Sofia’s aim with the therapy was to collect all the various personalities into one coherent person. But she was also aware that you shouldn’t move too fast in cases like this. The client has to be able to deal with the material he or she has to absorb.
With Victoria Bergman everything had happened of its own accord.
Victoria was like a sewage treatment plant in human form, using her droning monologues as a mechanism to filter out the evil.
But with Samuel Bai it was different.
She had to be careful with him, but without being unproductive.
Frankly Samuel exhibited no deep scars when he told her about the terrible things he had experienced. But she was more and more convinced that he was a ticking bomb.
She invited him to have a seat, and Frankly Samuel sat down on the chair in a snake-like movement. This personality was accompanied by an elastic, slippery type of body language.
Sofia looked at him and gave him a cautious smile.
‘So … how do you do, Samuel?’
He tapped his big silver ring on the edge of the table and looked at her with cheerful eyes. Then he made a movement, as if a wave were passing through him from one shoulder to the other.
‘Ma’am, it has never been better … And frankly, I must tell ya …’
Frankly Samuel liked talking. He showed a genuine interest in Sofia, asked personal questions, and asked her outright for her opinions on various matters. That was good, because it meant she could lead the conversation towards the things she felt were important if there was to be any breakthrough in the treatment.
The session had been going on for about half an hour when Samuel, to Sofia’s disappointment, suddenly switched to Common Samuel. What had she done wrong?
They had been talking about segregation, a subject that interested Frankly Samuel, and he had asked where she lived and which metro station was closest for anyone wanting to pay her a visit. When she replied that she lived on S?dermalm, and that Skanstull or Medborgarplatsen stations were closest, the open, polite smile faded and he became more reserved.
‘Close to Monumental, oh, fuck …’ he said in broken Swedish.
‘Samuel?’
‘What d’you want? He spat in my face … spiders on arms. Tattoos …’
Sofia knew what he was referring to. H?sselby social services had informed her that he had been beaten up in a doorway on ?landsgatan. By Monumental, he meant the Monument block close to the exit from the Skanstull metro station.
Close to Mikael’s flat, she thought.
‘See my tattoo: R for Revolution, U for United, F for Front. See!’
He pulled his top down to reveal a tattoo on his chest.
RUF in jagged letters, a symbol whose loaded meaning she was all too aware of.
Was it the memory of the attack that had summoned Common Samuel?
She pondered this for a moment while he sat there in silence staring at the table.
Perhaps Frankly Samuel hadn’t been able to bear the humiliation of being beaten up, and had left the whole thing to Common Samuel, who was the one who seemed to handle contact with the police and social services. That could have been why Frankly Samuel disappeared as soon as the Monument block had been mentioned.
That had to be it, she thought. Language is a carrier of psychological symbolism.
All of a sudden she realised how to get Frankly Samuel to come back.
‘Will you excuse me a moment, Samuel?’
‘What?’
She smiled at him. ‘There’s something I want to show you. I’ll be back in a minute.’
She left the room and went straight into the waiting room belonging to Johansson, the dentist, just to the right of her own office.
Without knocking she walked into the dentist’s treatment room. She apologised to the startled Johansson, who was busy rinsing an elderly woman’s mouth, and asked if she could borrow the model of an old motorcycle from the bookcase behind him.
‘I only need it for an hour. I know you’re very fond of it, but I promise to be careful.’
She smiled ingratiatingly at the sixty-year-old dentist. She knew he had a soft spot for her. He was probably a bit lonely, she thought.
‘Psychologists, always psychologists …’ He chuckled beneath his mask. He stood up and took the little metal motorcycle down from the shelf.
It was a red-lacquered model of an old Harley-Davidson. It was very skilfully done; Johansson had said it was made in the States in 1959, using metal and rubber from a real HD.
Perfect, Sofia thought.
Johansson handed her the motorcycle and reminded her of how valuable it was. At least two thousand kronor on one of the online auction sites, and probably more if you sold it to someone in Japan or the US.
It must weigh at least a kilo, she thought as she walked back to her room. She apologised again to Samuel and put the motorcycle down on the windowsill to the left of the table.
‘Jeesus, ma’am!’ he exclaimed.
She hadn’t expected the transformation to be so rapid.
Frankly Samuel’s eyes were shining with excitement. He rushed over to the window, and Sofia watched with amusement as he very carefully turned the motorcycle around, all the while letting out small whistles and cries of delight.
‘Jeesus, beautiful …’
During her previous conversations with Frankly Samuel she had detected a particular passion in him. On several occasions he had mentioned the motorcycle club in Freetown, where he would hang out and admire the long rows of bikes. When he was fourteen temptation got the better of him and he stole a Harley and rode it along the wide beaches outside the city.
Now Samuel sat in the chair with the motorcycle in his arms, patting it as if it were a little dog. His eyes were radiant and his face had cracked into a broad smile.
‘Freedom, ma’am. That is freedom … Them bikes are for me like momma-boobies are for the little children.’
He began to talk about his interest. Owning a motorcycle didn’t just mean freedom to him, it also impressed girls and got him a lot of friends.
‘Tell me more about them. Your friends.’
‘Which friends? Da cool sick or da cool fresh? Myself prefer da cool freshies! Frankly, I have lots off dem in Freetown … start with da cool fresh Collin …’
Sofia smiled discreetly and let him talk about Collin and his other friends, each one cooler than the last. She realised after ten, fifteen minutes that he would probably use up the rest of their time telling anecdotes about his friends in impressive detail, sometimes admiring, sometimes boastful.
She knew she had to be on her guard. Frankly Samuel’s rolling torrent of words and body language were making her lose her concentration.
She had to try to steer the conversation onto something else.
Then something happened that she had actually considered before, but wasn’t expecting at that precise moment.
Another Samuel revealed himself to her.
The living room