The Room (9 page)

The fluorescent light flickered and clicked inside the room like a hot tin roof in the summer. It was quiet and cool. The desktop fan, with its rotating blades inside a stainless steel mesh, lent the room an almost foreign feeling. It wasn't new, but it had been extremely well maintained. Classy. Un-Swedish.

It was easy to think of bygone times in the room. A whole series of eminent decision makers behind the perfect desk.

It felt indescribably good to be back inside this small space again. I stood there for a long time just enjoying it. Resting one hand gently on the desk.

The desktop felt completely smooth under my fingertips. You could probably rest your cheek on it if you felt like it. I didn't. I pulled out the comfortable office chair, sat down, my back straight, and read through the entire bundle of papers.

It was surprisingly simple. Words and formulations that would otherwise take a long time to grasp flowed into my consciousness in a perfectly natural way. I understood at once.

Most of it seemed obvious. As if someone had asked me to fill in the right answers in a third-grade math book.

I looked up at the ceiling and tried to memorize a few keywords. As I was resting my eyes on the red painting with its plain motif I formulated a couple of simple phrases in my head. I realized at once that they worked well. Simple and clear.

I leafed back and forth through the material. It was clumsily expressed. I had to agree with HÃ¥kan on that. Some sections were completely unfocused, but could clearly be formulated the way I had just tried out. It was as if I had cleaned the document in order to reveal its pure lines.

Now that I knew how it ought to be expressed, it struck me as odd that no one had thought of it before. Had I missed something? Was there something I didn't understand? Or was it really this simple?

“Excellent!” Karl exclaimed as he came over and slapped HÃ¥kan on the back with the palm of his hand the following day.

HÃ¥kan turned round, looked at Karl, and raised his eyebrows lazily.

“What?”

Karl smacked 1,636 down on the desktop. HÃ¥kan leaned over and read.

“This is exactly what I meant,” Karl said. “This is brilliant, HÃ¥kan. Bloody hell, it's genius! Factual and concise. No room for misunderstanding.”

It was clear that he was in an extremely good mood. His whole face was beaming. HÃ¥kan turned to Karl.

“That isn't mine,” he said bluntly.

Karl's joy was interrupted and he frowned. He picked up the document and pulled his glasses down, perched them on his nose, and looked at the number: 1,636.

“What?”

“This isn't mine.”

“Of course it's yours. I gave it to you.”

“Okay,” HÃ¥kan said. “But I didn't write that.”

Karl pushed his glasses up onto his forehead again.

“What do you mean, you didn't write it?”

“Someone else must have written it,” HÃ¥kan said.

He turned back to what he was doing, leaving Karl holding 1,636 in his hand, a mass of furrows on his brow.

“But…” Karl began.

He went back inside his office and I saw him sit in there, inspecting the document from all angles, all the while with that bewildered look on his face.

That afternoon Karl called Ann and John into his office. I watched him show them my printout, but they both shook their heads. It was actually rather a shame, I thought. If one of them had falsely taken the credit for my work, the situation would have been even better. We would have been able to increase the bounce of my trampoline, so to speak. But evidently neither of them was brazen enough. I would have to carry on as planned.

Just before I went to lunch I felt I needed to go to the toilet. I took the long route past the lift so that everyone would clearly see that I was avoiding the room. When I came out again I took the same route back, passing several of my colleagues on their way to the lift. They could all see that I was coming from the toilet. I passed the door of the room as if it didn't exist.

When the working day was over and everyone had gone home, I smuggled the next investigation into my briefcase, closed it firmly, and snuck into the room.

I unpacked my things on the magnificent desk and started work on 1,842.

As soon as I emerged I wrote a couple of short sentences in my notepad so I didn't forget my train of thought in there. I sat down at my computer and wrote up the text. The whole process went much quicker today. It was like I'd learned something about the way things fit together. Something about the way time and space interact.

I went over to Karl's office, opened the glass door, and put the document on his desk just after half past ten in the evening.

The next day I repeated the process with case 1,199, the only difference being that I took the neatly typed document home with me overnight.

The next morning I went into Karl's office before he got in, making sure that Ann witnessed it. I could clearly see how watchful she became the moment I entered Karl's little glass cube. She stared at me as I left the document on his desk. And just after Karl had arrived and hung up his outdoor clothes on the hanger, sure enough, she was there telling tales.

I couldn't have arranged it better.

“Ann tells me you're the person who left this on my desk?” Karl said, holding up framework decision 1,199.

I nodded.

“Who wrote it?”

“I did.”

He stood there for a while, just looking at me without saying anything. As if he were trying to work out whether or not I was telling the truth. He cleared his throat and scratched an ear lobe.

“You did?”

I nodded again, and couldn't help noticing that HÃ¥kan was suddenly listening.

“Who…who asked you to do it?” Karl said.

I raised my eyebrows and answered slowly.

“I took it for granted that it was my duty, seeing as the files were on my desk.”

“The files were on your desk?”

“Yes.”

“Who put them there?” Karl said, glancing at HÃ¥kan, who quickly looked down and pretended to be reading his papers.

“I've no idea,” I said. “I assumed—”

“Please, come with me.”

He led the way toward the little glass box without waiting for me. I looked at HÃ¥kan, who was still pretending not to have noticed anything, but his neck was bright red. I got up and walked very slowly after Karl into his office. Karl sat down behind his desk.

“Close the door,” he said.

I did as he said and tried to adopt a concerned expression, as if I were expecting another reprimand for something. There was a certain pleasure in playing the innocent schoolboy, seeing as I knew what was coming. Karl fixed his eyes on me.

“Björn, what's going on here?”

“I'm sorry if I've caused any trouble. I didn't mean to take someone else's work. I was just convinced I was meant to do it because the case notes were on my desk and…”

“Can you tell me who wrote 1,842 and…let's see, 1,636?”

“I did.”

“Björn, I hope you are aware that all of us in this department…we always stick to the truth.”

“That is the truth.”

Karl spun his chair slightly and stroked his chin with his fingers. He picked up the documents and seemed almost to be weighing them in his hand.

“The DG is very pleased,” he said out of nowhere.

“Oh?” I said, trying to look surprised.

“He says we've finally got the right tone. That these texts you've written ought to be the template for all future framework decisions in the communal sector.”

I looked at the picture Jörgen usually leaned against when we had meetings here in Karl's office and tried to enjoy the moment when the new order here at the Authority slowly began to take shape. The picture was of some appetizing-looking fruit. You could almost have believed it was real. I came to think of an artist who could draw an empty sheet of paper and make you think it was a real piece of paper, so you'd go up to it wondering why someone had put an empty sheet of paper in a glass frame, but then you'd discover that it was a drawing, like an optical illusion. Quite funny, actually.

The thought made me smile.

“I didn't know…” Karl said, and I could see he was having severe difficulty coming to terms with the idea of me as a leading light in this field. He had regarded me as a nothing, an encumbrance, someone who needed to be watched and looked after. Now that he'd made his bed he was having to lie in it.

He looked up at me and smiled, clearly uncertain about how to treat me. It was like there was something inside him that was still fighting against the idea. I could easily draw this out a bit longer, I thought. Let him squash me even further down. I could exploit my lowly status and make the turnaround even greater, even more of a shock.

But this was where we were. At last he had realized, and maybe I ought to have been pleased that he was at least intelligent enough to recognize talent when he saw it. That isn't always the case.

“You surprise…” he went on, waving my texts.

I stayed quiet. And smiled. Knowing when to keep your mouth shut is an art.

“If you could imagine carrying on…that you might be able to take on some more…”

I cleared my throat and frowned gently. Taking my time.

“I'd be happy to help in any way I can,” I said, “but bearing in mind my other duties…”

I glanced toward the photocopier and Karl took the hint.

“We can sort that out, Björn.”

“I just mean that it might be difficult finding the time to look after the printers and…”

“Obviously, you wouldn't have to do anything of that sort…”

“And the quality assurances…”

Karl raised his voice slightly to indicate that he was serious. That all that sort of nonsense was at an end now.

“I'm sorry, Björn, if I underestimated you…”

He got up from his chair and I could see the tension in his face as he steeled himself to say what was coming. I smiled and waited.

“…but it isn't always easy to see the skills of all your colleagues. Especially not…”

He fell silent and sat down on the edge of the desk. He looked tired. He sighed and ran his hand over his hair.

“I apologize, Björn. There's been a lot going on recently.”

“Apology accepted,” I said, and made myself comfortable in his office chair.

He looked down at me with his mouth wide open. I leaned back and folded my hands over my stomach.

“Would you like to talk about it?” I said.

The following morning I was able to run my finger slowly over the numbers on the cover of my first framework decision, which now had its own reference number: 16c36/1.

I had gone down to reception and asked for it the day it became publicly accessible. I could smell the fresh ink, and I let Margareta behind the counter get a glimpse of the case manager's name on the flyleaf. You could have been a part of all this, I thought. But drugs got in the way.

“How are things going for you these days?” she asked after a pause.

I didn't answer. I didn't even look at her. I had decided to regard her as a stranger, a complete unknown. And neither condone nor condemn what she did in her own time.

Rumors of my success swept through the whole department like a wave. Someone had heard and carried the news to the rest of the group. I saw Hannah with the ponytail talking to Karin outside the kitchen, and via Karin I was able to follow the path of the news to John and the gang in the section for the financing of inspection visits. After a while almost the whole of Supervision stood up, talking to each other and looking in my direction. I tried to read their reactions, but it was difficult as I was constantly having to pretend I hadn't noticed and was preoccupied with my work.

In fact things were relatively stress free, and I didn't have to rush my fifty-five-minute periods seeing as the most concentrated part, the actual formulation itself, always happened inside the room. In the evenings and at night.

One day when HÃ¥kan got back from a coffee break I noticed that even he had been hosed down by the torrent of information about the new star in the office. He smiled when he asked but I could see the icy chill in his eyes.

“So how long were you planning on keeping your talent hidden, then?” he said.

I didn't answer. He had a large white patch on one shoulder and going part way down his chest. Hadn't he noticed? It looked scruffy.

“Do you think it's funny going round pretending to be unstable, just so you can show everyone your tightrope routine later on?”

I said nothing. I recognized the nature of his questions. They were rhetorical. It's always best to ignore those. Treat them like they don't exist. But the stain was real.

“Don't you think you should go and change your shirt?” I asked after a while, nodding toward the stain.

HÃ¥kan glanced sullenly down at his shoulder. Then he hissed through gritted teeth:

“When did you take those files?”

I adopted a questioning look that I had practiced at home in front of the mirror. I thought it gave the desired impression.

John caught up with me on the way to the kitchen. He held out his hand.

“Congratulations, Björn,” he said with a crooked smile. “It's great that things are going so well for you now.”

I took his hand and thanked him.

“I'm sorry about all that business before,” he said. “You know how things get in stressful workplaces. There isn't always enough time to talk things through calmly.”

I decided to hold back from responding and just gave him a quizzical look.

“I mean, places like this aren't exactly famous for taking care of their staff when they get a bit—well, how can I put it?—overwrought.”

I went on looking at him in silence. It was obvious that it was starting to make him nervous.

“But I'm really pleased you're back on track, Björn. I just wanted you to know. Even the DG is pleased. He's let us know how happy he is.”

He let out one of those exaggerated laughs, as if he was hoping I'd join in. I didn't. His laughter died out. He looked round, leaned forward, and said in a confidential tone:

“Even the Minister is said to be pleased with our recent progress. You might manage to save all our jobs.”

He patted me on the shoulder and walked off.