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Zzzz

After one hundred years, the Sleeping beauty was awakened by the prince's kiss. She promptly pressed Snooze and went back to sleep. In that very moment, she reached the final entry in her catalogue of dreams. She sat up, wide awake and startled. Was this all there was?

Yes, he said. Sorry.

Indig Short Story: OSYNLIG

Osynlig:En novell av Jörel Strömgren

Det är alltid svårt att berätta vissa saker för folk ibland. Som till exempel om man upptäcker att någon bor i ens lägenhet när man inte är där. Så är det nämligen för mig. Det är någon som bor i min lägenhet när jag inte är där. När jag går till jobbet eller tar en sväng till videoaffären, då passar hon på att bo där. När jag kommer tillbaka är hon borta.

Det är inte själva berättandet som är svårt, men det är kommentarerna och de reaktioner man får. Det kan kännas tråkigt ibland. Lite ensamt.

Från början pratade jag om det öppet, på jobbet. Folk trodde först att jag skojade, men när jag förklarade vad jag menade så blev det alldeles… tyst. Någon ställde lite följdfrågor, som hur jag kunde veta säkert och vad jag hade för bevis. Men de flesta blev bara generade. Ibland drev de med mig som om jag vore dum. För jag har ju inga bevis alls, det ligger liksom i sakens natur. Hon som bor i min lägenhet när jag inte är där, hon gör ingenting. Jag tror att hon bara brukar sitta där i soffan eller på en stol och ta igen sig. Sedan går hon vidare, kanske till nästa lägenhet där ingen är hemma. Kanske sover hon hemma hos någon som jobbar natt. Jag vet inte var hon lagar mat men jag tror inte att det är hos mig, jag tycker att det borde märkas.

En dag berättade jag om det för personalsekreteraren, och då ordnade hon så jag fick träffa en kurator genom Företagshälsovården. Jag har aldrig förstått varför det finns kuratorer. Det enda som de verkar lära sig under sin utbildning är att le och att sitta obehagligt nära folk och titta en rakt i ögonen. Trots det bestämde jag mig för att ge henne en chans, så jag berättade om min okända inneboende. När jag hade berättat allt sa hon, hör och häpna: ”Om du känner att du behöver prata så får du gärna göra det, jag är här för dig, annars kan du bara sitta tyst. Det är OK om du behöver gråta.” Då blev jag alldeles förbluffad och tyst. Hon måste ha märkt det för hon sa: ”Det gör ont när livet liksom skaver i oss” och så klappade hon mig på handen. Jag visste inte vad jag skulle säga, hennes dumhet gjorde mig så arg så bestämde mig för att det var bäst att gå innan jag fick ett utbrott. Då log hon insiktsfullt och sa: ”Jag känner att du bär på mycket vrede inom dig”.

Kuratorn ordnade så att jag fick träffa en psykiater, också genom Företagshälsovården. Det var en sorts prova-på-besök för att psykiatern skulle kunna ställa en diagnos och upprätta en behandlingsplan. Han lyssnade också min historia. Han log inte, det är något de får träna bort på sin utbildning, och sedan frågade han några helt orelaterade frågor som om jag känner mig ensam och om jag tycker att det är svårt att avgöra om saker händer i verkligheten eller bara i mitt eget huvud. Jag sa som det är, att jag är ganska ensam men att jag reder mig. Och att jag brukar ha ganska bra koll på skillnaden mellan verklighet och dröm. Han frågade också om det hade hänt något tråkigt när jag var liten. Det var de orden han använde och vad skulle jag säga? En gång hade jag en kanin som rymde och sedan dog den. Annars inget särskilt.

Psykiatern satt och lyssnade på mig med halvslutna ögonlock och trummade med fingertopparna mot varandra. Han lovade att komma tillbaka med ett skriftligt utlåtande när han hade funderat färdigt, jag har inte fått det än men jag skulle knappast tro att det hjälper.

Till sist träffade jag en annan sorts psykolog, en kvinna som håller på med kognitiv beteendeterapi. Det går ut på att man bevisar för folk att de tänker dåligt. Hon påpekade att jag inte kunde veta att det hade varit någon i min lägenhet om det inte fanns några spår efter den personen. Det fanns ingen möjlighet att jag kunde veta att personen var en kvinna. Det var högst otroligt att någon skulle finna någon glädje i att bo i min lägenhet om hon hela tiden måste vara på sin vakt att jag skulle komma tillbaka.

Vad skulle jag säga? Hon hade ju rätt. Hela historien var ju väldigt långsökt, och jag hade ingen enkel förklaring till att det var på det sättet. Den kognitiva beteendeterapeuten lovade att hon skulle hjälpa mig ut ur min vanföreställning på 20 minuter om jag bara ville. Men jag tänkte att det inte skulle vara riktigt bra, för min osynliga inneboende skulle ju inte försvinna bara för att jag låtsades som ingenting.

Efter det att jag hade träffat den kognitiva beteendeterapeuten insåg jag att det var lika bra att sluta berätta om min besökare, och det gjorde jag. Efterhand började mina kolleger glömma bort hela historien, och började behandla mig som vanligt igen. Men den osynliga besökaren fortsatte naturligtvis med sina besök. Hon brukade komma varje morgon när jag har gått till jobbet, och stanna hela dagen, utom de dagar när jag sprang hem på lunchen, för då brukade hon passa på och göra något ärende på stan. Men jag sa inget.

Jag visste inte om hon förstod svenska. Ibland brukade jag skriva lappar till henne och la dem på köksbordet men hon skrev aldrig svar. Jag visste väldigt lite om henne, men jag var säker på att det var en ”hon”. Annars skulle hon ha glömt toaringen uppfälld, i alla fall någon gång.

Hon brukade aldrig röra något hemma. Det tyckte jag var lite synd för det vore väl praktiskt om hon kunde städa lite, när hon ändå var i lägenheten. Eller handla. Ibland lämnade jag någon sedel på bordet och skrev saker som ”Du kan väl köpa kaffe och wienerbröd – det är OK om du behåller växeln”. Men hon stod emot, hellre lät hon pengarna ligga där de låg. Därav förstod jag att hon var en person med stor personlig integritet, och det gjorde att jag kände en motvillig respekt för henne.

En dag beslöt jag mig för att det var dags att träffa henne. Jag tog helt enkelt semester, och låg kvar i sängen med alla lampor släckta för att inte skrämma bort henne. Efter en stund ringde telefonen. Jag svarade inte, för jag förstod att det var hon och att hon bara ville kolla om det var någon hemma. Sedan ringde det på dörren. Då hade jag tänkt ligga alldeles stilla i sängen och lyssna på ljudet när hon stoppade nyckeln i låset, och sedan skulle jag få se henne när hon kom in och tände lampan. Men plötsligt insåg jag att det kanske inte var så enkelt. Tänk om hon var yrkesmördare eller galen, och att enda skälet till att hon kom till min lägenhet var för att vila ut efter sina hemska brott, eller något liknande. Jag fick panik. Jag ropade så högt jag kunde att jag var hemma och att jag skulle öppna dörren så fort jag kunde. När jag till sist hade samlat mod att öppna dörren fanns det ingen där. Efteråt förstod jag ju att det var ganska överdrivet att reagera så häftigt, men då var det så dags.

Sedan bestämde jag mig för att försöka gillra en fälla. Jag ställde upp en vas lite ostadigt på en stol, och så knöt jag en fiskelina från stolen till dörren så att vem som än öppnade dörren skulle riva ner vasen. Det var en ganska enkel fälla men otroligt effektiv, det märkte jag när jag kom hem och råkade riva ner vasen av misstag, det första jag gjorde. Det var konstigt när jag plockade upp skärvorna, för jag märkte att prislappen satt kvar och jag vet att jag alltid brukar ta bort den. Jag förstod att det kunde vara så att den osynliga besökaren hade rivit ner vasen och sedan i ren desperation rusat iväg till Åhléns och köpt en likadan vas och riggat upp den på samma sätt. Jag funderade på att gå ner på Åhléns och kolla om de fortfarande säljer vaserna och kolla om det är samma pris som på prislappen, och kanske till och med fråga när de senast höjde priset. Men det kändes som precis en sån där sak som den där kognitiva psykologen skulle ha gjort, så det fick mig att tappa lusten.

Så då gjorde jag precis det jag borde ha gjort redan från början. Jag betalade en tonåring för att hon skulle sova över hos mig. Och när morgonen kom fick hon gömma sig i min garderob; jag sa åt henne strängt att hon inte fick öppna garderobsdörren, men att hon måste hålla utkik så fort hon hörde ytterdörren. Och sedan gick jag till jobbet, precis som vanligt.

När jag kom tillbaka hem var tonårstjejen fortfarande kvar. Hon sa att inget särskilt hade hänt men hon tittade mig inte i ögonen när hon sa det. Hon verkade skyldig på något sätt. Kanske hade hon helt enkelt somnat och glömt bort att hålla vakt. Eller också hade hon faktiskt träffat den osynliga och pratat med henne och kommit överens om att ingenting säga. Jag brydde mig inte om att korsförhöra henne, för det skulle kunna verka överdrivet. Nu visste jag i alla fall en sak. Den hemliga inneboende kunde troligen svenska, för Bettan är inget vidare på engelska.

Så gick flera år, och jag har vant mig vid det här laget. Det är inte hela världen att ha en osynlig inneboende, i alla fall inte någon som är så finkänslig som min. Hon kunde ju som sagt städa men man kan ju inte få allt. Hon brukar i alla fall inte stöka ner. Det finns en sak som hon gör, tror jag, och det är att hon ibland vattnar mina blommor om jag inte har gjort det på ett tag. Tror jag.

Nu har jag inte så mycket tid att tänka på henne, för jag håller på att skaffa mig en synlig inneboende, en kille som jag träffade på en rödakorskurs för några veckor sedan. Daniel heter han och jag känner ingen som är så härlig som han. När han flyttar in så blir det helt annorlunda, för han är en sån som jobbar hemma. Han är yrkesmusiker och måste träna på sin cello minst fyra timmar om dagen, säger han. Jag vet inte varför, för när man väl har lärt sig spela borde det väl inte vara så svårt att komma ihåg var tonerna sitter.

Jag är lite orolig med tanke på den osynliga. Jag vet inte vart hon ska ta vägen. Det är ju inte direkt mitt ansvar, men man blir ju liksom van vid folk som man delar lägenhet med även om man inte träffar dem.

Epilog

Nu har det hänt. Det hände i fredags, när vi fortfarande låg i sängen. Telefonen ringde och jag hade ingen lust att svara. Sedan ringde det på dörren och då hade jag ingen lust att öppna den heller så jag lät bli. Sedan hörde jag nyckeln i låset och så kom hon in.

Hon blev stående i dörren till sovrummet och stirrade på oss helt bestört, och såg alldeles sårad ut och övergiven. Hon sa ingenting.

Jag stirrade tillbaka, lika bestört, och sa ingenting heller. Sedan förstod jag plötsligt hur allting hängde ihop. Det var otroligt men inte omöjligt; det förklarade en hel del.

Jag insåg att hela mysteriet med den osynliga inneboende var rena rama struntpratet. Varför skulle någon skaffa nyckel till min lägenhet och sitta där om dagarna när jag var på jobbet eller på videobutiken? Det var otroligt långsökt, insåg jag, och det sa jag till henne, rakt i ansiktet. Nu fick det vara slut på de här inbillade osynliga besöken. Jag hade blivit hånad och förlöjligad länge nog för att jag trott på hennes existens utan bevis. Nu fick det vara nog med vanföreställningar. Nu var det dags att sätta punkt.

Your farewell

You were thinking of simply standing up, walking through that door, not remembering, not looking back, just leaving.

... must remember to leave the keys on the table, and a neatly written note with a forwarding address. In case there is mail.

Just walking through that door, lingering just for a moment on the threshold, and looking back to see whether you hadn't forgotten anything, now that you wouldn't have your keys anymore.

.... must remember to close the water connection to the washing machine and the dishwasher just in case. And the number to the plumber if the boiler overheats again.

Just walking through that door, looking back on that grey room and asking yourself why it had taken so long to realise that you could not possibly live there. Or rather, why you stayed so long after you realised that you could not possibly live there.

... and of course a letter to all friends. A mixture of warmth and regret and under the circumstances it's best this way.

Just walking through that door, leaving that grey room, hoping that the walls had been grey even before you moved there, or else that the greyness had a perfectly rational explanation and nothing to do with you. Closing the door tight so that none of the greyness would seep out from underneath and cling to your legs.

... and of course make sure that somebody would take care of the plants.

In the end you arranged the party, shook the hands, kissed the cheeks, received the flowers and exchanged warmth and regret and let's keep in touch.
And then you walked through that door. Afterwards you would never be sure whether you had closed it tight or left it wide open.

And then you left.

X

It had come to him as a flash of lightning, a rainy evening with far too much homework to do. "X is the answer to all equations". Javier had felt as if he had caught a glimpse of the engines behind the universe, as if a small window in the sky had opened to reveal a glimmering light before closing again.

That rainy night in Salamanca was the defining moment of his life, it was the reason why he now, twenty years later, found himself lecturing at a prestigious university in the US, the reason why his name tag said Xavier Morano, PhD Number theory.

Xavier added some notes to his article on Hilbert's tenth problem, and leaned back in his comfortable chair. Absentmindedly he rolled up his sleeve, and looked at a clumsily tatooed X on his biceps. He had done it himself that night, unable to sleep, struck by the purity of his vision. He could still taste the disappointment from the day after, when his teacher had casually mentioned that the unknown factor could be any letter.

His career in mathematics had been a search for that clarity again, that boundless joy. He could just as well have set off on a search for the holy Grail.

Wonderful opportunities waiting

Wilma would have wanted to be a singer. Or, given that she couldn't sing, at least a rapper. If the worst came to the worst she might even consider being a mime artist.
Anything but a travel agent.

But nobody ever called her to book her for a performance. Everyone just wanted to go on a holiday, and didn't even think to ask whether there wasn't anything she wanted from life.

So what could she do? Wilma was not inclined to give up. One day the magic phonecall would come. One day.

Viking ways, a millennium later

Viktor was shivering as he walked to the busstop in his unbuttoned jacket. His Spanish colleague Ramon wrapped his woolen scarf closer round his neck and beamed at the frost-covered trees and all the Christmas illuminations. "Isn't it beautiful! I love winter! But I'm sure this is nothing for you, compared to Sweden. Didn't you say that it was thirteen degrees minus last year?" Viktor tried to relax his stiff jaws enough to let a few words slip out. "Thirty," he said. "So this is like summer for me."

Ramon took a silly-looking hat and a pair of furry gloves from his briefcase. "Wow! Let's walk into town then! For me, this is like a polar expedition! But I enjoy it!"

Viktor would have liked to say no, but he was afraid his clattering teeth would drown the sound. Silently he trudged on along rue de la Gare, through the snowdrifts, sliding on the icy patches.

The thermometer at the railway station showed -1, and spring in Luxemburg was only four months away.

Unfinished business

Ulrich was a great optimist. His efforts made colleages and superiors smile in silence. Somehow, Ulrich's attitude took the sharpest edges off the terrible difficulties the company was facing. At times, Ulrich's unfaltering optimism was the only thing that kept the general sense of despair from completely taking over everybody's minds.
Every piece of really bad news was carefully saved and nurtured until it could be fed to Ulrich, preferably at a time when everybody could share the moment when Ulrich's face grew serious and closed, while the severity of the bad news sunk in. They knew he was racking his brain furiously for a glimpse of hope that could save him a little bit longer. And he never failed them. Ulrich's optimism was the running joke that saved also his cynical workmates.
- Ulrich, did you hear that our credit at the bank will no longer be prolonged - they ask us to pay back one million by Wednesday next week.
Ulrich stared out the window in silence. Then he smiled and said: Good, then we can look for better conditions in another bank, I was getting sick and tired of that manager.
- Ulrich, did you hear that we'll have to let the cleaners go?
- Good, that will give us an opportunity to get together in weekends and clean. It will foster a sense of responsiblity, in addition we could make a barbeque and play football afterwards.
- Ulrich did you hear that Carl is quitting, now all the designers have left.
- Good, that should open new creative opportunities; I've had some concerns that Carl's professionalism stifles our lateral thinking.

But there was an end even to Ulrich's optimism. The fire in the main building coincided with the letter from the only remaining client, in which he stated that he had found another solution that better corresponded to his corporate profile.
- There is no hope, the executive director sighed.
Ulrich looked out of the window in silence. Then he sighed.
- Well, in that case we'll just have to soldier on, without hope, he said in a barely audible voice.
The director just stared at him, saddened and surprised.
- You've never noticed that that is what we have always done? he said.

That day, Ulrich called his insurance agent, to check whether all his policies were up to date and whether there was some insurable area that had not been covered. One cannot be too careful, he tried to say in a lighthearted way, but his voice came out all hollow and broken.

Touch typing

Thomas was working on the IT infrastructure programme plan when his head of section, Samantha, came into his office. She was stunning, as usual. She gave him a provocative glance, moved towards his desk, perhaps standing a little closer than the normal collegial distance would allow, and looked at him working.
Why not, Thomas thought. I can also play that game.
He started caressing the keys as he was typing, sometimes touching the mouse with sensual dexterity. She leaned a little bit closer. With an audacity he knew that he would regret, he did two blank lines and started a new paragraph

Would you care to meet me later, maybe for a drink? You look absolutely gorgeous, as always.

Then he paused a moment, waiting for the sky to fall down over his head. It didn't. Samantha only said:
- Good work, Thomas. Will the report be ready before the meeting?
Thomas cursed inwardly, how could he have been so stupid.
- Yes of course, he said in a rather cool voice.

That evening, as Thomas drowned his humiliation at the local pub, Samantha told the little anecdote to her husband, Jens.
- Today, I went into that IT guy's office, and it was absolutely amazing. I had to stay and look. You wouldn't believe it, the way he was touching the keyboard, it was as if he had fallen in love with it. The way he was caressing the mouse. Come on, computers are nice but I wouldn't call them sexy.
- IT guys are always like that, Jens said.
- I must have seemed extremely stupid, Samantha mused. As I watched him typing, I suddenly started wondering whether you can touch-type with crossed hands or not. I must have stood there for ages, thinking about it. Then I had to say something, so I asked whether he would get his report ready on time. He seemed really annoyed that I'm checking what he's doing, I just hope this isn't going to blow into a conflict with the IT staff.
- You know what I always say, Jens said. 80 % of everything that happens only happens in our own heads. There is probably no reason to worry.

Spelling it out

Suzannah brought a new dimension to every play "A problem, why? I do it on purpose" she performed in, thanks to her improbable timing. According to Bob Tanner, a drama student with interest in statistics, Suzannah delivered 2 % of her lines extremely early, 21 % slightly early, 17 % on time, 38 % slightly delayed, and 22 % wildly delayed (average over 1997).
She had a way of making it all look perfectly natural. One memorable evening, starring as Juliet, she delivered all her lines, one after one, from first love to the final suicide, the first moment she laid eyes on Romeo. The rest of the play, she went through all the motions with an air of quiet, horrified resignation. The effect was slightly unsettling.
Her co-acters never lasted long; their most frequent reason was stomach ulcers.
When asked whether she perceived her complete lack of timing as a problem, she smiled and said:

Ruthlessly

Ruth was a woman without faith, but she had one creed.

Never ever admit it.

It had helped her a lot. It helped her through that terrible accident when she reversed to park her car in the office garage, knocked down the caretaker's bicycle and sent the waste paper containers skidding down to the next level into the PR officer's new mercedes.
It helped her innumerous times in arguments with her husband. "No, I never promised to go to the shop". "No, I didn't forget to pay that bill". "No, I didn't break that cup". It was somebody else's mistake and she couldn't take any responsibility for what other people are doing. How would she know.

Now she was walking home in her usual stride, arms swinging energetically, her eyes staring past and through her fellow pedestrians. She scared a couple of kids and caused an insecure traffic warden to drop his pen, but hardly noticed. Her mind was elsewhere.

This morning, one of her stiletto-heeled black shoes had got stuck in the escalator in the metro. She had continued walking as if nothing had happened, for good reasons, because behind her the morning rush had come to a sudden, confused stop as the emergency alarm went off.
She had continued in the same manner all day. One stiletto-heeled black shoe, one tiptoing foot in a threadworn but formerly very expensive silk stocking. Her angry eyes daring anyone to take notice. In and out of meetings, all day. Now at last she was heading home, finally she would be able to drown her humiliation and frustration in a very stiff gin and tonic. Only a couple of blocks to go on the uneven pavement.

That evening would later turn out to be a defining moment in her existence. It took her completely unaware, and there was nothing she could have done to avoid it. A soft hand on her shoulder, a kind but sligthly worried voice talking straight into her ear.
- Excusez-moi Madame, il me semble que vous auriez perdu un de vos chaussures.
"It seems to me that you would have mislaid one of your shoes", what an understatement!
Ruth searched furiously for words but her French seemed completely evaporated. She considered brushing the woman aside, but suddenly her arms were feeble like spaghetti. She looked down at her hopelessly ridiculous bare foot in its broken stocking, and took a deep breath to keep her voice steady.

- Oops, she said.

Quantitative assessment

Quentin sighed and put down his pencil on the table with an irritated gesture.
- How many times have I told you that I don't need to be disturbed? I'm working on an cost valuation of the social costs of dying from cancer and I can't do that if you keep bothering me all the time.
- I just wanted you to feel this lump in my breast, his wife said meekly.
Without looking at her, Quentin got up from his chair, his manuscripts in a heavy pile in his arms, brushed past her, stormed down the stairs to the windowless room in the basement where years of disagreements had taught his wife never to trespass, and continued writing in longhand the sentence he had been struggling with when he was interrupted.

"Since primary income is lower for women than for men, initiatives supporting men's health should be preferred over initiatives supporting women's health, all other things being equal. Ethically, this may be considered as problematic..."

He paused and listened to the annoying sound of his wife pacing the living room floor upstairs, like she always did when she was upset or angry. Then he deleted the last sentence.

Paternal

- I don't think that I've seen so many in one place at once, said the doctor.
- No, said Paul, I have done what I can to create a good environment for them. I have found that you need to be really careful with chemicals, and I have stopped smoking.
The doctor leaned forward to take a closer look, and one of his blond locks of hair fell over his eye. He took a quick step backwards, alarmed.
- I don't think you need to worry. Normally, they don't attack.
The doctor smiled but did not move closer again.
- Could you please tell me how this started?
Paul started from the beginning, talking about the void he had felt in his life, and how he had come to realize that it might be the physical impossibility of carrying a baby in his body that made him feel so bad.
- Then I read this book, Värddjuret, about a woman carrying butterfly larvae in her thigh. She was in Borneo when the insects entered her body. I could not afford the trip, so I had to come up with another idea. I meet a lot of children through my work and that's how I came up with this.
- Ah, well, I think I understand why you started this. But why head lice?
- It seemed like a cool idea at the time. But now I've decided to get a dobermann instead. Nuke the itchy bastards.

One phrase only, but how to use it?

Ottojust couldn't wait to use the sentence that had come to him like a flash from a clear sky. The sentence had been in his mind as he woke up, like an instant message from a presidential campaign leader cheating in a debate. (That was Otto's insiduous association, not mine. )

Otto walked his way to the office, talking to acquaintancies and colleagues as he arrived, hoping that soon someone would say something that would seamlessly lead up to his new sentence.
But it was exasperatingly difficult.
All day passed. Otto's shiny new sentence started to show the first signs of rust around lunchtime. At three Otto became aware that the edges of his new sentence has started to get worn and frayed. At six, just before Otto left for the day, he realised that the former glory of the new sentence had all but vanished. And it had never been uttered, even once.

- Au revoir, Monsieur, said the security guard. Bonne soirée.
Buggers! This might be the last chance to use the new sentence before it was completely decomposed, and the man didn't even speak English. It couldn't be helped. Otto smiled the wry smile he had practised all day.
- I feel a strong urge to be defensive, but it's not entirely clear how you try to attack me.
Somehow, this sentence had sounded better in his head, he reflected.

The security guard smiled indulgently, this was not the first time he had met an Englishman trying to speak French with such a terrible accent that it might as well be another language.

No new expenses

Nick's undertakers had to carry his body from his small flat, down the three flights of winding, narrow stairs, to the ground floor and out into the street.
His life had come to an end prematurely; he was only 32 and had died from slipping in the shower.
Watching the sorry procession - three sweaty men carrying a covered bier, one caretaker carrying the keys - a melancholy mood settled among the bystanders. It was such a silly and meaningless accident, therefore it could have happened to any of them.
- Well, his neighbour said, finally, with a pious sigh. It was a blessing in disguise really, it was just as well for him to pass away so quietly, the poor man, you know he had really fallen behind with the instalments on that new stereo of his.

Message

Mara was finishing her report on the international tungsten trade when Pasi's e-mail arrived. "Just a few lines to let you know I'm still alive" began the message, as always. "I'm in hospital now, they take good care of me but sometimes I feel over-protected. A nurse is reading this over my shoulder as I type. These past weeks have been worse than anything I've been through, I hardly remember anything but my eyes are sore from crying and my body aches all over. I swim through a malstroem of long forgotten memories, and faceless children haunt me in my sleep and keep me from eating. Last night I couldn't stand it any more. I tried to take the easy way out, but luckily I was found and saved. And so I soldier on. I will get better, I know. One day I will get out of here and I will come and visit you, and we will have coffee on a terrace with the sun in our faces. I have to go now. Pray for me if you still can. Pasi"

Mara's secretary walked into the office without knocking. "The boss needs your report right now, he says the director will make all our lives a living hell unless we publish on Wednesday."

Mara finished her spell-check with tears in her eyes. As if redemption was that easy.

Life, chapter 23

"Listen to this," Lana said: "Living in a couple is like a game with teams of two people. One participant gets a deck of cards, the other a marble. They will use these tools to build a house of cards. I could work on the phrasing, but it's a powerful metaphor, don't you think?"

Francis sighed. "Darling, isn't it time to stop this writing nonsense? We would all be much better off if you went back to whatever you did in that office."

K

Karl was as surprised as his colleagues. Was that his voice, were those his words, was that what he really believed?

- Home is where you go when you cannot postpone it any longer.

What a terrible blunder, what a strange thing to say over coffee a normal Tuesday afternoon. Karl tried to cover it up; he smiled like a very tired cheerleader and continued:

- In a manner of speaking of course, what I meant was that you can't expect to live your live in a sheltered, protected area, sometimes you have to face reality.

That explanation did not really improve things.


That night, when Karl again woke up, next to his sleeping wife, drenched with sweat in the dark dog hours, and knew that he couldn't stand it anymore, he quietly slipped out of the bed, took his wallet and his badge and left. Karl went home to the office.

Just a moment!

Johanna had a tiny problem with her attention span. She was unable to do anything - including sunbathing in her garden - for longer periods than three and a half minutes. Then she had to get up, water plants, have a drink, make a phonecall, send a letter, before she could take a new little break in the sun.
Johanna's life was spent in between projects. She started perceiving this as a problem.

One day Johanna realised that once our short lives are over, we will all be dead for a very long time, no interruptions. She wondered how she would be able to cope with that.

Introduction (dance floor remix)

I used to be blonder. I used to have more fun. Is there something you could do about that?

Indig Tips (8)

If you are fed up with commercial messages invading your Freedom of Thought, try using your Freedom of Speech. Every time a company invites you to buy something, make sure that you give feedback. The following examples could be helpful.

Dear Carrefour, thank you for informing me about your special reductions on meat, vegetables and garden furniture this week (see enclosed advertisement). However, I regret to inform you that due to other commitments I will not be able to take advantage of your offer. Yours sincerely, xxx

Dear Coca Cola, thank you for informing me about the benefits of drinking coca cola. However, for ideological and social reasons I have decided to rely on other beverages. Yours sincerely, xxx

It could be cheaper to do this using e-mail rather than letters. It could be practical to open a special e-mail account for this kind of correspondence. It could be fun to start straight away.

Hopelessely there

Hedwig bitterly regretted that she had taken the course in written expression. The first class had been hell - introductions took all evening because people spoke endlessely about themselves. Hedwig was the last person to speak; afterwards she doubted very much that anyone remembered her name or even her face after her hurried sentence "Hi, I'm Hedwig, I'm a dance teacher, I think that writing is also an art and I hope that I will learn a lot."
Predictably, this gave rise to one question from the trainer: "What kind of dance do you teach?" - "Oh, most dances really". Then the trainer treated them to yet another anecdote about herself and after that, class was over.

The second time, the trainer invited the class to work on a short text to put on their own gravestones. Hedwig politely listened to people with names like Barbara and Fred discussing whether an epitaph should be witty, touching, scathing or simply short. The self proclaimed poet saw a lot of merit in his own suggestion: "To the end". One of the Barbaras favoured something like "She had what it took to take what she had to make the world a better place", but that did not win much support. One of the Freds tried something like "The world's loss is his gain" but was never really able to explain what it was supposed to mean.
After her embarrassing introduction Hedwig wanted to use the epitaph to give her fellow students a glimpse of the broadness of her own talents and skills. However, she found the balancing act between self praise and distance very tricky. She did not want to claim total success but did not want to appear too bashful. She started writing, paused after two words to find the strong and apt formulation, and somehow got stuck. Long after the class was over, Hedwig realised that her failed attempt was the story of her life.

Here lies Hedwig Holstein.
SHE ALMOST

Indig Tips (7)

If you want to kick the habit of always sampling the food while cooking, the best way is to make sure that you always have something else in your mouth.
A useful substitute is to always keep slices of cold butter by the stove; then you can take one slice at a time and let it slowly melt in the mouth. To keep the butter from melting in summer, you can let the slices float in a bowl of ice water.

Good girl

Gail's French psychotherapist kept telling her that she needed to take better care of herself. "Il ne faut pas se laisser aller. You are the only one who is responsible for yourself and your life", was his recurring reply to all Gail's problems and concerns.

Gail went on a diet, bought herself a closetful of expensive clothes and hired a personal fitness trainer. The therapist thought this was a good start, but he stressed that Gail must work on all aspects of life. "You deserve the best for yourself. Why are you living in a depressing neighbourhood?" Gail moved to a stylish appartment and an interior designer helped her decorate the place to fit her personality. A few months later, she changed jobs to challenge herself, and started evening courses for personal development. With every choice she made, she sought to maximise the benefits for herself.

In the end, Gail led a fabulous life. But at night she cried from exhaustion, after all this hard work for someone who never even liked her.

Indig Tips (6)

If you find that your daily tasks have become tedious routine, you can try the following.  Write a carefully worded standard letter to everyone expecting input from you, stating that as the deadline is approaching faster than foreseen, their requests for input have been deemed to have been cancelled. Any renewed requests will have to be introduced within 8 working days upon reception of the note. Be strict but polite; this is particularly important in correspondence with your superiors.

If you are working with extremely gullible individuals, this strategy may just about work. Failing that, you can be certain that it will break the routine.

Friendly fire

François was the kind of man women turn to when looking for revenge sex. He was a neat, clean person, always polite and very discreet. So far he had been asked three times, and he had always accepted – why not, he was free and single and, let’s admit it, very lonely.
Now he was sitting in his car outside the woman’s house in Rixensaart, waiting for her to come out. They had planned to go directly to his place after work, but then she had remembered that she needed something from home and he had offered to make the detour.
He had already waited more than twenty minutes when she came out; she was radiating excitement, relief and happiness and had a completely new spring in her steps.
- François, she smiled as she entered the car, my husband was there and I told him exactly what I was going to do. And can you believe it, he hugged me and said that he can’t blame me after I discovered his relation with another woman, but he wants me to take care and he hopes that we will very soon find our way back to each other again, because he loves me very much. And he was so sad and it was so beautiful, and I’m so relieved!
François started driving towards the Ring, but he knew what was coming. The woman’s mood was shifting again; he could sense her unease mounting.
- François, perhaps I have been a bit hasty in my desire for revenge. Perhaps we shouldn’t do this.
- You are right, perhaps we have rushed it a bit, François said with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps we should get to know each other a bit better first; we could go out for a meal tonight, instead.
- Yes, that is so kind of you, François, I knew you would take it in a good way! I know this nice little restaurant in Schaerbeek, they make wonderful salads, I could even ask some other friends to come along, this could be a very nice evening out, just wait while I call them…
François kept driving in silence. This was the third time it happened. He was the kind of man women turn to when looking for revenge sex, but not the kind of man women had extra-marital relationships with. There were always men who were more attractive, more clever or more powerful.
He dropped her off at the restaurant and she hardly noticed that he wasn’t going to stay; her friends had already started to arrive.

Endless fun

Emilia believed in giving her children everything she did not get as a child. When other kids hauled up shrivelled little lunch tickets from their pockets and queued up for the refectory, her children solemnly stayed in the corridor and carefully divided their daily ration of chewing gums, crisps and jelly bears between them.
When other kids complained of homework and piano lessons, her children quietly rubbed their thumbs, stiff after yet another long evening of PlayStation. Sometimes on Saturday afternoons they would pretend to go to the cinema or the fun fair, but instead sneaked off to the library to catch up with their maths.
Emilia’s children were never allowed to taste liver, spinach, cabbage or peas. One day they stole a bag of oat flakes and hid it under a loose floorboard, but they went back to Delhaize and paid for it the following day.
Her son became junior assistant to the deputy chairman of the steering committee for polyester. Her daughter took to internal audit. Emilia used to pretend that this was the whole purpose of the exercise.

Indig tips (5)

If you find your conversation skills a bit predictable, you can use great lines from movies to spice up your comments and create a feeling of shared cultural belonging.
Example: Houston, we have a problem! This famous line was used in a movie called Apollo 13. If you haven’t seen it, your acquaintances probably have and will be able to relate to it.
If you are already comfortable throwing great lines from movies around, you may want to enhance them. Example: Houston, we have a solution! This line could work well in team-building exercises to show that you have both understood what positive thinking is all about and that you are a fun person.
Once your reputation as a clever and cinematografic person is solidly founded, you are qualified for the Freestyle Level. Example: Houston, we have a shuttle! If your acquaintances merely look puzzled you can explain the joke without seeming condescending by adding: It’s called Apollo 13! … eh… It’s also a great movie!... And they also had a problem! Like us! But not the same!
(You should, however, be aware that the conversational success rate of the Freestyle Level is only between 6 and 8 percent at best, and that it drops sharply with every explanation.)

Denial (pro-active)

Dorothy’s painful adolescence started abruptly on the 11th of March 1994, over breakfast, as her father suddenly lowered his newspaper, cleared his throat and said:
“Dorothy, darling, you mustn’t think that your mother and I feel that our lives would somehow have been better if we hadn’t had you.”
Her mother smiled her wide reassuring smile and said:
“No, honey, because that is simply not true, that thought never even crossed our mind. Not in a million years it would, if ever we would live that long of course.”
Up to that moment, that thought had never crossed Dorothy’s mind either.

Certain people

"You know," said Chris, "there are only two kinds of people in the world. There is a multitude of definitions of course, but any which way you cut it, rest assured that I'm on the winning team."

Believe it or not

Bernice started to notice that something was amiss the third time the escalator started when she had already climbed more than half of the immobile steps. The first two times she had attributed the problem to bad maintenance or slow photocells. Now she glanced over her shoulder and saw the tiny child that had put her featherweight feet gently on the first step and caused the whole thing to start.
It could not be weight; it could not be bad maintenance. It had to be her. Bernice.
She walked slowly to the ticket office to ask for some explanation.  The sliding doors would not open. Yet there were people inside buying or asking for information or simply browsing time tables. She patiently waited outside until a cleaner accidentally triggered the photocell as he walked past with his trolley. Then she queued up with the other travellers.
 
It was not the fact that no-one seemed to take any notice of her or that the sales assistant did not seem to hear her mumbled questions, that finally made her understand. She was used to never making much of an impression. No, the final clue was when Bernice stumbled and fell straight through the ticket counter, bullet proof glass and all.
Bernice had read stories about people who had died and just stepped out of their bodies and continued to live like ghosts without even noticing it. But she had never heard that it could happen to an entire civilization and all its buildings and computers.
It was truly amazing.

Indig Tips (4)

If the glove compartment in your car is too cluttered, you can use your car maps to make a decorative collage. Make a six-sided card in stiff cardboard (all sides equally long) and use that as a model. Use the model and a scalpel to cut identical six-sided pieces from the maps, centered on the destinations that you have always wanted to go to.
Sort the pieces from the maps according to colour and pattern. Then paste them closely together on a coloured paper (A 3). Watch out so that the glue does not spill and discolour the map cuttings.
You will now have a nicely patterned collage that is equally decorative in the kitchen or in the entrance, and a clean uncluttered glove compartment in the car.
This is also a great way to recycle old diplomas and certificates.

Indig Tips (3)

If you find it difficult to chat to lawyers, you may want to prepare some phrases in Legalese. If your mother tongue is Swedish, you may find the following translation useful.

- Hur är läget? How are things?
- Tackar som frågar! Bra!Thank you for your query. The situation is satisfactory.

- Så... vad gör du i kväll? So, what are you doing tonight?
- Om du har lust kan vi typ gå på bio. Depending on your personal preferenses any joint activities from our side could potentially include but would not necessarily be restricted to a cineastic experience.

- Tack, det vore kul! Thank you, that would be fun.
- Ingen orsak. Your expression of gratitude lacks foundation.
Nuance: "Alls ingen orsak": Your expression of gratitude is completely unfounded.

Indig Tips (2)

If you don't have time to sleep properly you can try to sleep faster.
You go to bed in the normal way but instead of gently counting sheep you should imagine that you stand at the top of a bottomless elevator shaft. You take a deep breath and say to yourself that speed-sleeping is fun and that anyway you never particularly enjoyed the aimless sleep of sloppy dreamers. Then you exhale and take the plunge into the void.
If you have followed the instructions you should now very quickly fall into very deep sleep and will wake up completely recovered a few hours later.

It is essential not to be afraid of heights.
If you wish you may dream about parachutes.

Indig Tips (1)

If you travel on the metro and have nothing to do, you can explain the name of each metro station to fellow passengers.
Not many people know that the metro station Herrmann Debroux was named after a school caretaker, who was very good at making children stop crying. He also had a very thorny beard.
Each time a child cried he would hug it tightly. Very quickly the child would dry its tears and say: I'm fine, you can stop hugging me now. It's OK. Honest.
By the end of each school year, no single tear was shed while Herrmann the Cactus Beard was on duty.

A life, condensed

Alan lived by the creed that the first thought always was the best. When an idea struck him, he followed the impulse immediately. He met a woman, they got married, had two lovely daughters and lived happily ever after. His imagination was limited.

Lo and behold

The citizens are gathering at the gates of the nation. Big things ahead, parties to be thrown, enemies to be fought and conspiracies to be uncovered. And rebels, most certainly.

Be prepared.

/Ernst Mandelmilch und Bienenwachs

The Indig Nation

Welcome to the world of the Indigs. We may be few, but we are also loud. In addition, we are always right.

This intrinsic righteousness may sometimes be a burden. But we have accepted it and learned to live with it. Sometimes, I have to admit, I even enjoy it.