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hanging open as if he was wondering how he had ended up in this magnificent piece of clothing and what he should do now that he had destroyed it.

    There were several patrol cars parked outside the entrance and Mahler muttered, 'Police? What are the police going to do? Arrest them?'

    Sweat was pouring down his whole body by the time he reached his car. The lock on the driver's side was broken and he had to use the full weight of his body against the door to open it. As he did so, the lock ripped out of his hands and the asphalt under his feet rotated ninety degrees, hitting him over the shoulders and the back of his head.

    He was lying next to his car, staring up at the stars. His belly moved up and down: deep breaths, like bellows. He heard sirens in the distance, fine music for a newspaperman, normal. But he couldn't go on.

    The stars twinkled at him, his breathing steadied.

    He focused on a point far beyond the stars, whispered, 'Where are you, my darling boy? Are you there? Or ... here?'

    After several minutes, feeling capable of action again, he crawled up, got into the car, started the engine and drove out of the hospital parking lot, toward Racksta. His hands trembled with exhaustion. Or anticipation.

    Taby Municipality 23.20

    Elvy made up the bed in Tore's room for Flora. The stubborn antiseptic hospital smell had been softened three weeks back by almond-oil soap and detergent. Of Tore there was nothing left. Only the day after he died Elvy had thrown out the mattress, pillows and all the bed linen and bought new ones.

    When Flora visited her the next day, Elvy had been surprised that  she'd no objection to sleeping in the room where her grandfather had died so recently, especially in light of her sensitivity. But Flora simply said, 'I knew him. He doesn't frighten me,' and that was that.

    Now Flora came in and sat down on the edge of the bed. Elvy looked at the Marilyn Manson shirt that hung to her knees and asked, 'Do you have any other clothes for the day after tomorrow?'

    Flora smiled. 'Yes. Even I have limits.'

    Elvy fluffed up the pillows, said, 'Not that it matters to me or anything, but .. .'

    'The ladies,' Flora filled in.

    'Yes. The ladies.' Elvy frowned. 'Or rather, I agree that one should .. .'

    Flora laid a hand over hers, interrupting. "Nana. Like I told you. I think it's right to dress nicely for a funeral.' She made a face.

    ' Weddings , however ... '

    Elvy laughed. 'One day you'll be standing there yourself,' she said, and added, 'Maybe. Or maybe not.'

    Flora said, 'Probably not,' and let herself fall back onto the bed, arms outstretched. She stared up at the ceiling, opened and closed her hands as if she were catching invisible, falling balls. When she had caught ten of them, she asked straight out into the air, 'What happens when you die? What happens when you die?'

    Elvy didn't know if the question was directed at her, but answered it anyway. 'You go somewhere.'

    'Somewhere where? Heaven?'

    Elvy sat down on the bed next to Flora, smoothing out the already-smooth sheet.

    'I don't know,' she said. 'Heaven is probably a name we've given to something completely unknown to us. It's simply ... somewhere else.'

    Flora didn't answer, catching a few more balls. Suddenly she sat up, close to Elvy, and asked, 'What was that before? What happened in the garden?'

    Elvy sat quietly for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was low, tentative.

    'I know that you don't share my faith,' she said, 'but maybe you could look at it like this. Put aside God and the Bible and all of that, and think about the soul: a human being has a soul. Do you think that's reasonable?'

    'No,' Flora said. 'I think we die and get burned up and then that's it.'

    Elvy nodded.

    'Yes. Of course. But this is what I think. A person lives a life. Accumulates thoughts, experiences, love, and when she is eighty years old and still has a razor-sharp mind the body slowly begins to falter. Inside that human being is still