The Nightmare

‘You’re wrong, of course,’ Salman says.

‘Paragraphs 3 and 6 in the Military Equipment Act, 1992,’ Penelope specifies.

‘But Silencia Defence has been given positive advance notification,’ he smiles.

‘Yes, because otherwise we’d be talking about large-scale weapons offences, and …’

‘Like I said, we have a permit,’ he interrupts.

‘Don’t forget what military equipment is …’

‘Hold on a moment, Penelope,’ news anchor Stefanie von Sydow says, nodding to Pontus Salman who has raised a hand to indicate that he hasn’t finished.

‘Naturally, every deal is examined beforehand,’ he explains. ‘Either directly by the government, or by the Inspectorate for Strategic Products, if you’re aware of them?’

‘France has an equivalent body,’ Penelope replies. ‘Even so, military equipment worth eight billion kronor was able to reach Angola in spite of the UN arms embargo, and in spite of an absolutely binding ban on …’

‘We’re talking about Sweden now.’

‘I understand that people don’t want to lose their jobs, but I’d still be interested to hear how you can justify the export of huge quantities of ammunition to Kenya? A country which …’

‘You haven’t got anything,’ he interrupts. ‘Nothing, not a single instance of wrongdoing, have you?’

‘Unfortunately I’m not in a position to …’

‘Do you have any concrete evidence?’ Stefanie von Sydow interrupts.

‘No,’ Penelope Fernandez replies, and lowers her gaze. ‘But I …’

‘In which case I think an apology is in order,’ Pontus Salman says.

Penelope looks him in the eye, feels anger and frustration bubbling up inside her, but forces herself to stay quiet. Pontus Salman gives her a disappointed smile and then goes on to talk about their factory in Trollhättan. Two hundred jobs were created when Silencia Defence was given permission to start manufacture. He explains what positive advance notification means, and how far they have got with production. He slowly expands on his point to the extent that there’s no time left for his co-interviewee.

Penelope listens and tries to suppress the pride in her heart. Instead she thinks about the fact that she and Björn will soon be setting off on his boat. They’ll make up the arrow-shaped bed in the fore, fill the fridge and little freezer. In her mind’s eye she can see the sparkle of the frosted vodka glasses when they’re eating pickled herring, potatoes, boiled eggs and crispbread. They’ll lay the table on the aft-deck, drop anchor by a small island in the archipelago and sit and eat for hours in the evening sun.

Penelope Fernandez leaves Swedish Television’s studios and starts to walk towards Valhallavägen. She spent almost two hours waiting for a follow-up interview on a different programme before the producer said they were going to have to drop her to make room for five easy tips for a flat stomach this summer.

Over on the grassy expanse of Gärdet she can see the colourful tents of the Circus Maximum. One of the keepers is washing two elephants with a hose. One of them reaches into the air with its trunk to catch the hard jet of water in its mouth.

Penelope is only twenty-four, and she has dark, curly hair that reaches just past her shoulders. She has a short silver chain around her neck with a small crucifix from when she was confirmed. Her skin is a silky golden colour, like virgin olive oil or honey, as one boy wrote when they had to describe each other in a high-school exercise. Her eyes are large and serious. More than once she has been told that she bears a striking resemblance to film star Sophia Loren.

Penelope takes out her phone and calls Björn to say she’s on her way, and is about to catch the underground from Karlaplan.

‘Penny? Has something happened?’ he asks, sounding stressed.

‘No – why?’

‘Everything’s ready, I left you a message. You’re the only thing missing.’

‘There’s no desperate rush, is there?’

As Penelope is standing on the long, steep escalator down to the underground platform her heart starts to beat faster with vague unease, and she closes her eyes. The escalator grows steeper and narrower, the air cooler and cooler.

Penelope Fernandez comes from La Libertad, which is one of the largest regions of El Salvador. Penelope’s mother Claudia Fernandez was imprisoned during the civil war and Penelope was born in a cell where fifteen other interned women did their best to help. Claudia was a doctor, and had been active in the campaign to educate the population. The reason she ended up in one of the regime’s notorious prisons was because she continued to campaign for the right of the indigenous people to form trades unions.

Penelope only opens her eyes when she reaches the bottom of the escalator. The feeling of being shut in vanishes. She thinks once more about Björn, waiting at the marina on Långholmen. She loves swimming naked from his boat, diving into the water and not being able to see anything but sea and sky.

The underground train shakes as it rushes through the tunnel, then sunlight streams through the windows when it reaches Gamla stan station.

Penelope Fernandez hates war and violence and military might. It’s a burning conviction which led her to study for a master’s degree at Uppsala University in Peace and Conflict Studies. She has worked for the French aid organisation Action Contre la Faim in Darfur alongside Jane Oduya. She wrote an acclaimed article for Dagens Nyheter about the women in the refugee camps and their attempts to recreate a semblance of normal life after every assault on them. Two years ago she succeeded Frida Blom as chair of the Swedish Peace and Arbitration Society.

Penelope gets off at Hornstull station and emerges into the sunshine. She suddenly feels inexplicably anxious, so runs down Pålsundsbacken to Söder Mälarstrand, hurries across the bridge to Långholmen and follows the road round to the left, towards the small boats harbour. Dust from the grit on the road hangs like a haze in the still air.

Björn’s boat is moored in the shadow of the Western Bridge, the movements of the water forming a mesh of light reflected onto the grey steel beams high above.

She sees him at the back of the boat, wearing a cowboy hat. He’s standing still, with his arms wrapped round him, his shoulders hunched.

Penelope puts two fingers in her mouth and wolf-whistles. Björn starts, and his face becomes completely unmasked, as if he were horribly afraid. He looks over towards the road and catches sight of her. He still has a worried look in his eyes as he walks to the gangplank.

‘What is it?’ she asks, walking down the steps to the jetty.

‘Nothing,’ Björn replies, then adjusts his hat and tries to smile.

They hug and she feels that his hands are ice-cold, and his shirt soaking wet on his back.

‘You’re really sweaty,’ she says.

Björn looks away evasively.

‘I’m just keen to get going.’

‘Did you bring my bag?’

He nods and gestures towards the cabin. The boat is rocking gently beneath her feet, and she can smell sun-warmed plastic and polished wood.

‘Hello?’ she says breezily. ‘Where are you right now?’

His straw-coloured hair is sticking out in all directions in small, matted dreads. His bright blue eyes are childlike, smiling.

‘I’m here,’ he replies, and lowers his eyes.

‘What’s on your mind?’

‘I just want us to be together,’ he says, and puts his arms round her waist. ‘And have sex out in the open air.’

He nuzzles her hair with his lips.

‘Is that what you’re hoping?’ she whispers.