*
The expensive car turns around and disappears out onto the road. A considerably cheaper car is parked at the other end of the parking lot, an old Saab with its hood open. Its owner, a young man in a black jacket with a bear tattooed on his neck, is leaning over it, tinkering with the engine.
He pretends not to notice either the expensive car or the boy it leaves behind in front of the apartment blocks. But when Kevin’s dad has gone, Amat drops something in the snow. The boy stands for a long time, staring down, as if he were trying to decide whether to pick it up again. In the end he wipes his face with the back of his hand and disappears into one of the stairwells.
The young man waits a minute before leaving the Saab and going over to pick up the five thousand-kronor notes from the ground. They’re crumpled from having been clenched in a sweaty palm.
*
The man puts them in the pocket of his black jacket.
*
Amat closes the door of the apartment behind him. Looks at the business card. Hides it in his room and fetches his skates. They’re too small, and so worn that the paint is peeling off them. He knows exactly what sort he could buy with five thousand kronor. All the children in the Hollow know the price of things they can’t afford. He packs his bag and goes out, runs down the stairs, opens the door.
The money’s gone. He will never be able to say for sure if that made him feel disappointed or relieved.
*
Peter is standing on a quiet street. He can see the roof of the rink from here. What is a home? It’s a place that belongs to you. So can it still be your home if you’re no longer welcome there? He doesn’t know. He will talk to Kira this evening, she’ll say, “I can get a job anywhere,” and Peter will nod. Even though he can’t get a job anywhere. They will talk about moving, and he will decide seriously to try to live without hockey.
He doesn’t notice, but when he starts walking again an old Saab drives past him.
*
Kira is taking the trash out. That’s her daughter’s job—they agreed on that when she got her guitar—but things are different now. Not even the summer will help cure her daughter’s fear of the dark.
There’s a smell of fresh coffee coming from their neighbor’s window. God, how Kira used to sigh about all the coffee when the family moved to Beartown. “Coffee, coffee, coffee, don’t people do anything but drink coffee here?” she grumbled to Peter, and Peter shrugged and said: “They just want to show that they’d like to be your friends. It’s hard to say, ‘Can I be your friend?’ It’s much easier to say, ‘Would you like coffee?’ This is a town where people . . . well . . . I don’t really know how to explain it. A town where people believe in difficult questions and simple answers.”
Kira got used to it. All the things they expressed with a drink in this place in the forest. Whenever they wanted to say, “Thanks,” or “Sorry,” or “I’m right there with you,” they would say, “Would you like coffee?” or “Can I get you a beer?” or “Two shots, please, on my tab.”
Kira drops the garbage in the bin. There are lights on in the neighbor’s windows. No one opens the door.
*
David leads the team out of the locker room, out of the rink. They’re training in the forest this evening. He gets them to do push-ups, and no one fights harder than Bobo. The boy who may not even get to play hockey next season—he’s too old for the juniors and too bad for the seniors, but he’s here of his own accord, sweating blood. David gets them to run, and Filip comes in first every time. Next season will be his biggest, the year when everyone else sees how good he really is. They will say that he is an “overnight success.” Sure, it’s only taken all his time since he was five years old, only taken everything he and his mom had. “Overnight.” Christ. It’s only taken his whole life.
David gets them to play tug-of-war, and Lyt almost dislocates his shoulder trying to win. And Amat? He doesn’t say a word to anyone, but he completes every exercise, does everything asked of him.
*
The club’s president is standing at the edge of the forest, close enough to see but far enough away not to be easily spotted. He’s sweating. When the big car stops down in the parking lot in front of the rink and Kevin and his dad get out, it’s the first time anyone has ever seen his dad attend a training session. Kevin is already in his equipment and jogs toward his team in the forest, and the cheers ring out among the trees as they greet him like a king.
The president remains standing on the edge of the tree line as David stands in the middle of his boys and shakes Kevin’s dad’s hand. The president’s eyes meet those of the coach across the distance, just for a moment, then the president turns and goes back to his office.
If Kevin had come into the rink, the club would have been forced to talk about principles and consequences. The president might have had to ask him to go home, “just until this blows over.” But he can’t stop the boys from training in the forest.
That’s what they all tell themselves.
*
In another part of town, outside a house in the Heights, Kevin’s mom takes the garbage out. She looks grey, from exhaustion as much as anything else, but new makeup has hidden the signs of crying. She opens the bin, her back straight, her gaze fixed. There are lights on in the windows all around.
A door opens. A voice calls out to her: “Would you like to come over for coffee?”
Another door opens, in the next house. Then another. Then another.
*
Difficult questions, simple answers. What is a community?
*
It is the sum total of our choices.
40
There’s an old saying that Sune loves: “What do you call it when a man goes out into the forest and other men follow him? Leadership. What do you call it when a man goes out into the forest alone? A walk.”
*
Peter walks into the house. Puts the milk in the fridge, the bread on the countertop, drops the car keys in a bowl. Only then does he remember that he’s left the car outside the rink. He wonders calmly if he’s going to find it burned out tomorrow, full of charred branches. He picks up the keys, removes the key ring they’re attached to, puts the keys back in the bowl, and drops the key ring in the garbage.
Kira comes into the kitchen. Stands on top of his feet, and he dances slowly, whispering in his wife’s ear:
“We can move. You can get a job anywhere.”
“But you can’t, darling. You can’t just get another job in hockey somewhere else.”
He knows. He knows that all too well. But he’s never been more certain of anything than when he says:
“You moved here for me. I can move away from here for her.”
Kira holds his face in the palms of her hands. She sees his car keys in the bowl. For as long as she’s known him, all his keys have been on a bear-shaped key ring. Not anymore.