Chapter 1
“And what do you think this might be?”
Gunnar Holmberg, police commissioner from Vällingby, held up a little plastic bag of white powder.
Maybe heroin, but no one dared say anything. Didnt want to be suspected of knowing anything about stuff like that. Especially if you had a brother or a friend of your brother who did it. Shoot horse. Even the girls didnt say anything. The policeman shook the bag.
“Baking powder, do you think? Flour?”
A mumble of answers in the negative. They didnt want him to think class 6B was a bunch of idiots. Even though it was impossible to determine what was really in the bag, this lesson was about drugs, so you could draw certain conclusions. The policeman turned to the teacher.
“What do you teach them in Home Economics these days?”
The teacher smiled and shrugged her shoulders. The class laughed; the cop was OK. Some of the guys had even been allowed to touch his gun before class. It wasnt loaded, but still.
Oskars chest felt like it was about to burst. He knew the answer to the question. It hurt him not to say anything when he knew. He wanted the policeman to look at him. Look at him and tell him he was right. He knew it was a dumb thing to do, but he still put his hand up.
“Yes?”
“Its heroin, isnt it?”
“In fact it is.” The policeman looked kindly at him. “How did you know?”
Heads turned in his direction, curious as to what he was going to say.
“Naw . . . I mean, Ive read a lot and stuff.”
The policeman nodded.
“Now theres a good thing. Reading.” He shook the little bag. “You wont have much time for it if you get into this, though. How much do you think this little bag is worth?”
Oskar didnt feel the need to say anything else. He had been looked at and spoken to. Had even been able to tell the cop he read a lot. That was more than he had hoped for.
He let himself sink into a daydream. How the policeman came up to him after class and was interested in him, sat down next to him. Then he would tell him everything. And the policeman would understand. He would stroke his hair and tell him he was alright; would hold him and say . . .
“Fucking snitch.”
Jonny Forsberg drove a hard finger into his side. Jonnys brother ran with the drug crowd and Jonny knew a lot of words that the other guys in the class quickly picked up. Jonny probably knew exactly how much that bag was worth but he didnt snitch. Didnt talk to the cop.
It was recess and Oskar lingered by the coat rack, indecisive. Jonny wanted to hurt himwhat was the best way to avoid it? By staying here in the hallway or going outside? Jonny and the other class members stormed out the doors into the schoolyard.
Thats right; the policeman had his car parked in the schoolyard and anyone who was interested could come take a look. Jonny wouldnt dare beat him up when the policeman was there.
Oskar walked down to the double front doors and looked out the glass window. Just as he thought, everyone in the class had gathered around the patrol car. Oskar would also have wanted to be there but there was no point. Someone would knee him, another pull his underpants up in a wedgie, policeman or no policeman.
But at least he was off the hook this recess. He went out into the schoolyard and snuck around the back of the building, to the bathrooms.
Once he was in the bathroom he listened, cleared his throat. The sound echoed through the stalls. He reached his hand into his underpants and quickly pulled out the Pissball, a piece of foam about the size of a clementine that he had cut out of an old mattress and put a hole in for his penis. He smelled it.
Yup, he had pissed in his pants again. He rinsed it under the tap, squeezing out as much water as possible.
Incontinence. That was what it was called. He had read about it in a pamphlet that he had sneaked from the drugstore. Mostly something old women suffered from.
And me.
There were prescription medicines you could get, it said in the pamphlet, but he did not intend to use his allowance so he could humiliate himself at the prescription counter. And he would definitely not tell his mother; she would feel so sorry for him it would make him sick.
He had the Pissball and it worked for now.
Footsteps outside, voices. Pissball in hand, he fled into the nearest stall and locked the door at the same time as the outer door opened. He soundlessly climbed up onto the toilet seat, curling into a ball so his feet wouldnt show if anyone looked under the door. Tried not to breathe.
“Pig-gy?”
Jonny, of course.
“Hey Piggy, are you here?”
Micke was with him. The worst two of the lot. No, Tomas was worse but he was almost never in on stuff that involved physical blows and scratches. Too smart for that. Was probably sucking up to the policeman right now. If the Pissball were discovered, Tomas was the one who would really be able to use it to hurt and humiliate him for a long time. Jonny and Micke, on the other hand, would just beat him up and that was fine with him. So in a way he was actually lucky. . . .
“Piggy? We know youre in here.”
They checked his stall. Shook the door. Banged on it. Oskar wrapped his arms tightly around his legs and clenched his teeth so he wouldnt scream.
Go away! Leave me alone! Why cant you leave me alone?
Now Jonny was talking in a mild voice.
“Little Pig, if you dont come out now we have to get you after school. Is that what you want?”
It was quiet for a while. Oskar exhaled carefully.
They attacked the door with kicks and blows. The whole bathroom thundered and the lock on the stall door started to bend inward. He should open it, go out to them before they got too mad, but he just couldnt.
“Pi-ggy?”
He had put his hand up in class, a declaration of existence, a claim that he knew something. And that was forbidden to him. They could give a number of reasons for why they had to torment him; he was too fat, too ugly, too disgusting. But the real problem was simply that he existed, and every reminder of his existence was a crime.
They were probably just going to “baptize” him. Shove his head into the toilet bowl and flush. Regardless of what they invented, it was always such a relief when it was over. So why couldnt he just pull back the lock, that was in any case going to tear off at the hinges at any moment, and let them have their fun?
He stared at the bolt that was forced out of the lock with a crack, at the door that flung open and banged into the wall, at Micke Siskovs triumphantly smiling face, and then he knew.
That wasnt the way the game was played.
He couldnt have pulled back the lock, they couldnt simply have climbed over the sides of the stall in all of three seconds, because those werent the rules of the game.
Theirs was the intoxication of the hunter, his the terror of the prey. Once they had actually captured him the fun was over and the punishment more of a duty that had to be carried out. If he gave up too early there was a chance they