a hotel anywhere near. Where are we? Lake Vättern is down there on the right somewhere. She is lucky. The Golden Otter, two kilometres. She remembers that motel, her family used to stay there when she was little and they were on their way home from a motoring holiday down in Europe. They would eat salmon with dill in white sauce, buy a stick of peppermint rock and remember that it was nice to go abroad on holiday, but it was even better to be back in Sweden. They’d sit on the terrace and look out across the long narrow lake, talk about the mythical island – Visingsö – where her father believed that kings had lived in bygone ages. Run to the car to fetch warm sweaters. Brrrr. It is cool today, but it will probably be warmer tomorrow. Sweden, home sweet home.

When she parks the car and the sound of the engine stops, Titus wakes up. He looks around, then leans his head against the neck rest and closes his eyes again.

‘I’ll get a room so that Titus can have a wash,’ she explains to the company in the back seat.

‘Okay, we’ll go in and get a cup of coffee and a Danish pastry. It’s on me!’ Doctor Rolf rumbles.

Astra goes round to the other side of the car and opens Titus’ door.

‘Titus, you need a shower. Come along!’

She helps Titus out of the car. He totters out and stretches his arms over his head, yawns widely and smiles.

Next to Astra’s car on the parking area stands a car with an open bonnet and a man leaning over the engine. Something is evidently broken and his irritation can be felt in the air. He throws an oily rag onto the ground and mutters.

‘Accursed vehicle!’

Titus recognises that voice. He bends down under the bonnet and looks.

‘Christer!’

It is Christer Hermansson standing there swearing at his car. The zealous librarian from Stockholm City Library. Titus’ fellow author, who writes laboured books about men on the verge of reality.

Christer Hermansson looks up at Titus.

‘Titus!’

His eyes wander over Titus from top to toe.

‘What have you been through?’

‘It’s a long story. This is Astra Larsson, my publisher.’

Christer looks at Astra. He wipes his hands on his trousers and pulls his ponytail tighter before holding out his hand.

‘Christer Hermansson. How do you do?’

‘Has your car broken down?’ asks Astra.

‘
Ich bin ein bibliothekar
!’ exclaims Christer. ‘Not a car mechanic…’

‘I see. And are you on the way to the book fair too?’ wonders Astra.

‘Yes. But now I’m stranded here. I don’t understand engines, and they don’t understand me. We are not friends, I fear. A negative prognosis suggests this is a matter of lifelong enmity. I fear the worst.’

Titus smiles when he recognises Christer’s austere tone. It is always hard to tell whether he is serious or is joking. An academic dryness with a humorous glint is always present.

‘You can come with us!’ says Titus, and turns to Astra. ‘He can do that, can’t he?’

‘Of course!’

‘Really? Most gracious of you!’

‘Yes, but absolutely,’ says Astra. ‘Pack your things in the back.
Incidentally, you don’t have some extra clothes you can lend to Titus? And shaving gear?’

Christer Hermansson looks at Titus again. He nods understandingly.

‘Indeed, I do have new clothes for the emperor. He can borrow one of my book-fair suits!’

The mood in the car couldn’t be better when they set off on the final stretch. They have all eaten and been to the loo. Titus has stood under running water for half an hour and shaved his head and face. He has regained quite a lot of his former colour, and if you didn’t know better you might think he had just returned from a holiday in the sun.

Malin huddles on Lenny’s lap under the safety belt. They are purring like cats that have just had their favourite dinner. Christer Hermansson has found a space in the middle of the back seat. He looks small beside the large and jovial Doctor Rolf. Since he doesn’t have any idea what has happened to this strange party in the car, he just sees the journey as divine intervention. He has escaped his wreck of a car and can chat with lots of amusing people who are also going to the book fair. Thanks to Astra and Titus, he will get there in time. He is as merry as a lark and starts up a sing-song.

‘We’re havin’ fun sittin’ in the back seat, kissin’ and a’huggin with Fred.’

‘Dee doody doom doom, dee doody doom doom, dee doody doom doom, DOOM,’ answer Ralf, Lenny, Malin, Titus and Astra in a loud chorus.

They laugh as Christer guides them through some old popular classics. It is liberating to let something else take over, something from outside. There is still a world out there. They are on the way back now. They’re having fun.

Then Astra’s telephone rings.

Unknown number.

Astra hushes them with her finger on her lips. It could be news from the book fair. Has Eddie X disappeared? Has Evita got hold of the police? They might want to talk to Titus.

She presses the green button and answers in a proper tone:

‘Yes, this is Astra Larsson.’

‘Hello, Astra! This is Fabian Nadersson. Have you got a moment?’

Oh no! Not that dreadful telephone hawker again! He rings on the most unsuitable occasions. What a hopeless type. But Astra refuses to abandon her good mood. She switches to the
loudspeaker
and holds up the phone so that everybody can hear, turns the volume to maximum and shouts:

‘Fabian, we are in the middle of a little conference here! Is it okay with you to sell to several people at the same time? We are me, Titus, Ralf, Christer, Malin and Lenny. Everybody – say hello to Fabian!’

‘HELLO FABIAN!’ The back-seat chorus shouts. Astra sets the tone by whirling the telephone in the air and whispering words to prompt the chorus.

‘Hello everybody!’ says Fabian. ‘Great, several birds with one stone, we like that, haha. Well, the thing is, you understand, Astra and all the rest of you, that I am ringing on behalf of Seraphim Insurance. We offer a free meeting with one of our insurance experts.’

‘THANK – YOU – SO – VERY – MUCH – FABIAN! The chorus yells in line with Astra’s direction.

‘It’ll take an hour and during that hour he or she will go through your financial situation. Then you’ll be given a proposal for a pension plan designed especially for you which will realise your old-age dreams. Does that sound good?’

‘NO – IT – DOES – NOT!’

‘I see. Perhaps your pension savings have been arranged some other way?’

‘NO – THEY – HAVE – NOT!’

‘Do you have any plans to think over your insurance policies in the near future?’

‘NO – WE – DO – NOT!’

‘I propose a meeting either on Tuesday, 10 October, at 11 a.m., or 1 November at 2 p.m. Which of those times would suit you best?’

‘NEITHER – DON’T – YOU – LISTEN?’

‘I see, well then, could you suggest another time when one of our experts can come to your office for a personal meeting?’

‘NO – ABSOLUTELY – NOT!’

‘Would you rather I phoned back another time?’

‘NO – PREF – ER – AB – LY – NOT!’

‘But you are interested in our services?’

‘NO – NOT – ONE – TIIINY – BIT!

‘Well, thank you for giving me your time…

‘YOU – ARE – WELCOME!’

‘Okay, goodbye.’

‘GOOD – BYE – FABIAN – NADERSSON!’

Astra ends the call and they all burst out laughing. There is nothing so liberating as when a telephone seller says goodbye.

They laugh and smile all the way to Gothenburg.

T
here are long winding queues outside the Book Fair. It is the wonderful first day when expectations are at their greatest. Professionals and the general public alike are welcome. Book lovers, teachers and librarians from the whole of Sweden have come. Publishers and authors from all over the world are there. Journalists are greedy for exciting interviews and compete to be the first to savour the ‘buzz’ of the day. The very heaviest titles are always released just in time for the fair. It is quite simply a paradise for those who delight in books in all their forms.

When the first day of the fair comes to a close, it turns into one great big party for mingling. The various publishing houses compete to arrange the most popular gatherings and clock up the most visitors. All are friends and all are happy.

Just in time for the first evening’s big fair get-together, Astra brakes at the side of the main entry to the gigantic Swedish Exhibition and Congress Centre. There too is the entrance to Gothia Towers, the fancy fair hotel renowned for its stylish cocktail bar on the
twenty-third
floor. Over the years, Astra has bought a lot of Bloody Marys for thirsty authors. Several of them have even thought that the entire storey revolves on its own axis, which must be regarded as a compliment to the bartenders.

Down in the hotel foyer, there are two uniformed police officers together with Evita Winchester. They are waiting for Astra and her party. The two policemen look like twins: both of them have a trimmed chin beard partly shaved in a pattern and short
ash-blond
hair with lighter streaks. They look enormous compared to the little bundle of energy, Evita.

Evita who is wearing green boots, a green leather skirt and a very
large white blouse that reveals a nicely tanned shoulder, hugs Titus and Astra and politely welcomes their fellow travellers.

One of the policemen stretches out his big hand to Titus and addresses him in the local accent.

‘Hello there! My name is Glenn Johansson. This is my colleague Kevin Andersson. Evita Winchester here has given us some very interesting information about a certain Eddie X. Can we have a few words with you?’

‘Yes, you can indeed,’ says Titus grimly.

Winchester Publishing and Babelfish have – as usual – their gigantic stands next to each other: two explosions of red-hot books with colourful and flashy décor stretching from floor to ceiling. The two publishers are in the middle of the main hall as a symbol for their being the heart of the industry. Then, like rings on water, the smaller publishing houses, media companies, branch organisations and literary societies spread out. Hundreds of small and large stands populated by people of like mind.

When it is time for the big get-together for drinks, the security guards hang up thick ropes between the Winchester Publishing and Babelfish stands so that no unauthorised guests will get in and enjoy the free drinks. The ropes dangle loosely between smart brass posts. It looks very fancy, like an Oscar gala in miniature.

Every year the party at Babelfish starts up with Eddie X pumping up the mood with his warm poems about life and love. People inside as well as outside the ropes are welcome to listen. It is one of the highlights of the book fair and this year there are more people than ever in the premiere public. They are full of expectation.

Yes, Eddie X has also made his way to Gothenburg. He has driven fast and avoided the motorway as much as possible since he has had an unpleasant feeling of being followed. Now he has made his entry on the little stage in the middle of the Babelfish stand. He is barefoot and dressed in trousers, jacket and a buttoned-up shirt. His clothes are of super-creased cotton and the three items of clothing are batik-dyed in various shades of grey. It is different and very smart. His black hair is matted and the grey shades of his clothes are mirrored in his face. He has fist-size rings under his
eyes, which stare right into the public. He is not his usual self at all. He must have planned a new exciting prank. You can see the public thinking: ‘This is going to be cool!’

He sits on a high bar stool and grabs the mike.

‘Hello. Everybody comfortable?’

‘Yeees,’ answer the public rather feebly.

‘I said: EVERYBODY COMFORTABLE?’

‘YEEES!’

‘Good for you.’

The public laughs. It’s amusing that he has switched perspectives. The loving one pretends to be grumpy. Hahaha.

‘I’m going to read something for you.’

‘YEEES!’

The people in the public look at each other. Now it’s starting. It’s going to be delightful and sincere.

‘This is something that Titus Jensen has written. Do you remember him?’

Everybody laughs. Of course they have heard of Titus and his readings. The has-been who threw away his writing career. And now Eddie X is going to read Titus Jensen. A sort of meta-event. Hahaha.

Eddie produces a copy of
Treacherous Charades
and turns to the first page. He has seen Titus do this many a time and now he lays on the theatrical effects as best he can.

‘“It is a daaark and stormy night. A high pressure area that has parked above the British Isles shows no tendency to divert to the north. The supercoooled sleet that has lashed Stockholm’s windows for more than two weeks suddenly passed over Johannes Karlsson’s attic flat. It rained into his little pad.”’

Pause for effect and a scattering of applause. The public smiles expectantly. It isn’t funny and warm yet, but it soon will be.

‘“In the glare of the lightning flashes Johannes could see that the floor was wet. It rained in even more and soon there were small waves on the floor and around the bed-legs. Johannes pulled the wet covers up over him, put on his goggles and observed the course of events. Pissing it down. How would he get to work now?”’

The public giggle. What a dreadful story.

They don’t have time to find out more about Johannes Karlsson. Two police officers climb up onto the stage. Eddie looks at them and his gaze becomes wild. He throws the book at the policemen, screams at them to disappear. The public laughs. Hahaha, now it’s starting for real. This is much funnier than the bedroom farces at the popular theatres. Eddie pushes the bar stool over when he tries to escape and the microphone smashes to the floor with a roaring echo in the loudspeaker. The grim-looking policemen have grabbed him each with a firm grip on one arm. They are a head taller than Eddie. His feet dangle freely between them.

‘NOOOO!’ he screams.

A man comes onto the stage. It is Titus Jensen! The man in black is now dressed completely in white. White buttoned-up frill shirt, white leather trousers, white leather jacket and white patent-leather shoes. He smiles like an American TV faith-healer. Somebody turns an extra spotlight on. The flood of white light almost dazzles the public. What’s going on? Titus Jensen lifts up the microphone and taps it. Yep, it works.

‘Hello?’

The public are now quiet. This is exciting. The police seem
indifferent.
Eddie looks desperate, dangling there between them. He stares at Titus with murder in his eyes.

‘Hello. Hi, my name is Titus Jensen. I know you have come here to listen to Eddie X. But I want to borrow your ears for a minute. Is that okay?’

The public nod in silence. Mumble.

‘I am sober,’ says Titus in a low voice but close to the microphone. ‘And I can work.’

The book-fair public has never encountered anything like this before. Is it an AA meeting?

Titus looks at Eddie dangling between the two policemen. His matted black hair hangs over his eyes and the blue and orange streaks look tired. He squirms like a worm.

‘I have written a book that will be published in the spring. It is going to go well. But best of all is that more books will follow.
And it is Eddie X who has made it possible for me to look ahead again. Eddie, your methods were unorthodox but they worked in the end. I am not a mess any longer. I am free, I want to work and I am grateful.’

Titus looks at Astra, Evita, Lenny, Malin, Ralf Rolf and Christer Hermansson, who are standing below the stage. They are watching him expectantly. Then he looks Eddie in the eye and takes a deep breath.

‘Now I only want to say one thing to you…’

The public is extremely attentive. The air in the hall stands still. Eddie stares at Titus.

‘Eddie, I am going to do everything in my power to ensure you come through this in one piece. I promise you that.’

The public don’t know what it is about but they applaud cautiously because they think that what Titus is saying sounds good. Brotherly love, so to speak. Titus turns towards them and says in a serious tone:

‘Love, that is the most noble form of energy in the universe. Love is the only source of energy that grows the more it is used. So if you want this planet to survive – love each other! EXPLOIT LOVE!’

Cheers and laughter. Warmth returns to the Book Fair once again.

There is more whispering than ever at the get-together party on the Winchester Publishing stand. The rumour about what has happened spreads rapidly and a lot of people sneak a look at Titus Jensen. Today he feels comfortable with those glances. It doesn’t matter what they say. He knows who he is.

It is nice that it is all over. Sure, it is fun to be at the Book Fair, but most of all Titus longs to get home to his flat and his computer. His own computer, not the Winchester one with the breathalyser lock. He is looking forward to a long winter with hundreds of wonderful working days.

Evita puts her hand on Titus’ arm. She leaves it there quite a while. Titus gets a tickling feeling in his tummy.

‘Titus, I must tell you about a fantastic idea that the marketing department has come up with.’

‘About
The Best Book in the World?
That sounds exciting…’

‘We want the book to get on the bestseller lists in several categories, don’t we?’

‘Yeah, right… Fine by me…’

A waiter passes them and Evita snaps up a glass of champagne and a plate with cheese squares stuck on cocktail sticks. Titus takes a glass of juice.

‘The content is just fine,’ Evita goes on. She raises her glass in a sort of toast to the air and takes a sip of her bubbly. ‘You have covered everything in the manuscript. It is exciting, useful, helps the reader develop, and all of that. But now they have come up with a brilliant idea for the cover.’

‘Okay?’

Evita takes a bit of cheese and raises it to Titus’ mouth. His mouth opens like a reflex. Evita smiles, pleased.

‘Oh, it’s such a great idea! Listen! This is how it goes: we’re going to have two different covers. But on the same book. You see, the front and back covers are going to be upside down in relation to each other, so however you turn the book you will see a front cover. A stroke of genius, don’t you think?’

‘Err, yeah well,’ says Titus not really understanding, and takes a gulp of juice. ‘Tell me more.’

Evita takes a deep breath and adopts her sales-conference voice.

‘First we have the thriller cover. Imagine a mysterious little girl in a white dress in a nasty hospital setting. The era is unclear, but it’s in the past. Associations to ritual experiments, or possible trade in organs. And above the hospital scene hovers an unpleasant person in a gas mask, like an evil spirit. An all-seeing Dr Mabuse or Kaiszer Söze. In an old-fashioned mask against mustard gas.’

‘But why, why that? There isn’t any little girl or a gas mask mentioned in my book…’ Titus attempts.

‘That doesn’t make any difference,’ Evita interrupts him,
irritated
. ‘There is surely nothing more unpleasant than small innocent girls and anonymous men in gas masks? No, that really is the most unpleasant combination one could imagine. We’ve checked that with focus groups. So people are going to buy it.

And then perhaps we throw in a Gothic cross too, they can be really horrible.’

‘But…’

‘Ah-ah-ah! Sssh…’

Evita puts a finger over his mouth to silence Titus’ protest. With her other hand she strokes the top of his hand. She puts a couple of fingers under his shirt cuff. A long way in. Caresses his arm quickly but soft as silk. Titus gives a start. He tries to think clearly and is just about to fire off one of many questions whirling around inside his head when Evita goes on with the unofficial sales conference.

‘And then we have the other front cover. The self-help book. A beautiful couple running across a summer meadow. Slim, of course, thanks to your ABC Method. Perhaps we’ll have a raised title in silver or golden foil to create associations to major prizes. Dazzling, fertile smiles. They look horny in a sort of jolly Danish lightweight porno way, but above all they are happy and successful. What do you think?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t really understand. My covers don’t usually have a picture, but just the title clearly visible. Black, grey, white, small print. Perhaps an edging. Slightly French literary cool… sort of…’

‘Yes, exactly, that’s why! We are launching a new Titus Jensen.’

She takes a cocktail stick with cheese and puts it into Titus’ mouth.

‘Tasty?’

‘Mmmm…’

‘The best part of this is that the bookshops won’t know which cover to display on the shelves and in the window. That means they will place several copies side-by-side! So your book will get a lot of exposure. It will be the best visual effect in the world.
The Best Book in the World
plastered all over the bookshop. People will be falling over to buy it!’

‘The Best Book in the World
after
The Best Book in the World
after
The Best Book in the World…’
says Titus dreamily and paints the image before him with his hand.

‘But, best of all… we’re going to have some knockout blurbs.’

‘Blurbs?’

‘Yeah, you know, quotes from a celeb on the front cover. And you know what, I’ve got a really great hold on the permanent secretary of the Swedish Academy. And now it’s time to make use of that!’

‘You’re kidding… you don’t mean…?’