"Hi. My name is Bertil Svanberg and I am, as you may know, the princ.i.p.al of the school that you . . ."

He hung up. The phone rang again. Oskar stood there for a while, looking at the ringing phone, imagining the princ.i.p.al sitting in his checkered sport coat, fingers drumming on the desk, making faces. Then he put his clothes on and went down into the bas.e.m.e.nt. Picked at the puzzles, poked at the little white wooden box where the thousand pieces of the gold egg glittered. Eli had only taken a couple of thousand and the Cube. He closed the lid of the puzzle box, opened the other, mixed up the rustling bank notes with his hand. Took a fistful of them, threw them on the ground. Pushed them down into his pockets. Took them out one by one, played "The Boy with the Gold Pants" until he grew tired of it. Twelve wrinkled thousand kronor and seven hundred kronor bills lay at his feet.

He gathered up the thousand kronor notes into a pile and folded them up. Put the hundred kronor notes back, closed the box. Walked up into the apartment, found an envelope that he stuffed the money into. Sat with the envelope in his hand and wondered what he should do. Didn't want to write, someone could recognize his handwriting.

The phone rang.

Stop it. Understand that I don't exist anymore.

Someone wanted to have a long talk with him. Someone wanted to ask him if he realized the gravity of what he had done, which he did. As did Jonny and Tomas probably. Quite well, in fact. Nothing more to talk about.

He walked over to his desk and took out his rubber letters and ink set. In the middle of the envelope he stamped a'T' and an 'O.' The first 'M' went askew, but the second one was straight, like the 'Y.'

When he opened the door to Tommy's building with the envelope in his coat pocket he was more nervous than he had been at his school the night before. His heart thumping, he gingerly eased the envelope through the mail slot in Tommy's door so no one would come to the door or catch sight of him through the window.

But no one came and when Oskar was back in his apartment he felt a little better. For a while. Then it sneaked up on him again.

I won't.. . be here.

At three o'clock his mom came home, several hours earlier than usual. At that point Oskar was sitting in the living room with the Vikings'

alb.u.m. She walked into the room, lifted the needle, and turned off the record player. By her face he sensed that she knew.

"How are things with you?"

"Not so good."

"No ..."

She sighed, sat down on the couch.

"The princ.i.p.al called me. At work. He told me that... there was a fire there last night. At your school."

"Really. Did it burn to the ground?"

"No, but..."

She closed her mouth, her gaze getting stuck in the hooked rug for a few seconds. Then she lifted her eyes and met his.

"Oskar. Was it you?"

He looked straight back at her and said: "No."

Pause.

"No. It's just that it seems that although much of the cla.s.sroom was destroyed, that... that Jonny's and Tomas' desks ... that it was there it had started."

"Oh."

"And they were apparently quite sure that... that it was you."

"But it wasn't."

His mom sat on the couch, breathing through her nose. They sat a meter apart, an endless distance.

"They want to ... talk to you."

"I don't want to talk to them."

It was going to be a long evening. There was nothing good on TV.

That night Oskar couldn't sleep. He got up out of bed, tiptoed to the window. He thought he saw something in the jungle gym down on the playground. But it was just his imagination, of course. Nonetheless he continued to stare at the shadow down there until his eyelids grew heavy. When he got back into bed he still couldn't sleep. He gently tapped on the wall. No answer. Just the dry sound of his own fingertips, knuckles against the concrete, knocking on a door that was closed forever.

THURSDAY.

12 NOVEMBER.

Oskar threw up in the morning and was allowed to stay home another day. Despite the fact that he had only slept a few hours the night before he was unable to rest. There was a gnawing anxiety in his body that forced him around the apartment. He picked things up, looked at them, put them back.

It was as if there was something he had to do. Something absolutely necessary, but he simply couldn't think of what it was.

At the time he had thought he was doing it it while he set fire to Jonny's and Tomas' desks. Then he had thought while he set fire to Jonny's and Tomas' desks. Then he had thought it it was giving the money to Tommy. But that wasn't was giving the money to Tommy. But that wasn't it. it. It was something else. It was something else.

A great theater performance that was now over. He paced back and forth on the emptied, darkened stage and swept up that which had been left behind. When it was something else....

But what?

When the mail arrived at eleven there was only a single letter. His heart made a somersault in his chest as he picked it up, turned it over. It was addressed to his mom. "South Angby School District" was printed in the upper right-hand corner. Without opening it he ripped it into pieces and flushed them down the toilet. Regretted it. Too late. He didn't care what was written written in it, but there would be even in it, but there would be even more more trouble if he started messing around with this, than if he just let it be. But it didn't matter. trouble if he started messing around with this, than if he just let it be. But it didn't matter.

He undressed, put on his bathrobe. Stood in front of the mirror in the hall, studied himself. Pretended he was someone else. Leaned over to kiss the gla.s.s. At the same time that his lips met the cold surface the phone rang. Without thinking he lifted the receiver. "Hi. It's me."

"Oskar?" "Yes."

"Hi. Fernando here." "What?"

"Avila. Mr. Avila." "Oh. Yeah. Hi."

"I just wanted to ask ... are you coming to the training tonight?" "I'm ... a bit sick."

Silence on the other end. Oskar could hear Mr. Avila's breaths. One. Two. Then "Oskar. If you did. Or did not. I do not care about this. If you want to talk; we talk. If you do not want to talk; we don't. But I want you to come to the training." "Why?"

"Because Oskar, you cannot sit like caracol, caracol, how do you say... the snail. In the sh.e.l.l. If you aren't sick, you will get sick. Are you sick?" "... Yes." how do you say... the snail. In the sh.e.l.l. If you aren't sick, you will get sick. Are you sick?" "... Yes."

"Then you need physical fitness training. You will come tonight." "What about the others?"

"The others? What are the others? If they are stupid I will say boo, they stop. But they are not stupid. This is training." Oskar didn't reply. "OK?

You'll come?" "Yes..."

"Good. See you later."

Oskar put the phone down and everything was quiet around him again. He didn't want to go to the workout session. But he wanted to see Mr. Avila. Maybe he could go there a little earlier, see if he was there. Then go home again when the session started. Not that Mr. Avila would accept that, but. . .

He completed another round of the apartment. Packed his workout things, mainly to have something to do. Lucky he hadn't started the fire in Micke's desk, since Micke would be going to the gym. Although maybe it got destroyed anyway because it was right next to Jonny's. How much had actually been destroyed?

Something to ask...

The phone rang again around three o'clock. Oskar hesitated before picking it up, but after the flicker of hope he had felt after seeing the lone envelope he couldn't resist answering it.

"h.e.l.lo, this is Oskar."

"Hi. It's Johan."

"Hi."

"What's up?"

"Nothing much."

"Want to do something tonight?"

"When ... what?"

"Oh ... about seven, or something."

"No, I'm going to ... the gym."

"Oh. OK. Too bad. Catch you later."

"Johan?"

"Yeah?"

"I... heard there was a fire. In our cla.s.sroom. Did... a lot get destroyed?"

"Naw. Just a couple of desks."

"Nothing else?"

"Naw... some ... papers and that."

"Oh."

"Your desk is fine."

"Oh. Good."

"OK. Bye."

"Bye."

Oskar hung up with a strange feeling in his stomach. He had thought that everyone knew everyone knew it was him. But that's not how Johan had sounded. And his mom had said that it was him. But that's not how Johan had sounded. And his mom had said that a lot a lot had been destroyed. But she could have been exaggerating, of course. had been destroyed. But she could have been exaggerating, of course.

Oskar chose to believe Johan. He had seen seen it, after all. it, after all.

Oh, for Christ's sake . .."

Johan hung up, and looked around, hesitantly. Jimmy shook his head, blew smoke out of Jonny's bedroom window. "That was the worst I've heard." In a meek voice Johan said: "It's not so easy." Jimmy turned to face Jbnny, who was sitting on the bed rubbing a ta.s.sle from the bedspread between his fingers.

"What happened? Half the cla.s.sroom burned down?" Jonny Jonny nodded. nodded.

"Everyone in the cla.s.s hates him." "And you . . ." Jimmy turned toward him again, "you say that. . . what was it you said? 'Some paper.' Do you think he'll go for that?" Johan lowered his head, embarra.s.sed.

"I didn't know what to say. I thought he would ... get suspicious if I said that. . ."

"Yes, yes. Done is done. Now we just have to hope he turns up." Johan's gaze flew back and forth between Jonny and Jimmy. Their eyes were empty, lost in images of the coming evening. "What are you guys going to do?"

Jimmy leaned forward in his seat, brushing away a little ash that had fallen on his sweater, and said slowly: "He burned it. Everything we had from our dad. So what we're going to do is something that. . . that doesn't concern you. Understand?"

His mom came home at half past five. The lies, the distrust from the night before still hung like a cold cloud between them, and his mom went straight to the kitchen, started making an unnecessary amount of noise with the dishes. Oskar shut his door. Laid on his bed and stared up at the ceiling.

He could go somewhere. Out into the yard. Down into the bas.e.m.e.nt. To the square. Take the subway. But there still wasn't any place ... no place where he . . . nothing.

He heard his mom walk to the phone and dial a lot of numbers. His dad's probably.

Oskar shivered a little.

He pulled the blankets over him, sat up with his head against the wall, listening to the sound of his mom and dad's conversation. If he could talk to dad. But he couldn't. It never happened.

Oskar pulled the blanket around himself, pretending to be an Indian chieftain, indifferent to everything as his mom's voice rose. After a while she started to yell and the Indian chieftain fell down on the bed, pressed the blanket, his hands over his ears.

It's so quiet inside your head. It is... like outer s.p.a.ce. Oskar made the lines, colors, dots in front of his eyes into planets, distant solar systems that he traveled through. Landed on comets, flew for a while, jumped off and hovered freely in weightlessness until something pulled on his blanket and he opened his eyes. Oskar made the lines, colors, dots in front of his eyes into planets, distant solar systems that he traveled through. Landed on comets, flew for a while, jumped off and hovered freely in weightlessness until something pulled on his blanket and he opened his eyes.

Mom was standing there. Her lips twisted. Her voice abrupt and sharp as she talked: "So. Now your father has told me ... that he ... on Sat.u.r.day ... that you ... where were you? Tell me. Where were you? Can you tell me that?" His mom pulled on the blanket up by his face. Her throat tensed to a hard, thick sinew.

"You're never going there again. Never. You hear me? Why didn't you say anything? I mean ... that b.a.s.t.a.r.d. People like him shouldn't have children. He is not going to see you anymore. And then he can sit there and drink as much as he likes. You hear me? We don't need him. I am so... so...

His mom twirled abruptly away from the bed, slammed the door so hard the walls shook. Oskar heard her rapidly dial the long number again, swearing when she missed a digit, had to start over. A few seconds after she finished dialing she started to yell.

Oskar crept out from under his blanket, grabbed his workout bag, and walked into the hall where his mom was so preoccupied with yelling at his dad that she didn't notice the fact that he had slipped on his shoes and walked up to the front door without tying them.