 
### Wild Duck revisited

by John Fajo

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2002, 2012

Proofreading and short description: Christine Kecskemeti (2011, 2012)

Cover design and editing: Csaba Mengyan (2011, 2012)

For correspondence write to johnfajo@zoho.com

An antithesis to Henrik Ibsen's Wild Duck

License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage others to download their own copy.

Chapter 1: First Act

He took a last good look at himself in the glass facade of the new headquarters building before going in; his tie and suit seemed fine. He had to be neat, after all, company chief, Werle, didn't hold dinner parties too often, especially one in which he was invited. The building, he now entered, was prestigious in appearance representing power and might. Its construction was just recently finished, and it consisted of the most novel materials. With 20 stories shooting to the sky, outside elevators, and an overall post-post-post-modernist architecture, it looked down on the city from a hilltop. "Development and improvement," was the slogan of chief Werle, and it showed in every aspect of the company.

He entered the building and went to the reception desk. "I have come for the dinner party," he told the receptionist, a young woman he had never seen before.

"May I have your invitation card?" she asked. He was baffled, because he had no invitation card, and blushed.

"I work for the company," he said. The woman looked at him demandingly, and a grimace appeared on her face as if saying "I have never seen you here before". "I mean, I usually prepare the presentation material, you know... the leaflets and brochures, and the computer imaging of course," he said. "Gregers Werle has invited me. I didn't know an invitation card was needed; he told me nothing."

"Just a moment," the receptionist said, and after a short conversation on the phone, instructed him: "take the elevator to the 14th floor, and on your right, you'll find the conference hall."

He thanked the woman reluctantly, and went to the elevator. Somehow he found his suit awkward to wear, it wasn't tight or loose; he simply wasn't used to wearing suits. He looked back over his shoulder to the receptionist, who sat there morosely. Despite her demeanor, he thought her pretty with a nice face and body. Women in the north were the most beautiful, he pondered as he stepped into the elevator. He used the short ascent to take a look at the city outside, sparkling in the night. Everything looked different from here; as if it was a different world. He tried to find his workshop, but he couldn't locate it, it was in the eastern side of the city, on the outskirts.

When he got out of the elevator he almost stumbled into his schoolmate and old friend, Gregers, whom he hadn't seen in ages. At first they looked at each other, then a joyful expression emerged on their faces, and they embraced each other with the fierceness of youth as if trying to continue where they had left off.

"It must be 15 years," Gregers exclaimed excitedly.

"Actually almost 16," he said with joy filling his heart. "Damn, I sure missed you," they mutually agreed on that.

"Come, Hjalmar," Gregers told him, "we have time to talk before the dinner party commences, my father is tied up with some overseas investors, so he will be late as usual. There is a bar around the corner."

They went to a lounge area.

"What would you like to drink?" Gregers asked him, but for a moment he couldn't respond, because he was amazed at the richness of choice and because he usually didn't drink. "You will like this 50-year-old, excellent _Tokay_. We weren't even in the making when the grapes were harvested for this one." He nodded. He knew Gregers had good and sophisticated taste. "Old chap, you sure live well," Gregers said pointing to his paunch.

He smiled and waved his hands. "I can't complain. I put on some weight," he blushed vaguely, "I'm a family man now, you know."

"No kidding," Gregers showed sincere surprise. "I didn't know. Why didn't we keep in touch?"

Gregers asked himself, but he thought he had to answer. "Even your father couldn't keep track of the places you went to. How many times did you go around the world?"

"Can't remember."

They laughed.

"You must have met a lot of people."

"I sure have. Went to a lot of parties, saw good and evil... But you know what? Seeing you now again makes me feel at home. All these years I have been running, and although I met a lot of people I have always felt lonely. Sure wish you could have come."

"16 years on the run is not something for me. You know that I don't even like to travel that much. It's tiring, isn't it?"

Gregers hummed.

"What were you running from?"

"From everything. But mostly from myself." They laughed, but this wasn't a hearty laugh, rather a contemptuous, self-loathing one. "My mother died, your dad got into that trouble. I just had to get away."

"Those were hard times for me as well." He drank his wine in one gulp. "Father went to jail; I suffered a nervous breakdown... I would have really needed a friend." He looked at Gregers, his eyes showed deep sorrow. He usually tried to hide his emotions, but felt untethered from his inhibitions now. His best friend, the party animal was back.

"I am terribly sorry," Gregers said and patted him on the shoulder. "I couldn't stay." Gregers poured him another glass of wine. "Somehow I felt responsible for your woes, because of my father, that is. After all, they were partners, before..."

"Before my father was sentenced and yours acquitted," he said with a slight sharpness in his voice. "I couldn't understand what happened. Dad never talks about it. I just simply cannot imagine that he could cheat those pensioners out of their savings. It makes no sense."

Gregers hummed distressed. He glimpsed at him, looking up from his glass. He realised that he had to change the topic. "What about the babes?"

"The babes? What babes?" Gregers pretended to have no knowledge of any babes whatsoever, but he remembered him being called the _Oksen_ , the ugly furry northern grazing mammal, known to have very small brains. "Oh, I get it. I changed a lot. I was alone, and this gave me time to think. I'm not the insane animal I used to be. I think when I acted irrationally back then, it was always because I was running from something."

"Are you running now?"

"No, not any more. That's why I came back. To face my destiny. A man has got to do what a man has got to do."

He wasn't certain what Gregers could have meant about facing his destiny. Perhaps taking over the company soon?

"So, I hear you will be vice president," he said enviously, though he attempted not to sound so. Gregers noticed the tone and tried to downplay the importance of the vice presidency.

"It's not a big deal. My father's gonna run the business in the future as well. But you know, he's getting into politics." Gregers went silent for a second. "So, you are married?"

"Yes, I am," he said proudly, "got a 15-year-old daughter as well." He rummaged in his pocket, then handed over a picture of his daughter to Gregers. "She's pretty, isn't she?"

Gregers looked at the picture, and nodded. "What about your wife?"

"You know her. It's Gina."

"Gina who?"

"She was your father's secretary for a short time."

Gregers twisted his lips in an attempt to remember, and then said: "Yes, I know."

Somehow he didn't like the way Gregers said this. He felt some untold secret lay behind these words. Things he had suspected for some time, but never dared to think thoroughly through. He would have pondered on this, but Gregers didn't let him.

"What are you doing nowadays?"

"I'm working for the company. Making presentation materials."

"Really? Dad didn't say anything about that."

He wouldn't have thought otherwise, he was a mere speck in the company's immense machinery. With several overseas affiliates, thousands worked for chief Werle. The boss couldn't have known all of them.

"Yes, I am really into computer science. You can create anything with a computer; the virtual becomes real. This is the future," he said and felt carried away by his own words, his body shook with excitement when he thought of the imagined future.

"I used a computer when I was younger," Gregers said, "but then I found it was unbelievably dull. Numbers and numbers."

"No, not at all," he shouted and shook his head. "A lot has changed since then."

Gregers didn't seem convinced. "So you really like what you are doing?"

"Yes, absolutely," he said as in school when the teacher asked if he had done his homework.

"Of course," Gregers smiled, "soon I'll be boss, and I will need someone I can trust."

He nodded shyly. This was the time when he would have to "go and get it", as Gina had put it, when he was invited by Gregers. She had thought this would be a great opportunity for him to climb up in the hierarchy of the company, using the son of the chief. But he thought this would be cheating, using an old friendship for monetary purposes. This hadn't been the way his father had raised him. He liked Gregers for no reason at all.

"Are you going to settle down for good?" he asked.

"It seems so."

From the corridor people could be heard conversing boisterously. Gregers glanced at him, tilted his head as if telling him that they should go. They put down their glasses, and joined the people outside. They were swarming around Gregers the very instant they emerged from the room. He didn't know any of them really; he had seen some of them when they had computer problems, and he was then summoned. Otherwise, they had never met before. He felt as an outsider, the shadow of Gregers. They shook hands with him, the top executives of the company, but there was no eye contact. They gathered around power, he thought, the heir of the land had come. He was bitter, he felt like a clumsy fool as he supported the corridor wall watching the cheerful crowd. Important people, he thought with the disgust of those who have never been important for anyone in their lives. He knew he wasn't important to anyone, not even to his father who had drunk himself to benevolent stupidity in the past years. Suddenly his heart eased as he thought of Hedvig, his daughter. At least there was someone who looked up to him, who had shown him that he was worth something. But how long could that last? Even she was starting to change as she got older, becoming timid to hug or stroke him.

"Dinner is being served." He could not confuse chief Werle's voice with anyone's. It had all the authority the world could muster, the owner responsible for the employment and livelihood of thousands. And the chief knew it. And the chief had everything under control.

They all went into the conference hall the catering service had previously prepared for the occasion. Gregers seated himself by his father's side, at the other end of the table, almost opposite to him. For a moment he perceived the piercing look of chief Werle, so he looked up from the plates and saw Gregers affectionately discussing something with his father. Then, for an infinitesimally small period, he and Gregers looked at each other; and yet this time was enough for him to comprehend that they were arguing about him. He knew chief Werle thought he had no right to be there, and Gregers tried to convince him of the opposite. He squeezed himself even more, as much as his belly would allow. He didn't dare look at chief Werle when the boss proposed a toast to his son, and spoke of the future prospects of the company. He ate his dinner in almost complete silence, and his thoughts wandered to his ancestors. They were something to look up to. The Viking masters of yesterday, the conquerors. When he was down-stricken he liked to think of them and imagine himself in their place. Sailing the high seas, fearing nought. He had the countenance of a Viking, he was tall and strong. He snatched a glimpse at chief Werle, not even enough for his brain to gather the visual information to form a picture of him; it was rather his imagination at work. Chief Werle hadn't the making of a Viking. Gregers' father was balding, wearing thick light-sensitive spectacles, and had an extensive paunch he could never attain no matter how hard he tried. His figure represented the leader of today though, the man who had all the numbers in his head, and an air of authority. From the abyss of the past he could cite faint memories buried somewhere deep in his soul, images of a Viking master wiping the floor with a slave. The slave would have been half-naked, and would desperately glimpse at the open sky somewhere on the world seas as the Viking master ordered him to row. The slave would be Werle, simply Werle of no authority. He would be the Viking master.

"How is the computer business? Heard a new drive will emerge on the market soon," an executive abruptly cut his thoughts. He was quick to respond, after all one had to be important for others. One had to be up-to-date.

"Yes, the new millennia have come. It will...," he started listing all the specifications of the new drive, the patches, the software and the compatibilities. He knew everything about them. He explained with ease and excitement until he realised that the executives had lost interest.

"The best things about computers," one fat executive said laughing, "are the babes. I mean I click here, I click there and all these boobies appear out of nowhere. You, Hjalmar, just admit it, that's what you do all the time."

"Do what?" He swallowed the last bit of his dessert.

"Watch the pussies."

The executives laughed. Even chief Werle laughed. Gregers didn't laugh though. He was offended, though he didn't know exactly why. Somehow he felt that with this rude joke the executives laughed at his chosen profession; laughed at him. They were almost saying: "that's where your kind of little devils can see attractive women, not like us, we have lovers and mistresses all over the place." He forced a vague smile on himself, trying very hard not to burst into tears or a violent outburst. They were making jokes of him all right. Although he knew it wasn't true, he thought they had been laughing at him throughout the whole dinner. Laughing at the pussy Viking. He was just a pussy Viking to them.

"Be nice to Mr. Hjalmar," Gregers told the guests, "he may soon be an important figure at the company." Gregers tried to imitate being only ostensibly angry. Chief Werle frowned knowing that his son was furious within and for the possibility of a computer geek like Hjalmar getting to play an important role in the company. At least Gregers could keep it to himself for now.

"Now, now, Mr. Gregers," the general counselor said. "We weren't really making jokes of Hjalmar. We were making jokes of ourselves."

"So you watch babes as well, or rather dudes?" Gregers was referring to the obvious fact that the general counselor was a she. The executives had a good time.

"That's private," she said.

The cheerfulness was complete now. Even he let loose a smile. He looked at Gregers and wondered. Was his old schoolmate trying to protect him or was the chief's son rather treading on his father in some way? He admitted that he needed this protection; he was the youngest and, status-wise, weakest in the room. At the same time, he wanted no kind hand to help him through life. This was presently an insoluble paradox to him. If he couldn't make a stand, he would never be anything in the eyes of the executives.

Suddenly, his thoughts were distracted.

"Excuse me," said an older man in a weary suit emerging from an inner meeting room that had its only entrance through the conference hall. Chief Werle glanced at the old man with demanding eyes. "We were working inside. Just coming through. Have a nice party," the old man added.

Another older gentleman followed close behind. He was a tall figure, must have been quite a man in his youth. He sighed silently as his father, the tall man stole out of the conference hall quickly. Chief Werle looked at him with despise. He was sorry for his father. But he couldn't help him, and this hurt. His father lived off the benevolence of chief Werle, just as he did; got his monthly salary from the company.

"I propose a toast to the Ekdal family," Gregers stood up. Chief Werle shook his head in exasperation. The executives looked at him, the Ekdal at the table, and nodded with dignified pity.

The dinner ended not much later; everyone started leaving. He went to Gregers, shook his hand and thanked him for inviting him. Gregers told him it was the least the company could do. He was about to leave as well, but something kept him back. For some reason, he didn't know why, he went into the inner meeting room. Perhaps it's just the way it had to be.

"Everyone left?" he heard chief Werle saying.

"It seems so, dad."

"What was all this nonsense with Hjalmar? He is a nice guy, but he will never be more than a computer geek. He is weak; he would never make a good leader."

"Really? But at least you're strong, dad," Gregers sounded ironic. "Everyone is so fucking afraid of you."

He was not the eavesdropping type, but it would have been very awkward to leave now. And, as a matter of fact, he was interested.

"Grow up, son. There are those who rule, and those who want to be ruled. This has always been so. I thought that now you finally came home you would be wiser. Didn't all this travelling open your eyes?"

"Yes, it has." There was a moment's silence. "You forgot to mention that Hjalmar married Gina," Gregers continued.

"I forgot to mention a lot of things to you. I didn't mention that I bought a leather shoe 5 years 2 months and 7 days ago," chief Werle was sarcastic. "So what?"

"So what? She was your secretary. Your personal secretary. Very personal indeed."

"Listen. This is the way it is: you are head of a prosperous company; you have a lot of money, fast sports cars. Then there are these young bitches from the country, who think you are easy prey. But you are not."

"That's very nicely put. Of course, you fucked all your secretaries."

"I didn't rape them. I didn't ask for it. Why do you care so much? You want to save the world? You can't. You can't even save yourself."

He couldn't think. What he had suspected for years now turned out to be true. It hurt all the more, because Gina had always denied it. And with Werle! What an ugly piece of shit she had chosen. He felt dizzy, his sight was blurred. How could she? He stumbled to a chair and sat there, the conversation outside was not entering his head any more. There was no protective dream world around him now, the Viking legend seemed no more than a fairy tale. He tried to think of it, but was unable. There were no high seas, no land to conquer. Only a murky modern meeting room with modern furniture, and a modern smell. There was no scent of the sea.

He didn't know how much time could have passed; he just noticed the Werles weren't there any more. He got up and started his way home. The northern wind blew, and it was raining outside, as usual.

Chapter 2: Second Act

His flat was above his workshop in a small century-old house. He couldn't remember anything about his way home. Raindrops fell from his fair hair, and he was drenched to the skin. He must have walked all the way.

"What happened to you?" Gina asked as he entered. "Didn't you take a taxi?"

"No, no," he murmured. He didn't look up. "I needed a walk. I drank too much."

"I told you to be careful," Gina said scoldingly. "You're soaking wet."

"Where's the kid?" he enquired as he took off his coat.

"She's watching television."

"And dad?"

"He's in his room... sleeping... presumably."

He knew this meant his father was drinking.

He hummed. Just a couple of months ago Hedvig would have been running to the door to meet him, and hug him. He would have kissed her on the cheek, and they would talk about the day. But now television got hold of her.

He changed clothes, and then went to the living room. Hedvig was there all right, now accompanied by her mother as well. They hardly noticed him.

"Hi, dad," she said her eyes glued to the TV. "Oh, no," she then suddenly shouted, "they are going to do it."

"Do what?" he asked. But as they didn't answer, he went to take a look himself. There was a blondie and a fatso, who was the he and who was the she, he couldn't tell. Anyway, they were in a very obvious position. He was baffled. He glimpsed at 15-year-old Hedvig, and then at his wife. What was going on? "Aren't you a bit too young for this?" he turned to Hedvig, and then, not waiting for an answer, to Gina, "why do you allow her to watch this? She should be in bed. It's past ten o'clock."

"Hjalmar, you're so old-fashioned. She's virtually a grown-up. Haven't you noticed? She has to learn what life is about."

"That's true, daddy. Most girls in school have already been with a guy."

His mouth stuck wide open as he had wanted to say something, but froze at hearing such sincere facts of life. He knew Hedvig would leave the family nest sooner or later, and he was happy for that. He would help her in everything as much as he could.

" _Big Brother_ ," Hedvig shouted the name of the program together with the TV as the show was paused and commercial was given. She went to the phone and dialed a 12 digit number.

"Who is she calling?" he asked Gina.

"The _Big Brother_ voting centre. The viewers can decide which player has to leave the show. The most democratic show, indeed."

"And how much will it cost?" he pointed to the phone. Hedvig grimaced at him.

"You are always so concerned with money," Gina was about to hold one of her monologues. "That is, if I want to buy some clothes or perfume for myself. Because how I look does matter, you know. A stewardess has to look pretty. Besides I earn more money than you do. I sure hope that Gregers friend of yours gives you a normal job. And just for your information; I paid the phone bill last month, and the month before, and before. You talk on the phone as well, don't you? With your fishing mates," she pursed up her lip showing how much she disliked them. "If you would care to make your own business, then you could achieve something worthy of you. But no. Fishing mates... Off you go with them, instead of organizing your business."

Gina had wanted him to start his own business for a long time. She had told him many times that he was a coward who couldn't free himself from the company.

She was driving at this very same topic now. "If you could just be a man..." He let her words wash over him, it was late for him, he felt all energy had petered out of him. The advertisement was long; way too long. The monologue ended only when the commercial was over.

There they sat, the two women watching television, him not watching or seeing anything except emptiness. He soon retired to bed and went to sleep.

He dreamed. It was the usual dream, he was the Viking master. The only exceptional thing was how much it resembled reality this time. He could taste the salty air in his mouth when he woke to the sound of the door bell in the morning. He opened the door in pyjamas as Hedvig, his father and Gina had already left, Hedvig to school, Gina to the airport and his father to the headquarters. He could hardly keep his eyes open.

"Do you believe in universal good?" There were two of them, members of some church.

"I just woke up," he stuttered. "Couldn't we..."

They could see he wasn't in a condition to argue. "Because there is a universal good. And there is a God. Do you agree that God is good?"

"Possibly," he wanted to get back to his dream.

"Once good reigned on the Earth. But then evil came. Once all animals lived in peace and harmony."

"Really?"

"Yes. There was no violence, no one killed anyone."

"No one?"

"No one."

"But what about, say the lion?"

"What about it?" They were the patient kind.

"Lions must have killed back then as well."

"No, not at all. They didn't eat meat."

"What did they eat then?"

"They ate what all other animals ate: grass."

He started laughing as a child who denies the obvious insanity of grown-ups. "Lions ate grass," he repeated.

"Yes. All of them ate grass."

"This doesn't make sense. Tell me then, why does a lion have canine teeth, and a paw as heavy as a hammer?"

"He has large teeth to be able to eat the dried grass, and heavy paws to be able to dig for it."

Sleep left him all of a sudden, his eyes were wide open. He knew from earlier experiences that it was no use to argue with religious people. He would only annoy himself.

"So you are saying that God created these killing machines to eat grass."

"No, God has created them to be peaceful. It was the devil that forced them to taste blood. Our holy quest is to chase away the devil."

"And to make lions eat grass again." He was getting annoyed all right.

"Yes," one of them said as if a lion eating grass would be the most obvious thing in the world. "And there would be love, no more wars, no pain."

He realised it was time to quit this aimless conversation, he believed in evolution and these folks here in lions eating grass. Luckily the phone rang, and he bid them good-bye.

Gregers was on the other end of the line. "Hello, old chap, thought I'd pop by."

"Okay," he said. "I will be down in the workshop. Have to make a presentation for the international fair next month." He hated to make presentations, because his hands were entirely tied, the marketing decided everything, and of course, chief Werle.

They ended the conversation quickly, and he went down to the workshop. There was silence, only the noises of the sparse traffic emanated from the surroundings. He was frightened. He knew the thoughts would come, no matter how hard he tried to hold them back. And soon the thoughts pervaded him indeed. The funny lion episode was shoved to the side, and he saw Werle and Gina as the two love mates in last night's _Big Brother_. Werle looked somewhat like Gregers, the furry _Oksen_ , so ugly that he ceased to be ugly. Gina was very, very passionate.

He turned on the computer; the low buzzing only accentuated the silence. He punched the buttons fiercely, and watched Gregers, no it was Werle, or.... he didn't know which one and Gina on the monitor.

Then he leaned back, and told himself to think rationally. Like a computer would, if it could. Gina and Werle were together..., kind of. Of course she couldn't tell him, she had known how much he hated Werle. She wanted to protect him. He couldn't believe himself. He was actually accepting this disgusting relationship. What was wrong with him? Soon Gina would be the victim. Well, she wasn't. He was the victim, he and his father. They got only what chief Werle had no use for any more. That piece of shit. He often thought about the reasons an ugly-looking, cunning, but not-too-smart individual could become a leader. What was it chief Werle had that he hadn't? Was it some form of a hidden quality, an aura, a charisma? How could it be that his father, offspring of Vikings had failed in life so miserably, while Werle with ancestors not worth mentioning had succeeded? He knew his father hadn't cheated anyone, it had to be Werle. Was his success a result of perfect unscrupulousness, indecency? But if it was, what did that say about their society?

"Knock, knock," Gregers arrived earlier than he thought his friend would. "You have a nice place here."

"Yes," he said plainly and offered a seat to Gregers.

"I had a discussion last night with dad, and finally he was supportive that you should become my right hand. Work at the headquarters." He couldn't remember Werle being supportive of anything that had to do with him. "So what do you say?" Gregers stretched out his hand. He shook hands with him, somewhat distanced in his mind. He couldn't imagine a reason why Gregers would need him. As if sensing this Gregers said: "I sure need someone like you. Someone who knows everything about computers. What can one do without them in today's world?"

He looked at the computer in front of him; it looked somehow less appealing than just a couple of days ago. "Computers are the future," he could remember saying this the other day to someone. "The virtual becomes real." He had to modify his opinion. True, the computer was essential in a modern society. It could improve the quality of work if used correctly. It was a fundamental invention, like the wheel. But what the misty and mystifying sales tactics concealed was that it was just a tool. It had its limitations. Just like the wheel that one couldn't fly with. If used incorrectly it would simply increase despair, hold one's mind in a tunnel.

"Hello," someone said from behind him.

He turned around and it was Hedvig as he suspected. For a moment he got worried. "You are not sick, are you?"

"Hello," she noticed Gregers, who took her hand and kissed it like in the old days.

"Gregers," Gregers said.

"Hedvig," Hedvig said. Then facing him, she said: "No, I'm fine." She turned immediately back to Gregers. "Who are you?"

Gregers explained.

"There is no school today?" he asked.

"I took maths free."

"What do you mean you took maths free?"

"I discussed it with mom," she squealed. "There is a test I could never pass."

"Great. What else is there I don't know about?" he sounded genuinely angry.

"Don't take it so hard on her, Hjalmar. She's just a kid."

The kid blushed, frowned and was definitely irritated. Gregers noticed, and apologised. "I often skipped my subjects too." He thought he could strangle his old schoolmate.

"So, is the car outside yours?" Hedvig asked as her cheeks were retaining their normal colour.

"You mean the red sports car?" Gregers asked and nodded, smiling.

"Wow," Hedvig uttered. "Will you take me for a ride?" Hedvig was undecided whether to act like a coquettish young woman or a demanding child. She ended up somewhere in-between the two, sounding like a girl ready to be taken. Gregers blushed slightly.

He said with the wisdom of a very old man, who knew it was no use to rebuke his daughter for it would only enforce her determination: "Go, I have to finish with this until early afternoon". He acted as if their presence hindered him in his work.

"Right now?" Gregers asked.

"You can take me back to school," she said, and her face lit up. He thought that she thought that arriving with a red sports car would surely impress her schoolmates.

Gregers was hesitant for a moment, then agreed. "I will be back, old chap."

He heard the unmuffled sound of the rocket engine from outside, then just as a rocket, it shot through the street. He leaned back in his chair. He felt old. In the morning when he had looked in the mirror he saw a good-looking, young face staring back at him. Right now, though, he was more like his great-great grandfather if his ancestor were still alive. His limbs were heavy; his fingers moved slowly, the clicking was an arduous task. The most novel animated 3D images flashed in front of his eyes, but he didn't really observe them. He was making the presentation from experience; only one small, unconscious part of his mind was involved.

The world was changing around him. Of course, the world had always been changing. He just hadn't noticed earlier. He was not against change, but somehow instead of the excited anticipation, he felt deep worry. As if all of society's worries had aggregated in him. He tried to shake it loose, but couldn't. He was trapped, and at the same time, he knew that eventually he would have to resolve the matter himself. In one way or the other. Sooner or later. But rather sooner if he didn't want to go insane.

He was soon finished with his work; he sent the whole presentation electronically to headquarters, where he wouldn't have been the most welcomed guest. He stood up and stretched his arms. He could hear the sounds of a rocket outside.

"We're back," Hedvig shouted and ran to him, and kissed him. He was stunned, but a warm breeze made his body tremble.

"School's closed for today," Gregers explained immediately. "Someone phoned in a bomb threat. Probably weren't too eager about this math test either."

He looked at Hedvig.

"It wasn't me," she said. "I don't know anything about it." There was a strange and dubious smile on hear face, and her eyes and Gregers' met. "I have to show you something," she said. She took Gregers by the arm and they went to one corner of the workshop; he followed them shortly.

"This is Hedvig's corner," he said. "I bet you haven't seen anything like this before. It's a prototype."

Gregers glanced at him, his long, curled black hair making him reminiscent of Latin lovers. Hedvig took out a box from beneath her computer desk, and put it on the desk. She waited for some time before opening the box. She wanted Gregers to ask for it; his friend knew this.

"So what's in it?" Gregers finally asked after stretching her patience to the limit. Hedvig made gestures stressing the importance of the contents of the box, then finally opened it. She rummaged, then "Quack, quack," could be heard.

She placed the electronic duck on the floor. It flapped its wings, and looked at Gregers. "This is not like the dummies you can buy in stores," she said, "it has in-built intelligence equivalent to a three-year-old child's."

"Brilliant," Gregers exclaimed, the duck seemed so unrealistically real. "Where did you get it from?"

"From your father," he said. Gregers twisted his nose as if smelling a foul rat.

"But daddy did most of the programming and research."

"So it's your brainchild then."

"I did some of the work," he tried to sound modest.

"Is this the only one?"

"Yes."

"This could be sold in millions," Gregers said. "Are we producing the ducks?"

"No," his face lost the previous excitement all of a sudden.

"Why?"

"Your father thought it was an almost certain failure. Nothing has been done after we completed this project with the company engineers last year." He was filled with new hope the way Gregers looked at him.

"I promise you, we'll sell millions and millions, and be rich," his friend waved his hands.

The duck was frightened of Gregers, it quacked and trotted behind a drawer. It was afraid of furry creatures. It was a duck after all. At least it should have believed.

"Yes, and then we can have a red sports car too," Hedvig joined in the excitement. He thought she rather meant that she could have a red sports car. He was happy though. Not for the possible money. He would have accepted it if he earned no money with it at all. What was important for him was that his brainchild would make an appearance on the world stage after all.

They got so excited, everyone for his own reason, that they didn't notice that Relling, the dentist from next door came to pay him a visit. The duck observed Relling though, its electronic sensors sharpened beyond the humanly conceivable. It bounced to the air, flew over the drawer and landed on one of the computers at the far end of the workshop.

"Wooooo," Relling made sinister gestures turning to the duck knowing that the duck had recognised him. The dentist enjoyed intimidating the plastic-metal creature that was only an unnatural twist of nature to him. Something that shouldn't exist. "I will cut the throat of your duck one day," the dentist said turning to him.

He liked Relling. "Go ahead," he said. "The head contains only 50% of the visual sensors. The processor is in the body close to the batteries surrounded by metal plates."

Relling tried to think of something pertinently funny in response, but couldn't. "You win then."

He introduced Gregers. Relling showed an immediate dislike for the young Werle. "The car outside is yours?" the dentist asked, but not caring to listen to the answer, told Hedvig: "Let's go, and catch this bird." Hedvig laughed; she knew Relling, the bald-head as she called him, could never catch the state-of-the-art robot. The duck obeyed only her and Hjalmar.

"Molvik will be here in a moment with his laptop. Would you be so kind to install some things on it?" the dentist almost commanded him to do so.

He nodded. "Turn off the duck, will you?" he asked Hedvig, and with that Molvik appeared. They started installing.

He could hear some muttering over his shoulders, Hedvig was teasing Gregers and Relling, and they did likewise. An hour or so must have passed, when they finished. He noticed that Gregers and Molvik, contrary to Gregers and Relling, found soulmates in each other. They were actually all having a good time, like it wasn't the middle of a weekday. They lived in a welfare society. They all had too much time to think, he thought.

Unexpectedly Relling got hold of Hedvig, lifted her, caught her by the ankles. She was hanging up-side down. Then bald-head put her down.

"My lens," Hedvig cried out and looked offended. She wasn't a child any more to be picked up like that.

"What happened?" Gregers asked.

"The contact lens fell out from my left eye."

"Nobody moves then," the dentist said, laughing at Hedvig's annoyance.

"There it is," Gregers squatted and picked up the lens.

"Give me," Hedvig said and grasped for it as if it was the most vital thing in her life. "I can't see anything without my contact lenses."

"Just like my father without his glasses," Gregers said. "You're a blind mouse."

"Blind mouse, blind mouse," Relling said.

"Ha, ha, ha," she looked humiliated.

The dentist stopped teasing her. "We better get going," Relling told Molvik, who was discussing some far away island resort with Gregers.

"Call me," Molvik told the young Werle, and left with the dentist, with his laptop under his arms.

For some time there was silence. Then Hedvig said: "I have to go and do my homework." He thought that was something for a change as he heard her go up the stairs.

"Finally alone again," Gregers said. "We can talk."

"Talk about what?" he wasn't in the mood of discussing anything with anyone. He wanted to sob alone. Some sort of dislike started emerging in him for Gregers, perhaps partly because he was a Werle, partly because he was so successful with Hedvig. Of course, he knew that an older man appealed to girls of her age, especially coming from far away exotic places with a red sports car that had rocket engines. But still, knowing this didn't make him feel any better. He had raised her; Gina was often away for days due to her job. He had been the one by her side when she was sick, or got into trouble. He was too attached to her.

"Let's talk about the future. Our future," Gregers said. "So as I told you I want you to be my right hand. Our first project would be the duck. Your duck. Soon you will have money flowing in."

"That would be good," he said morosely, not really caring. "I still can't pay back all my debts that I took for my studies, and the mortgage for this place. We spend virtually all money we make." He thought about the ten-year-old family car of his and the red sports car.

"You can forget about all that."

"Why?" he asked. "Why are you trying so hard to be nice?"

Gregers wasn't ready for a question like that, had no prepared answer. "A man of your calibre deserves better than what you have. You're talented..." Gregers seemed to be fighting with himself whether to say more or not, finally deciding that it was better not to at this moment.

"Maybe your father is right, and no one would care to buy a duck like that."

"No, no," Gregers shook his head, and there was a fierceness about him. "Yesterday dad did mention something concerning a new project of his, involving artificial puppet robots. He must have meant the duck. Strangely he didn't say anything about you being involved."

"But..."

"I have been to many places, Hjalmar, I have seen many things. But interestingly, I found that people I encountered were very much alike. Regardless of culture and social system; they had similar dreams. There were losers and there were winners. My father is a winner in this system here. He doesn't really know anything, is not talented like you..."

"How can you say something like that?" He was flattered, his ego satisfied.

"It's true," Gregers continued. "My father never had a genuine idea of his own. He used the ideas of others, he pretended they were his. He wants to steal your idea as well. But I'm not going to let him."

"Why are you so angry at your father?" he asked. "Is it because of your mother?" He remembered Gregers' mother as a kind and gentle creature doomed to wither away in the claws of an excentric man like Werle. She had drunk herself to oblivion.

"Possibly. But there are many other reasons as well. I simply don't understand why people put up with him. Why do you work for him?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "What else could I do? I should be happy to have a job at all. It's difficult to find a regular job nowadays."

"I see. He successfully plays on the fears of people. He created himself a position from where he can decide on their fate."

"That's the way the world works."

"But that's wrong."

He got upset. "It's easy for you to speak, you're his son. You're rich. But some people are not rich. So they have to do what they have to do to make a living."

"It's classical slavery," Gregers said.

He didn't know what to say to that. He denied the possibility of being a modern slave. He thought he was doing the things he liked. He remembered someone telling him that: "you should consider yourself very lucky if your hobby turned out to be your job." And his hobby turned out to be his job indeed. He didn't even have to work late hours either. But right now he didn't feel lucky nor happy.

"The young Werle," his father exclaimed arriving from work. "Haven't changed much all these years. Only your hair is a bit longer." They shook hands. "Sure had a lot to do today."

He sighed. He knew his father didn't actually do any work. Chief Werle only exercised a dubious kindness by employing him. He couldn't really say it was because of compassion for his father.

"Young Werle, you like hunting?" the old man was quite a fanatic hunter once. Gregers made a hardly visible nod. "Then let's go." His father laughed, Gregers stared questioningly. "We are not going to the woods, or anything. It's all here, in the computer," the old man explained.

"This is the newest hunting program," he said. "Has splendid graphics."

They all sat down in front of his father's personal computer. Gregers and the old man went hunting in the woods, they played in multi-player mode, some people also joined them from the net. He watched them, listened to their ejaculations of joy at shooting virtual animals. He intensely observed his father, the grey hair, the majestic facial features, his still perfect timing. When he had been a child he often accompanied him to the woods. The fresh air, the strange silence, the whole atmosphere had made a great impression on him, a longing for nature had been imprinted in his heart. Nowadays they didn't go to the woods claiming they had no time, they had too much work to do. As excursions, they went to the new shopping centres instead. He wondered why. And then he wondered about other things as well. He wondered why Gina could never show any signs of tender respect for him. He was a man of no bad habits, he didn't drink except on special occasions, and he didn't smoke. He didn't womanise. Gina had told him once at a party that he was dry. Simply dry. Meaning lifeless, and uninteresting. He thought that the furry Werles, both young and old, were not dry in contrast. They were usually deemed beasts, the gable of sexual pleasure. They were interesting. They drank, they smoke, they womanised and they were ugly. He sometimes wished he could be like that, go to unknown women and whisper abhorrent things in their ears. But he couldn't. He thought of himself as an old fashioned character, and that's what others said about him. Now he should have hated Gina. Now that he got assertion of her affair with chief Werle. Anyone, but chief Werle. That ugly beast had got her too. One part of his mind told him that he should immediately cut all his ties with Gina, another part that he shouldn't bother about the past. But how could he live with a woman who gave herself to someone he hated the most in the world? Silly question, he was being a male chauvinist, someone who wanted to own women. A woman had at least as many rights as he did. He should be happy to have a woman by his side being such a dry and tidy person, not like those countless lonely, unhappy buzzards. And what would he do without Gina? They had one home, one car, so to say one financially connected life. He couldn't afford to pay mortgage and study debt and live on his wages, despite that his salary ranked top considering the world standard. He earned a lot, but it was virtual, because the costs of living were so high as well. What would happen to his father? Besides, when he thought of her now he couldn't deny that he loved her. Those lips, those eyes... What a damn pussy he was! He should go to her and finish their relationship with a slap. He had never assaulted Gina physically, or as a matter of fact as far as he knew mentally in any way. She had told him that if he dared touch her she would leave him at once and take Hedvig with her. Actually, he never considered doing so either. He thought it would have been wrong. Of course, the Werle type could do it, and get away with it. Gregers' mother had shown marks of beating many times, but had never complained officially. Gregers himself had been quite brutal with women as far as he could remember, and yet... and yet they kept running back to him. And if Gina left or rather forced him out of their home he couldn't accept the possibility of not seeing Hedvig every day. She was the best thing in his life.

"Your father is good," Gregers said. "He is the winner."

"Well...," the old man looked thrilled, raising his eyebrows with joy. "I'm not bad, not bad at all." He sensed something phoney about his father's joy; it wasn't like the happiness old Ekdal had shown in the woods even when they had no luck with hunting. It was superficial.

He noticed first the black limousine outside. There weren't many of the kind, but he knew chief Werle had one. Chief Werle had never visited him before.

"Here you are," chief Werle said as he stepped into the workshop. His father's joy and excitement disappeared at once; he pushed the rolling computer desk from himself. Gregers didn't look all that happy at seeing his father either. There was a momentary silence, and lack of movement. Chief Werle grazed his eyes on the surroundings, and nodded reassured. "The material you sent today is absolutely outrageous," the boss broke the silence turning to him, and sounding irritated. "No wonder the way this place looks." He was stunned. He was used to having to correct something at least a dozen times before it being accepted by the company, he was used to getting responses like: "no, no, no, you just didn't understand what we wanted", and he always had this gut feeling that it wasn't him who didn't comprehend the matters. He always felt humiliated; despite his most eager attempts what he did was never good enough. He had a higher degree and a better education than most of the executives, yet they always had to show him that he knew nothing.

"And you," chief Werle said to his father, "7 o'clock is not 7.08 or 7.11."

"But the bus..."

"Don't come with that bus-got-caught-up- in-the-traffic-jam excuse," chief Werle was almost shouting. "The next time you are late by as much as half a second, you'll be fired. This is a company, not the woods; every second counts." The old man was near to crying.

"You are a great leader, dad," Gregers said contemptuously. He thought his disdain was like his father's, except it was directed at different kinds of people. "You are great at humiliating your best workforce."

"My best workforce?!" chief Werle turned red, and was close to raging. "Take a look at this." He glimpsed at a paper with unrecognisable scribble over Gregers' shoulders. "This is what your friend and future right hand sends as company presentation for the most prestigious international fair. All our livelihoods may depend on whether we can make good deals there or not. Is this what I'm supposed to put forward to the board?"

"I don't understand," he whispered.

"Of course, you don't understand," chief Werle shouted. "You don't understand anything."

He went to the computer of largest capacity in the room, and opened the files in question. The others watched as the presentation viewed on the screen without a hitch. He was thinking. There were two possibilities he could think of. Either something happened with the material on its way to its destination, or there was a system incompatibility. He phoned the head computer engineer, then said: "It seems the company test-ran a new system today that may have interfered with data handling. They opened the presentation files just now in the computer lab, and it runs smoothly."

Chief Werle didn't look pleased. "You computer geeks always mess something up. You always have to make something simple into something difficult." Before closing the entrance door, chief Werle looked back at the old man, his fingers pointing warningly, and said: "Be in your office by 7.00 tomorrow, or else..."

Gregers coughed. "I'm terribly sorry for all this."

"It's not your fault," the old man said, his vigour gone.

"What did he mean... the way this place looks?" he asked. He looked around, and tried to be objective. The room seemed to him clean and tidy.

"I honestly don't know." Gregers thought for a moment. "But he always bugged my mother that she didn't keep order at home. She cleaned the house twice daily, and still it wasn't good enough for him." Gregers' face showed deep and unrelenting sorrow. "He could afford it, but he never hired a housekeeper."

"Yes, your mother was a fine lady," the old man said rummaging in his memories. He thought about his mother, Nora, but he could only remember faintly. She had left them after his father went to jail, and he hadn't seen her since. He heard rumours that she had married a rich businessman overseas, and became quite a society lady, the type one would refer to as Madam.

"What is this big silence?" Hedvig asked as they could hear her coming down the stairs. "Hi grandpa." She turned demandingly to Gregers: "I've finished my homework."

He thought this amounted to her ordering Gregers to take her for a ride.

He was more than happy to help her, for he wanted to be alone. "Why don't you show Hedvig the new mall?" he asked Gregers, who sensing a majority desiring him to take her for a ride, agreed.

The old man said that he would go for a walk. They all knew that going for a walk only meant going to the nearest pub. Old Ekdal went for walks several times every day, always coming back filled with energy.

As the door closed behind them he sank into self-loathing melancholy. He should have worked on his project, improving artificial intelligence and developing the duck concept. He should have continued working on it despite not receiving any positive response. Nothing should have stopped him from continuing his research. It was his dream. Yet, he couldn't think. Every time he tried to concentrate on it he confronted the same questions, the same desperation. He couldn't remember exactly when the questions had entered his head one by one; there were always more and more of them. First they had been a mere side-track, a slight annoyance. Later they led to exasperation claiming his entire thinking capacity, not leaving room for any other thoughts.

He was thinking about his life. He looked around in the silent workshop, listened to the rain pouring outside. Everything was grey, the afternoon was well advanced. Only the computers buzzed now and then as they received information and sorted it.

What was wrong with him? Was it the way he looked? What kind of a strange and ugly animal he must have been! They all hated him. They all hated and despised him. And the worst of it was that he didn't know why. The way that Werle humiliated him and his father. And he didn't even feel complacent for having been proven to be innocent. He was right, but it mattered very little. Chief Werle would hate him even more for being right, for not being able to rebuke him even more in front of his father and best friend. What mattered was what chief Werle thought. Because chief Werle had the power. He wished he wouldn't be such a chicken; he wished he wouldn't care about the consequences and could break chief Werle's neck with a twist. And then Gina, of course... he would have to do something with her as well. The woman liked to masquerade her so precious independence. She went out on Saturdays; it was her time to fool around as she put it. On such occasions she would dress really seductively. He imagined her, the short black skirt, the tight red blouse... damn, she sure was pretty. He sighed. He thought about himself. He was a family man, a relic of the past. In his youth he hadn't been too popular with girls. Later they seemed to like him, but this liking had been different. He had perceived it as a sign that they wanted to settle down, to have a family, and he was a nice guy. This had always bugged him for being a nice guy only meant that he would make a good husband. Now he thought he didn't want to be a good husband whose purpose was for them not to be lonely, to raise the kids and to accept a partly self-inflicted denial of his personality. He didn't want to be a nice guy who was good on the weekdays, but simply boring for parties. He wanted to be like Gregers, the son-of-a-bitch, not referring to his mother, he pondered. He wanted to get out of this relationship. There were these memories; memories he could not really visualise or grasp. He blamed them for the questions that kept his mind tied. They came from the abyss of time. Like the combined memories of his ancestors, ape-man, the first mammals appearing on the Earth and beyond. He couldn't root them out, he couldn't force 5 billion years of evolution out of his head. He sincerely tried, he attempted to accept the way the world worked nowadays, the structure and hierarchy of society he lived in. But the harder he tried the harder the memories bothered him, they pressed their way into his soul. When he thought again about the Gina ready to party while feeling sexually attracted to her, he felt anger and shame. Society said: "This is normal. It is wrong to possess someone." The memories said: "NO." Nothing else, just no with capital letters. It was up to him to interpret the no, while the yes was all too well worked out, and had round answers to his silly questions. This was all the more disturbing; he was brought up with a behaviour pattern that the abyss couldn't accept, but it didn't show him any alternatives either. Should he have beaten chief Werle up? What good would that have done? Would it have made him happier? His society part rejected such notions as stupid; violence would lead nowhere. He would have payed a much dearer price for such an action than it was actually worth. The memories didn't care about the consequences though, they kept telling him: "Do it." Society answered: "Shame on you for even having these thoughts." He felt like a culprit even without having committed anything.

He tossed a coin he found in his pocket onto the computer desk. He should really get back to work. He had told virtually everyone he knew that he was working on the duck, and soon would found an entirely new scientific discipline. He knew he was able to do it, and yet he couldn't think straight for the above mentioned reasons. The days passed by, and he had done nothing. He usually described his invention-to-be with zeal, and when asked when he would finish with it, he said that for such a complex thing a lot of time was needed, but he would do everything to be finished as soon as the circumstances allowed. And the days passed by... Society was patient, sometimes he thought not doing anything was more fruitful than doing something having questionable results and implications. Society liked the safe way. The memories deplored it.

He punched the desk with his fists. He was supposed to think about the invention, but instead was back to the damned thoughts. Another half an hour passed, and he had not done as much as to doodle something. How could he prove his values and knowledge if he had done nothing? If he continued this way only chief Werle and his kind would be right again in that he was not good for anything. He would only prove them right.

But it was hopeless to fight the abyss. Again it took control of his mind, and he was back to Gina and chief Werle. He was back to imagining them together. On the one hand, it tore his heart to think about it. On the other, he was interested. He was interested about their love affair, the way they made love. Somehow his feelings were mixed concerning what made him more upset, whether it was that he couldn't see the action and so couldn't participate in it in any way or that it had happened at all. He wasn't entirely sure whether his frustration originated from hating Werle so much or adoring Gina so much. Even though Gina denied any possibility of contact between her and chief Werle all the years they had been together, he more than suspected it. And why did she deny it? Was it out of love for him or was it simply self-interest? Society said that he had no rights to unveil the past; the abyss said that he had all the rights. Why was it only him who seemingly had no rights at all? The Werles had rights, Gina had rights, and even little Hedvig had rights. All of them, except him. His rights ended in behaving decently, working and earning money, and accepting women's-night-outs. If he would have gone to... how should he put it?... well, bordellos..., and of course, he would never... then he would have been the outcast, the absolute disgrace of society. The man who forced women to perform such disgusting and abhorrent acts, who used them as slaves. From society's point of view, men compelled women to such acts, and these women had solely this alternative for their survival. It couldn't be that some women were made this way, and it couldn't be that he had desires that Gina couldn't fulfil. Gina could have desires he couldn't fulfil on the other hand, she sure could. And she had all the rights to do so, too.

No, he had to cease thinking. He had to go out for a walk before making dinner, have some fresh air, and then maybe he could set to work. It was still raining heavily outside, not exactly the weather that invites one for a walk. But it was all the same to him. He put on his raincoat, and stepped out into the rain. He started walking towards the mountains surrounding the city; fat droplets of rain were soon hanging from his hood and splashing him on his face with each step. He went the path he had taken at least a million times before. Or so he thought.

There wasn't much movement in the street, here in the north people stayed inside, wrapped in their homes. He thought they wrapped their souls as well, so no one could see. He certainly did so. Emotionally he tried to show nothing of himself, not even to Gina. Perhaps he expressed his real emotions only concerning Hedvig. But that was easy. Hedvig was a child not yet inflicted so much by society's inhibitions. She was, until recently, closer to the abyss.

In an attempt to think about positive things, following his society's main slogan of "Think positive", he thought about the fruits of his would-be discoveries. He would buy a villa on the mountain side of the city, that is on the other end, would buy a hunting resort up in the woods his father would run, and he would make sure Hedvig got a head-start in life. He could give everything his family desired. He would start his own company; hire people like himself making them feel almost human. He wouldn't need any loans he couldn't ever get. But the best part would be the fame. He would be renowned, could lecture at universities all over the place; become the honoured speaker at highly ranked academic institutions at home and abroad. His vanity was smeared; it was one of the few things that kept his dream and him alive.

He came to a field of neon lights reflecting a by-gone era. The white-blue colour created a fog-like appearance in the rain. He wondered if this was the pub where he would find his father. He stopped by the entrance for a moment, heard damped music emanating, then went a little further. He looked through the window, and halted again. He couldn't see his father, and he really didn't want to go inside. But some ethereal force compelled him. He turned back, and went in.

First he bumped into some teens covered in smoke who were pretty much hindering his way and sight in the entrance. He would go deeper into the pub to look around was it not for a vision of Hedvig he perceived from the corner of his eye. The vision lasted only a fraction of a second, the mass of teenagers floated it out of his view. Then he could hear the voice of Gregers. There was no doubt about it. He pushed his way through the crowd, then as Hedvig appeared, grabbed her hand and took her glass. He took a sniff.

"It's free of alcohol," she frowned and retook her glass.

"The computer man is here," Gregers shouted to the teens somewhat alcoholised. There was a dubious sentiment in the crowd. Some of them hushed, others pretended not to take any notice, still others took a pitying look at him. "Cheers."

"I hope you're not trying to sneak up on me, dad," Hedvig said.

Before he could utter a word Gregers gave him a bottle of beer, and told her hoarsely: "Of course not. If I was him though I certainly wouldn't allow myself, or rather someone like me to go out with my beloved daughter." They giggled; a world was collapsing in him. He glimpsed at Gregers, and ascertained that his schoolmate was full. The vigour of the abyss was silent.

"I thought I would find grandpa in," he said.

"He's never here," Hedvig pursed her lips. "It's too expensive." He knew Gregers was paying.

"And who are all these people?" he asked.

"My classmates," she said. He looked around again, but couldn't see any of her classmates; he saw older punks, drop-outs and brutes instead. "People I know from school," she whispered seeing his disbelief. He nodded estranged. She shook her head annoyed wishing he would go away. He watched as Gregers caught the arms of one of the female teens, pulled her to himself from behind and moved with the rhythm of the music. Then Gregers swayed with two teens, one was simply not enough. Hedvig's eyes showed desire. He was perplexed. He saw an adult nearing forty, behaving like a teen, and he saw teens who were worshipping him like he was the devil. And the devil was a positive thing to them. A computer man was simply boring.

He could remember a long forgotten episode. He had been in a club with a buddy of his he hadn't seen since. The buddy had been very popular with women, but not that time though. They sat by a table, and two women joined them all of a sudden. First everything had gone smoothly. Then the conversation ended a mere minute after the buddy uttered the magic name of the subject he had been studying: genetics. One of the girls asked: "Is that interesting?", but they certainly hadn't been interested. They left, and sat by another table the whole night very much in their sight looking really bored. The buddy remarked: "Next time we'll say I play the guitar and you're a drummer." But there had been no next time.

"Let's have some action," Gregers shouted, a bottle of beer in one hand, a glass of booze in the other. The teens buzzed excitedly, their piercings reflected light, and they looked like a bunch of cavemen ready for the taking. And Gregers seemed to be the man to take it all.

He staggered to a table with the bottle of beer still in his hand. There were others already sitting by the table, by their looks they were southerners. They were discussing some local affair in their native countries, something to do with sheep and women. Then they divulged in global politics. Later they breached another topic concerning northern women occasionally glimpsing at him. Finally one of them turned to him and asked: "What do you think about northern women?"

He took a mouthful of his beer, his eyes rolling, and responded: "What am I supposed to think?"

"You must think something," the man said.

"I think that's a silly question. I wouldn't want to generalise."

The man with dark complexion tried to make him give a statement, but realised he wouldn't and said: "My friends and me were discussing them over there. And, please don't take it personally or anything, but you northerners are the strangest kind. I mean those kids, at first glance they look quite normal and one may even say pretty and handsome. But if we take a closer look at them, we listen to what they say and the way they say it, then... hell... suddenly I only feel disgust and pity. I mean... If I was their father I would never allow them to behave like that."

"You would beat them up?" his social self shook in anger and resistance.

"I sure would," the man said. "People have to be taught to show respect one to another. Like I respect you. You understand?" the man stared at him. He didn't like to be stared at. "You believe that I respect you, don't you?" He nodded somewhat hesitant. "I would never care to have a long-term relationship with any of these women... I don't know if I can even call them that... because they have no respect... and I can never... who has no respect for me."

"That's why you live alone," he said feeling the upper-hand.

"No, no, no, no, no," the man shook his wrists; he could see golden bracelets. "I go out with them, it's not a problem. I just don't want to stay with them too long." He thought probably the women wouldn't want to stay with a man like him. The man with dark complexion could perceive his thoughts. "I could live with them, I just don't want to. I'm here to earn money. In a couple of years I will go back, I will go home. I have a fiancé you know."

"But you date women here."

"Yeah, of course," the company of southerners laughed.

"But you expect your fiancé to be faithful to you."

"Naturally," the man clasped his hands together. "You don't understand. It's not like she would ever want to be unfaithful to me. It's not in her, she's not like these northern bitches who have no idea what's it like to be a woman. A woman, you know. She waits for me. She respects me."

"What if...?"

"There is no if. Besides my mother keeps an eye on her. And if something would happen... it's over. But I don't think so." The man with dark complexion silenced for a moment. "I will bring her in a couple of months, I am getting tired and old to listen to the bullshit. All the time they explain their lives to me... I don't care." The man waved with his hands. "What about you?"

He shook his shoulders. What should he say? That his daughter was one of the pitied creatures, and he loathed himself for that? One of them was my daughter he would say, and they would all grimace and despise him. Or should he stand up and shout: "You bloody foreigners, how dare you criticise us? You should be happy that we accepted you, and that you're allowed to work in this country", and then hit them with the bottle in his hand. His social part and the abyss were in an unusual agreement that he should simply say: "I'm a family man. I don't think about such things", but for different reasons. The social part rejected making scenes in public, while the memories had a certain attraction for the ideas of the man with dark complexion.

"A family man?" the man asked. "Then you must consider yourself awfully lucky."

"Yes, indeed," he answered. There was a slight disappointment in his voice. The southerners could sense it, they looked at each other, and there was an air of comradeship descending on them. The man put a glass of aperitif in front of him and said: "Let's drink."

And they drank.

Chapter 3: Intermezzo

Saturday night fever set in. Gina got dressed; she was wearing a mottled, tight dress. He watched her as she looked at herself in the mirror. He sat on the sofa, saw her put vibrant red lipstick on, comb her dense hair. He looked at her tight thighs, inviting breasts and luscious hips. She was _la femme fatal_ for him, the woman he desired but couldn't really have. There were contradictory thoughts in him. On the one hand, he liked her independence, he liked that she could take care of herself. He didn't admire subservient women or those who couldn't stand their ground in an argument. In fact, he liked vociferous women. On the other hand, he was angry that he couldn't really possess Gina; he couldn't say that she really belonged to him. She was living with him, sharing a large part of her life with him, but not everything. And he wanted everything. Strangely though, he couldn't trace these thoughts back to his social self or to the abyss, there was no reason why the memories wouldn't support an independent, self-supportive companion. As a matter of fact, it would have made more sense if they did so, as this would have insured a better survival rate in the past.

"So, how do I look?" Gina asked as she turned towards him, and smiled.

"Great. Absolutely fabulous," he said using words he otherwise would never utter. "Where are you going tonight?"

"I was thinking about the new club downtown. They say it's a hot place. A lot of famous people go there. It's not easy to get in, but luckily I met the TV producer... you know who... the one who makes those revealing reports... a week ago on the flight... he was really nice." He had no idea who it could be, and he didn't care much. "He said I may even get into show business if I really wanted to. Would you like to see me on TV?"

He hemmed and felt that a negative expression filled his face despite all his efforts to look listless. He couldn't define his mood, was he envious for Gina's ostensible success?

"You are really supportive, Hjalmar. Thanks a lot." She was silent for a brief moment waiting for his response, but as there was none, she continued. "I always backed you up in whatever you did." He had to disagree; he thought she had always tried to force him to do things that hadn't in any way been suited to his character. Her support in other matters had been slack at most. "You always have to think about yourself, your comfort comes first. But I do want a career even if you would like to live like in the Middle Ages. You should have more vigour in you, Hjalmar, now that life offers you the possibility."

"You mean Gregers."

"Yes, of course."

"I thought I told you before that I'm not going to use my best friend for such purposes."

"Because you are such a decent, law-abiding man," Gina was so sarcastic that it almost hurt.

"I think it's wrong, that's all."

"Open your eyes, Hjalmar. That's the way the world works. And if you toss away your best opportunities you will never achieve anything." She held a break in order to catch her breath. "Your best friend?! You haven't seen the guy in ages. He didn't care if you live or die for what... 15 years. Go and get the promotion that you deserve. Don't be such a pussy."

He nodded, but not in agreement, rather in despair. He stared in front of himself, and felt absolutely useless, a man who couldn't support his family, who couldn't live up to the expectations. A man who always had to follow the dreams of others, who could only afford used cars and the sort. There were so many things he wanted to give, to Gina, to his family, to society. But nothing he ever did seemed good enough, and worst of all, his thoughts were regarded as inferior.

"I will get going now," she said, "but think it over." She put on a slender fur coat hardly protective of the northern wind. He knew it wouldn't matter though; she would take a taxi as usual. He wanted to give her a good-bye kiss, but couldn't offer such a profound sign of love after being rebuked to such extent. He sat there and listened to the knocking of her high heels on the stairs, then heard the sound of the entrance door shutting. He was relieved that he could be alone, his father was in some pub, Hedvig went out with some friends. Gina's tantalising perfume lingered in the air, it was a mind easing odour. He was calm, his tension gone. He dreamed about the world of the Vikings. He dreamed about freedom, although he couldn't pinpoint what he meant by freedom, there was only a vague notion in his head. There were only a few things certain: the Werles, the used cars, the useless presentations were all left out. In fact, most things were missing from his dream; the duck, the computers, the virtual hunting game had no place in it. He sailed to the south, married a simple woman who would die for him if required, lived in a hut. The sun never stopped shining. They ate what nature had to offer. He had very little material possessions, yet he was entirely content. And happy.

"Sleeping so early?" Gregers forced him back to reality. For a moment he was perplexed.

"How... how did you get in?" he asked. He heard his voice from the distance, it sounded strange, almost surreal. Almost like it wasn't his.

"Gina let me in," Gregers said. "I thought I would sneak up on you. Where did she go by the way?"

"To a new club."

Gregers looked at him with inquisitive eyes. "Why didn't you go with her? You had a fight or something?"

He tried to pull himself together and stood up. "No, not at all. She usually goes out on Saturdays if she's off work." He yawned. "The secret of a long, balanced relationship," he added. "We don't possess the other."

Gregers frowned, then his face lighted. "Then she should have nothing against us going out."

He shook his head. "I don't really feel like it. I would rather watch television and go early to bed."

"It's out of the question," Gregers said. "We are going out to find some hot mama for you."

"I'm married, what kind of a...?"

"Get dressed, man," Gregers allowed no insubordination.

He did as told nagging silently. He wished Gregers would leave him to his dream world. He had no desire to go out. He remembered that in their youth they had gone out many times, and the night always ended in a similar fashion. First they popped by some clubs, spent a couple of minutes inside, ascertained it had been a bore and therefore left. This had gone so until even the couple of minutes was enough for some chick to get hold of Gregers; then Gregers left with the girl and he felt doubly stupid and lonely. He didn't need such affirmation of his inability to win women's hearts. It had only increased his desperation back then.

"Where should we go? Do you know a good club with willing chicks?" Gregers asked as they got seated in the red sports car of his. His silence was the answer. It wasn't easy to change Gregers' mind or mood. "Then we'll just cruise around until we find a cosy place." Gregers gave ignition to the rocket engine; it was all the more masculine as they could hardly hear anything else than the throttling. Then with a burst of gasoline the car jumped to the middle of the street, he fell forward, only the belt kept him from hitting his head on the windshield. They raced through familiar streets that looked different at such speed, and from the ground level. If he was in the mood to get excited he sure would have, but he felt nausea instead as they slid in the puddles left behind the rain. Soon they reached the city centre though and Gregers decreased their velocity. They peered out and watched the nightlife slowly taking over the streets. There were many bars and pubs and restaurants, but they always had some dislike with them. One was too empty, the other was too full, the next had too loud music, and the next after was too cheap looking. He didn't care, he leaned back comfortably in the leather seat, let Gregers do the talking and qualifying. It was almost as good as home, he thought. But after some time Gregers got restless.

"Okay, this is it; we have to find a place. I give ourselves five more minutes." Seconds later they came to a breaking halt and he fell forward again. Gregers ejaculated: "Look at those chicks." He thrust his head up and saw two very seductive women, like they stepped down from the cover of a magazine. One of them was blonde, the other a dark brunette. Gregers pulled down the window and navigated the car close to them.

"Hello ladies," his friend told them. "Be so kind to tell me the place where I can find women of your calibre."

The chicks looked at the car, looked at Gregers and laughed. This was an inviting laugh. "We're going to the _Le Club_ ," they said. "It's a pretty hot place, though it's not easy to get in."

Gregers winked at the women. "Do we look like beginners? We'll get in. So, where is it?"

"Just around the next corner. It also has a parking lot," the blonde said and pointed to the club.

"Then it would be no point giving you a lift," Gregers played the macho man. "But see you inside, maybe." He was enviously bitter; they weren't even inside and Gregers had already succeeded in finding the best chicks in town. His friend was just simply a lucky smug. He tried to sugar his bitterness with the fact that he was a family man, but he only got more bitter. After all his wife was masquerading lightly dressed in God knows where. He thought this world was the world of the Gregers type, and he was left with no other choice than to accept it. Rebelling against it was futile and very painful.

They had no problems getting in; the prominence of the red sports car and some cash dispersed the security mob quickly. The first thing he noticed about the place was its splendour, everything showed class. He felt awkward at such places of high society. He knew he could never belong to such a club, even if he wanted to. But he didn't want to, he wasn't attracted. Was this because he was aware that no matter how hard he tried he couldn't, or for some other reason?

He looked around and noticed the blonde and the brunette at the bar drinking cocktails. The dance floor was empty at such an early hour. Something was strange to him. At first he didn't know what it was, but then realised that it must have been the age of the people. The men were of his age, the women usually in their late twenties. He couldn't remember anything like this from his youth. At that time people in their thirties had stayed at home, raised kids, went to church, whatever. They certainly hadn't gone to parties, changed partners or allowed their kids to go out at the age of 15. He thought people of his generation and the following ones could never grow up. In many respects they remained teenagers, and it seemed they didn't care. They associated their behaviour with freedom, with finding themselves; their place in the world. But they never really succeeded. And the kids had kids who had kids; the devil's circle was complete. He just didn't know what he had to do with all this. He wasn't a teenager either in mind or body.

As in the old days, they went around in the club to familiarise themselves with the surroundings. Gregers nodded at the cover girls, the blonde and the brunette, when they reached the edge of the bar, then winked at other women as well. He thought Gregers was very much in his turf, and could be flamboyant and charming, expressing the strongest sides of his character. He, on the other hand, imagined himself as rather bleak, a mere shadow quietly following his master. Unfortunately, the master had always been too good for the disciple, who wasn't able to outmatch or even to come close to the master's level. So he remained apprentice for life heeling Gregers. He realised that this must have been one of the reasons why he didn't want to be Gregers' right hand. He would always be second.

"Look," Gregers suddenly said. "Isn't that your neighbour, the dentist?"

For a moment he couldn't see Relling, and then it wasn't even bald-head he saw first, but Molvik. It seemed they were always together. The dentist appeared as Molvik, the taller one of the two stepped aside. "What are they doing here?" he asked more from himself than from his friend, because he couldn't associate Relling and Molvik with high society.

"The same as we are," Gregers said in a phlegmatic way, then not waiting for him to follow left him behind as he went to greet them. He couldn't guess what all this hurry was for, it wasn't Gregers' style, it was rather the other party that made the first move. He followed hesitantly.

"The world is sure changing," Relling exclaimed loudly straying his arms as if anticipating to be embraced. "The family guy is here." They giggled; he grimaced warding off unwelcome attention from the surroundings. Why did they all have to call him that? Of course, he knew the answer. Because none of them had what one could classify as a normal, regular family. He had an almost normal family. He perceived an unexpected envy from the others for this reason.

"I thought you wouldn't like such lofty places," he told the dentist.

"No, actually I don't. But Molvik, the devil likes such clubs; he enjoys the hustle and bustle. What brings you here?"

He pointed to Gregers who was conducting an intense conversation with Molvik. For the outsider the two devils looked like they would rumble, in reality they were just enjoying each others' company. He thought they were soulmates, and noticed that bald-head had a grudge for Gregers for this very reason. Molvik seemed focused solely on Gregers, and Relling wasn't important for him.

"I wanted to have a quiet night tonight," he said. He read the countenance of the dentist as if the other would have believed him to have only quiet nights. "But Gregers pulled me with himself."

"Sometimes you need some change in your life," Relling said. They stood close to each other to be able to hear the other for the music was quite loud. "Allow me to invite you for a drink." He thanked the dentist, and shortly thereafter received a glass of booze. "Nice place," Relling whispered to his ear. He nodded temperately, and watched the lights flash everywhere. Bald-head was speaking to him about some racket of his and Molvik's, but the words entered his head intermittently mixed with the reverberation of the music, and he couldn't understand much of it. He pretended to be listening, but was instead in a far away place. He was fishing for shark in a lagoon in the south, it was an even fight. He himself was the bait, his body rubbed with chicken blood that stained the water. He had a spear in his hand. He waited...

He had to abandon his dream world due to a forming commotion around him. Relling was hugging the man with dark complexion he had met in the pub the other day. It was a small world, he pondered. They all shook hands.

"Family home sleeping, ha?" the man asked playfully seeing an accomplice in him. He glimpsed at Relling who was reticent and clearly not about to disclose that there was no one at home. He shouldn't have cared as he had nothing to do with the man with dark complexion, and yet he would have felt humiliated if the dentist revealed him.

"We are having a macho time," Relling said. "We are going to drink ourselves to unconsciousness. How is that?"

"That's the way to go." They chuckled and slapped their hands together, and he took a sip of his drink, one long sip in which he devoured the entire contents of his glass. He could feel it rattle down his throat, a certain warmth filling him. He knew it would take much, much more for him to get even slightly drunk. He was a big man after all.

"Let's see the pussies," the man with dark complexion turned to him. "Look at that fat mama," they laughed, and bald-head imitated the way the person in question moved. "One has to be careful with them, you hardly touch them and they'll get pregnant, and ruin your life." After a minute pause the man continued: "Look at that ugly bitch. Ugh," they shivered in unity and giggled. They giggled at everything. "Heard the joke about the blondie and the policemen?" The man with dark complexion stereotyped blonde women as mindless dummies. He thought they were making extremely rude jokes, if the things said could be termed jokes at all, but he couldn't resist laughing. Tears came to his eyes he laughed so much. Then they had another drink and another.

"I can see the future," the man with dark complexion said. "It's like this. You have long sex with a woman, and you think you did a good job as you finish and want to turn to your side, but then the woman tells you that it's her turn to fuck. You have no idea what she could mean, but then she puts a dildo on, grabs you and puts it in you. And she fucks you as long as you fucked her. This will be the ultimate achievement of emancipation."

Relling mimicked the future not at all resembling the way one would imagine a dentist. He remembered a body-builder he had known who was a psychologist. He had a preconception of the people of this profession, and pictured them as lean and slender looking most likely wearing spectacles. Gentle-man like. He had discussed with friends the probable outcome of a visit at the body-builder shrink: instead of quietly listening to the patient and giving advice, the psycho would batter the sick-minded with his fists to a better state of understanding, thereby ensuring complete recovery. A very novel and fast way of healing it would have been indeed. He had this same feeling with bald-head, but knew that Relling was a good dentist, who could handle the most difficult patients with ease. So much about preconceptions, he thought.

By now the club was filled with people, and the dance floor was also densely populated. Despite the state-of-the-art ventilation the odour of sweat and alcohol filled everything, his eyes were irritated, his breathing heavy. They continued shouting things that made no sense into each others ears, until Gregers detached him from this small gathering. He was pulled by his hand to an unknown location. He went willingly, to some degree interested what the outcome would be. Perhaps he had enough to drink not to ask, perhaps it was getting late. He saw Gregers had unbuttoned the top of his shirt letting others get a blink at his furry upper body, and held a glass of booze in his other hand that did not participate in his pulling. Their way was packed with hurdles, it was almost like a jungle, every nook had its fat mama who wanted a chunk of them, or tempting creatures captivated them for seconds. There were also some mean beings who refused to get out of their way, stood their ground as heavy stones, and they had to make a detour. He admitted to himself that he had too much to drink.

They ended up by the two cover girls nearly opposite to where they had stood before. The women were standing there chasing away possible admirers with the coolness of the northern wind, their posture indicating grace, their eyes reservedness. They were the ice-caps anticipating a guy like Gregers to melt them. And Gregers stormed in on them accordingly.

"Missed us girls? No need to worry, we are here now." Gregers smiled, while he thought that no one else could pull a stunt like that. The cover girls would have frozen anyone else daring to say something so dull, making the person regret being alive. But Gregers was different. Gregers was Gregers. His friend could put his not too handsome chest on the ramp, could behave obnoxiously and people would accept this as the most normal thing. In fact a guy like Gregers behaving normally would be abnormal, he thought. Life had proven that if he tried acting in the same way he could only humiliate himself.

"This nice fellow here is Hjalmar," Gregers said. "And I'm Gregers."

"Lene," the blonde said, and introduced the brunette. "She's Mette."

After a mutual nice to meet you Gregers divulged in a hair-raising monologue that had no meaning whatsoever, but it certainly made them relaxed and opened the way to their hearts and souls. The frigid expression on the dames' faces disappeared; he was laughing again, laughing and laughing. It seemed that the opposites attracted each other, Gregers drifted towards reticent Mette, while Lene advanced on him, the boring computer guy. She even showed interest for his work.

"So you really made an artificial duck?!"

"We, a dozen or so engineers and me," he said modestly. "I did a lot of work on it, but it was truly teamwork."

"And it looks just like the real thing?! You have to show it to me one of these days."

He watched her thick, luscious lips, her evenly shaped, beautiful face and felt a surge of desire. Yes, he would invite her over. He would throw his family out of the house, and have ferocious sex with Lene. Brilliant idea, he thought. Except that it was impossible to undertake. Not because it would have been infeasible to find the time of the day when no one was home. He thought it would be wrong. In his view marriage equalled devotion and trust above all. How could he face Gina if he cheated on her? How could he face Hedvig? His father would never understand. And even worse if they found out...

Lene leaned very close to him, he could almost hear her heart beating, could smell her sophisticated perfume, and no matter how hard he tried to resist, his desire got hold of him. She was the woman men would die for. She wouldn't die for anyone though, she knew she was the peak of human desire, he thought. And contrary to what the man with dark complexion had said, she was anything but stupid. Quite on the contrary. He realised that she was well-informed about computers, science and arts and was attentive to what he had to say. That was something for a change.

She invited him to dance. He couldn't recall when he had danced last time. It must have been like ages, he mused. He was a bit distressed, because he was so out of practice. He was afraid he would be petrified or would clumsily tread on Lene's feet. How should he dance to these modern pop songs anyway? Then his fears were obliterated, she made everything easy. He started moving to the rhythm of the music, and noticed as if watching himself from without, that he was good at it. Even for his critical judgement he merited excellent. He wouldn't call himself king of the dance floor nor strive to be that, but by all means he was one of the best. Gregers, on the other hand, didn't deny his macho image, and swayed unable to determine whether he wanted to be a Latin lover character or a prehistoric ape-man. He thought the result was hilarious. So did everyone else. Mette, who was supposed to dance in pair with Gregers, grimaced.

"Your friend is crazy," Lene whispered to his ears. He didn't respond, but took this as a compliment, a verification that boosted his self-confidence. She embraced him, he could feel her body. He observed his blood going to his head and lower flesh. He knew that she could perceive the pumping at his lower flesh as she pressed herself even more tightly to him. He thought she couldn't come any closer. Then their eyes met and they kissed each other. The family man was gone. The dance floor was hot. They were ready. The lights flashed. He couldn't think about anything, his senses were obscured.

"Let's go somewhere else," Lene said. He nodded compliantly, and they made their way out of the dance floor. They went to Gregers and Mette who had finished dancing earlier, as Mette couldn't stand Gregers' attitude. She seemed simply annoyed. Gregers was making dumb gestures in an attempt to exhilarate her in vain. This was flattering for him. How many times he had had to watch Gregers happy, and feel miserable. It was about time for a change. It was about time for his friend to drink the bitter juice of failure. He thought it was selfish and disgusting of him to wish Gregers would be unsuccessful, and wasn't his true nature, yet his vanity was bolstered. He embraced Lene from behind as she was discussing the continuation of the rest of the night with Mette. She wanted them to go together to a more intimate place where they could speak normally to each other, where the loud music wouldn't interfere. Gregers was absent minded as far as he could gather. His friend peered emptily in front of himself; there was a complete lack of enthusiasm from his part for the girls. He was surprised. He wondered where Gregers' zeal had gone to, what happened to the _Oksen_. He was almost sorry for him now, as his friend stood there leaning to a chair, his countenance depicting profound sorrow. His face reminded him of the Gregers who had just lost his mother, the Gregers who had first wanted to do his father, but then fell into complete lethargy. In daytime his friend had been apathy himself, at nights he had taken the character of _Oksen_. It was extraordinary to see daytime lethargy instead of _Oksen_ with cover girls around. Of course, now that he thought about it, it started to make more sense. Gregers' mother had been a cover girl herself in her youth before marrying chief Werle. She hadn't worked afterwards, had been completely subservient to his father. The girls must have reminded Gregers of his mother, he pondered.

Lene turned to him. "Your friend is not very communicative. I don't think Mette wants to go with him anywhere, besides she's had a hard week. We should escort her home, and then we could have a drink at my place." She smiled at him, and he nodded in agreement.

Mette shook Gregers's hand. "Good bye," she said.

Gregers looked perplexed. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going home," she said plainly.

Gregers was too inactive to complain. Strangely his friend leaned to him instead and whispered in his ears:"Take it in, champ. It's your time to have fun." Their eyes met, and he realised that Gregers was making a fool out of himself, because _Oksen_ didn't want anything from the cover girls. He would have mused on the whys and whats, but Lene pulled him out of the club. He took a last glimpse at the premises from the entrance door, saw that Gregers returned to the company of Molvik, observed that most of the crowd was already doped and swayed half-conscious in hazy apathy, and ascertained that it was better without.

Fresh air filled his lungs with a scent of the sea as he stepped outside. He could see the stars in the sky, the weather was quite pleasant. There was a warm breeze. In fact he thought he had no need of his coat it was so pleasantly warm. Or perhaps the booze started working, or a Lene increased his blood pressure. For whichever reason, his cheeks flushed and he felt good. It was a long time since he had perceived himself in such a way, he couldn't even remember. He felt free and strong with two chicks that would turn any man on. He thought it would be nice if he could have both of them, he doubted not his capability in that respect. Of course, he reminded himself, he shouldn't have such ideas, he ought to go home and have a good night's sleep. He wished he wouldn't have morals and scruples. Because these women were it. The ones he dreamed about like most men. If he threw away such an opportunity he would regret it for the rest of his life as it would be very unlikely that another chance would present itself later. Still, he shouldn't.

They got into a taxi; they sat in the back with him in the middle. Mette told Lene that she was recovering herself and that she could just as well accompany them to Lene's place. He thought this was simply too good to be true. He sensed that they were willing. He wondered if it was just the usual way for them, that is, that they picked up only one man. He had never thought something like this could happen to him; this had been Gregers' privilege.

Soon they arrived at Lene's place. It was in a quite wealthy neighbourhood, trees flanked the street from both sides. He rummaged in his pocket for money, but Lene was quicker paying the cab driver. He uttered something incomprehensible to which she just waved as if saying that he shouldn't bother. He let the money slip back into his pocket, and didn't know what to think. He followed them up to Lene's flat; his steps echoed in an eerie way as he climbed the stairs to the top. They whispered something to each other and giggled. He almost felt left out for a moment.

It was very cosy inside Lene's flat. It wasn't too big, but had an electrical fire place in the living room, where they sat down. The two beautiful women, the hot drink and the fire burning in the background reminded him of his youth up in the woods. They sat like that on cold, snow-lit nights, the three of them, his father and mother and him. He didn't think often of his mother since she had left after his father was imprisoned. He tried to keep the good memories he had about her, and not think of the way she had abandoned the both of them. He remembered the last fight they had had before his father went to jail; she told him that she had been fed up with him, that she felt like living in a doll's house, she being the doll who had no say in anything. He knew old Ekdal had undertaken the risky business with Werle, because his father wanted to give her the quality of life she thought she deserved. It had been so unfair of her to leave them when they needed her the most, he pondered.

"You seem to be far," Mette said disrupting his thoughts. "Why don't you come and sit by us? It would be much more comfortable." Lene patted on the sofa in-between them, and they moved slightly apart to allow space for him. He hesitated a moment, then did as told. After a short while they were on him, Lene rubbed her magnificent thighs to his. Mette licked one of his ears; his heart started pumping real fast. Then Lene kissed him, her tongue was almost in his throat. His body obeyed the desire, his mind disconnected though. As they rolled on the sofa still dressed, he thought about Gina. He was cheating on her big time. He had never cheated on her before; he had always been faithful. He was the kind who was supposed to live with one woman in his whole life; he was completely unprepared for a change in his notions. Of course, nothing could ever be more tempting than a Lene and a Mette, who were now undressing him. They smelled delicious, his senses were saturated. But could he do this?

No, he couldn't go through with it. It was only his imagination at play to have considered silly thoughts, like making love to women he hardly knew. He unwrapped himself from their grasp, and put on his shirt. They looked at him questioningly and with disbelief.

"What are you doing?" Lene asked.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do it," he said. "I have a wife and I do love her."

"So?" Mette sounded phlegmatic. "You can return to your dear family in the morning."

"No, I have to go now," he was adamant.

Mette got irritated. "We have a job to do, you know," she said before Lene could stop her.

"What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously.

"You couldn't guess?! You are really something different," Mette went on not bothered by the fact that Lene wanted to suffocate her with a pillow. "We are pros."

"I see," he said trying to hide the disappointment. How else could it be? Did he really believe he could get two cover girls? He, who had always been the lonely one, the one leaving the parties empty handed. Nice landing back to reality, he thought. "Who paid for it?"

"Your friend," Mette said.

He took his coat from the sofa, nodded to them and stormed out of the flat. He quickly reached the street, looked to his right then to his left. For a moment he was hesitant what to do next. Lene ran after him. She caught his sleeve and made him turn around. She was panting.

"I'm so sorry. You are a really nice guy," she said.

He nodded self-loathingly. "Sure I am," he muttered.

"I would like to go out with you," Lene whispered. "When I'm not working," she added. "If you don't mind."

"Oh, no. Why should I?" he asked irritated.

"Here is my phone number," she opened the palm of his hand that had been sealed in anger and placed a piece of paper in it. "Call me if you reconsider." She pulled him to herself. He wanted to resist, but couldn't. They kissed. He tried to end it, but she was seductively fierce. They stood there embraced for minutes.

Then finally he tore himself loose, glimpsed at her almost as an infant who was just given the thing he had most desired, but realised he couldn't accept it. Yet not grabbing the chance made him bitter.

They looked at each other for a while, he then nodded and started walking backwards not taking his eyes off her. She smiled at him. He watched her until he reached cross-roads, turned around, then increased his pace following the main road to the city centre that he had to cross on his way home. He should have hated Gregers for this scam, but his thoughts barely touched on the subject. He was a mere observer. As if he stepped into this world from the Viking past, blinking in the darkness, too stupefied even to draw conclusions. This thought of not belonging here was soothing; it entailed that there was a place he belonged to. The discomfort would be temporary, and he would return home shortly. Here he was nothing, but there he was the Viking master. He would tell the tales about a society that was technologically so developed and yet morally so corrupt. And no one would believe him. No one would believe that the Viking master was just a slave in this society. No one would dare...

He was in the centre by now. The clear, star-filled sky he'd seen earlier had been swept away. It was almost dawning, though he couldn't tell from the sky, because of the ever-present clouds. But the ground clearly indicated it. There were bottles scattered all around, in some nooks, middle-aged women and younger men were lying in solitude drunk to unconsciousness. By one of them, he stopped for a moment. It must have been Lisa... yes, Lisa Hansen, he thought. She had been his schoolmate in high school. He went closer to take a more thorough look. It was her without a doubt. She had changed a lot, her magnificent face was wrinkled and scarred, and there was an alcohol induced twist on her cheeks. He was almost sorry for her as he stared at her as she lay in her own excretion. She had been the most desired in school, the kind who wouldn't ever have noticed a hard working, decent guy like him. Of course, he had always had a perfectly repulsive effect on girls like her; he behaved extraordinarily sarcastically in their company. Somehow he felt it would have been unnatural for him to want a girl who had already been with the whole immensely celebrated basketball team. And what has become of her now?

He continued his walk, observing the silent desperation in the streets. Soon he was back at _Le Club_ and to his surprise Gregers and Molvik were there just in front of the main entrance. They were hugging and kissing each other vehemently. Being a mere observer this neither shocked nor stunned him. He smiled as he passed by and said hello. They disengaged, and looked rather perplexed. He wondered if they were surprised to see him there, or they were simply disturbed in their action. They weren't shy, that's for sure. Gregers opened his mouth and whispered something, but it was too weak to be comprehended. He took a glimpse at them from over his shoulders before turning with the main road, and they receded to oblivion. In half an hour's time he was home.

There was some depressed green light emanating from Hedvig's room. He always wondered why colours that looked simply grey in the Nordic sun were preferred by his countrymen. Why not prefer intense light colours like yellow and red? What was this strange compassion with blue and green? It reminded him of the bottom of the sea, where the sun's rays never reached, so everything was grey. It would have made sense to use these colours in the south, where enough light was present. But not here. Just like spicy food would have made more sense to belong to the north, and not to the south where it could easily lead to stroke or the like. But it was all the opposite to what logic would dictate. This wasn't a logical world, he mused.

He stepped into the house, and noticed immediately some peculiar commotion. As if someone was jumping in bed. He shouted: "Hedvig". Simultaneously the sound ceased. He went upstairs to take a look. The door to Hedvig's room was closed till the very moment he wanted to knock, when it opened and a guy he had never seen before appeared with a blanket strapped around his shoulders. The guy flushed and looked hesitant when seeing him.

"It's your dad, not your mom," the guy said, and sneaked back closing the door behind himself. He was starting to get angry. He knocked on the door.

After a while Hedvig emerged. "Hello dad, what do you want?"

He looked at her with disbelief, and the wisdom of centuries he had attained by his time travel from the Viking ages made him utter: "Nothing, take care." He turned around and went to his room. He had to get a good night's sleep. Maybe the next day he would wake in his own home, and his time travel ordeal would be over. Maybe...

Chapter 4: Fourth Action

A dense fog hindered his sight as he attempted to open his eyes. He lay in bed on his stomach, his hands buried beneath. He couldn't feel them, they were numb. He thought about turning to his back, but somehow his body didn't want to move. He tried to open his eyes again in vain. It seemed that his body and mind were separate entities unwilling to co-operate. He perceived his surroundings completely though, his brain formed a picture of the bedroom, he could see himself in bed in a twisted position, see the greyness outside through the curtains. There was no point in getting up anyway, he mused. He wouldn't go outside in the pouring rain, and what was there to do inside? He could watch television or go down to the workshop and meddle with the computers or peruse stupid politics and dull sports in the newspaper. Or he could read a book like Gina. He heard her turn the pages, and knew it was her Sunday morning pastime. She read the most amazing books. In one of them there had been this woman, the victim of society. She fell incurably in love with her teacher, who had been married. Then she met another guy, and finally she got pregnant. Of course, she hadn't known who had been the father, and for all this the male chauvinist society was responsible. Or so Gina had explained on one grey day in October many years earlier. It had been the first and last time he engaged in an argument about social issues with her. He had to point out the fact that the woman individually had some influence on how she lived her life, and not all woes had been due to men. Her response to his reasoning had been demolishing.

He would sure have a cup of tea if she cared to bring him. But it was always him who made coffee for her in the mornings when she was at home, and not in some overseas fashionable metropolis. She just had to wait this time, he pondered, because he wasn't getting up. It made him feel good to think that she was waiting; waiting for something he wouldn't give her. Making her feel the way he had felt many times.

It would have been nice to be a bear, he thought, for then he could sleep through the months and months of greyness. He would only wake up when the flowers blossomed, and the ice melted on the mountains. He would live a short but free life. Yes, he thought, it would be much better to live a short and eventful life than a long and boring one.

He could hear her sip. Did she prepare the coffee for herself? His arms started moving, they heaved him and after twisting his neck and getting his eyelids loose he saw her reading a book and sipping a coffee indeed. "Have some tea for me?" he asked coarsely, sounding a bit demanding.

She looked up from the book and said: "If you want your tea, go and make yourself."

He fell back to the bed; this wasn't the welcome he needed after a rough night. What kind of a wife did he have, he asked himself. She rarely showed compassion or tenderness. She always had to have her way; he was never strong enough to withstand her desires or fads. He had to watch her silly TV programmes, talk shows and reality shows, even in the bedroom when he tried to get a good night's sleep. He had to swallow her occasional monologues about her independence and rights. He had to do the cooking and washing. Actually all the housework... But a cup of tea?! Would it have been such a difficult thing for her to make if she had made a coffee for herself anyway?

"It would be nice if you made me a cup of tea," he said. "I'm really tired."

"You are always tired, and you always want to sleep. 8 hours is not enough, you need 12 hours," she was irritated. "You sleep through your life," she nagged as she slipped into her slippers and left the room. In a short time she was back with a cup in her hand that she tossed to him almost spilling the contents on the bed. "It's past eleven. You two must have had a good time yesterday," she said scornfully.

He drank his tea, and stared at her as she returned to reading her book. If he recalled correctly, she had gone out last night as well. In fact, she went out on all Saturday nights. He couldn't remember that he had ever complained about that.

He sat up in bed. "Yes, we had a good time yesterday. Real good," he added.

"Wonderful," she said. "I have nothing against you going out, but Gregers isn't the type you should choose. He's too wild, and beastly."

"I thought you wanted me to be with him. The promotion, remember?"

"Yes, in daytime, but not at nights. He drinks a lot and may speak a lot of nonsense into your head."

He looked at her inquisitively. He was beginning to feel the upper hand. "He said absolutely nothing about you and Werle. But I know."

"Not again," she sounded angry. "I thought we had been through this at least a dozen times. Of course, he said nothing, as there was nothing to be said."

After a second's pause of hesitation he murmured: "I overheard them. I mean the Werles the other night. They were talking about us, and Werle admitted it. Everything."

She looked fiercely at him. She threw the book on the ground and jumped out of bed. "How dare you? Are you calling me a liar?"

"No," he was annoyed at himself for being unable to confront her and was once again retreating. He was afraid of losing her, he just wanted her to come begging for forgiveness that he then could gallantly grant her. This would have made him feel good.

"And what if?" she asked on the offensive. "You have no right to question my life, especially the things that had happened before I met you. What difference would it make?"

"It would make all the difference," he said recapturing some momentum.

"Fine, if that's what you want. But I'm not going to scramble in front of your knees." She hoisted her head with pride. "I'm not sorry for what happened, I wouldn't do anything differently. And if you couldn't digest this possibility all the years we have been together then I have nothing to say."

She strutted back and forth, he watched her from bed. He didn't know what to say. He lost his momentum, and wished he wouldn't have breached the topic at all. He was too exhausted to argue. He had difficulty finding the right words when he was emotionally unbalanced. Being a woman she was much better in her speech anyway. He needed more ammunition.

"Did you know that our daughter, 15-year-old Hedvig is having a sexual relationship?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"She's having sex."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm starting to get frightened of you. You are losing your mind."

"Last night when I came home she was masquerading naked,... then this ugly, disgusting, tattooed guy, who must be like 20 appeared from her room also naked. But I'm losing my mind, am I?"

"Was it Frederik?"

"Who?"

"It must have been. She's fond of him, and he's a really nice guy. We should be happy that she chose him to get to know her body better."

He was speechless. Gina obviously had nothing against 15-year-olds having sex. But he had. Especially, if it was his daughter. And Frederik, or whatever his name was, looked everything that he didn't want Hedvig to get involved with. The type mothers had protected their daughters from in the old days, that is, in the time of the dinosaurs. He was obviously a dinosaur, a freak of evolution that either was left as a remnant or so was reborn with defective genes. Genes not belonging to a fast-paced modern society.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Hjalmar," Gina said as when a grown-up rebukes an infant. "You want to possess women. And you have such old-fashioned views about life. And all you achieve is that you chase away those who are close to you. Why do you think Hedvig left this morning so early?! She wouldn't tell me, but now I can imagine your behaviour last night." She became reticent for some time. She continued more mildly: "I didn't tell you certain things, because I knew it was better for you not to know."

"Better?" he was stupefied. "Better for whom?" he repeated questioningly.

"For us. For you."

He wished Gina was wrong, but he had to admit that suspecting and knowing were light years apart; suspicion entailed the possibility of incorrect judgement of the input. Knowing dispersed the vague likelihood of being wrong. And it hurt. It hurt to know the truth. What should he do with it? He had told himself many times that if he ever got clear evidence that Gina had been with chief Werle he would immediately end their relationship regardless of everything. He had made an oath he would. Should he now live up to his promise, and with that throw away his happiness or should he back down and admit defeat, and never again take a look at himself in the mirror because of the shame? Could he deny what he was? And what was he anyway? A family man? A computer man? A madman? Perhaps Gina was right, and he wanted to possess them. Maybe he was too stubborn to see that he was a relic of the past. He should let society tell him what was right and what was wrong. Life would be so cosy if he could. But he couldn't. The memories surged from the past yet again, the dinosaurs shouted NO from the abyss; even though their skeletons had petrified long time ago, their spirits lingered. He stood up in his pyjamas that he felt awkwardly hang from him and was paralysed.

"I knew it would make you upset back then, but it's abnormal that after nearly twenty years, you still can't let go. All these years we shared our lives, and now you want to dig up the past. What's done is done, I can't change it." She went to him and embraced him. She put her head to his chest. "You know that you're the one for me, I never felt so deeply for anyone. You are intelligent, handsome, and good in bed." She looked up at him anticipating some response but there was none. She was silent for a short time; he could see that she was thinking. Then she continued: "Werle thinks that he's something, but I know that he's nothing compared to you."

He felt an astoundingly bitter satisfaction. He had always been certain that he was better than the Werles, simply some strange fate predestined him to a life of misery. How good it was to hear that he was better than chief Werle from his wife, who had been with both of them. He sure had to feel greatly honoured. Like hell he had to, he thought.

There was an obscure suggestion from the abyss that only started forming inside him. How many years had they been together, and how old was Hedvig? Her eyes! He could trace back his family tree to the time of the Vikings, and all of his ancestors had had perfect sight. That was true of Gina's family as well. Why did she have such a bad sight? Because of reading too much? He didn't think so.

He slightly pushed her away. He knew she would retaliate. Her amiable style changed immediately to anger. "Fine if this is what you want," she fumed with the hate of one who had humbled herself, and achieved nothing. "I'll be in the living room if you have something to tell me."

She demonstratively walked away, but he didn't care. The memories got the best of him; they were stronger than ever, his intuition led him downstairs to his workshop. His body moved automatically, his senses primed on the computer screen, his conscious mind far away, doped so it wouldn't complain. He typed commands vigorously, his search engine promptly found the available information about the myopia disorder he was looking for. In all articles about the subject it read: hereditary disease. Non-acquirable from overuse, abuse or illness. It was due to a dominant genetic disorder. He calculated the probability of mutation, that is the likelihood for two healthy sighted individuals like Gina and him to have a bad-sighted Hedvig. The chances were 1 to more than all the known atomic particles of the Universe. He had to continue calculating. When was Hedvig's birthday? Yes, now subtract 9 months. It couldn't be... Either Hedvig was born a month early or a month late for the computer had all the dates. When she was supposed to have been in the making he was on a study trip. Of course, he knew that one month here or there wouldn't make much difference to doctors, but he was a man of precision. He thought that only humans of all creatures on the planet seemed to have immensely varied incubation times and menstruation cycles and the sort. A duck for example lay an egg at regular intervals; this he knew because he had examined these birds thoroughly when making the artificial duck. Nor had he any knowledge of primates that were so individualistic in their reproduction. He sarcastically laughed at himself. Then he sat still. Complete silence surrounded him.

Hedvig wasn't his daughter. The statement cut through his brain like a knife, he could feel the pain as it sliced its way. What was he supposed to do? He was crushed, his life lay in ruins. Everything he valued turned to dust, what remained was just a big basket of lies and unfulfilled desires. Everything he had believed to have been his, were in reality someone else's. And that someone else was the most disgusting, loathsome of all.

He contemplated suicide. All his life he had denied even having such thoughts, and always claimed within that if he was pressed to some insanity, then it would have been homicide rather than suicide. He couldn't tell how many times he had imagined crushing chief Werle's head to pudding, but in life he was too cowardly to do so. Now he was too down-stricken to move as much as an inch. Again his social mind vehemently opposed violence, and questioned the benefits of such an action. The results portrayed were imprisonment, solitude and despair. He would never see his family... His family?! He never had a family! He bounced to his feet, then froze once more. The abyss was strangely reserved: "even if you killed chief Werle, your life would not be any better, go and start a new life instead". But how could he start a new life? Should he simply forget his previous life? How could he face his father? What should he say to Gina and Hedvig? Should he say anything at all?

No, he couldn't leave. There was only one option left for him. His father still had his arsenal of shotgun upstairs. He had to go. The eternal hunting grounds were waiting for him. The memories were now the ones protesting, society was silent. His body moved impalpably; he was the driver of a big machine and he stirred it towards the edge of a cliff. But first he had to ascend, all the way up to his father's room.

He entered the room; there was an army-like tidiness inside; almost surreal he thought. He commanded the machine to open a drawer. He looked at the weapons. There were revolvers, rifles of all sorts, knives and ammunition. Everything was shining clean. He contemplated for a moment. Which one should he choose? He laid his hand on one of them, then changed his mind and picked another. He started the loading. For a while he amused himself with the possibility of playing Russian roulette, but then declined as it would have been pointless if the outcome was the same. He held the revolver to his temple. He took a deep breath. It was time to go. The Vikings were waiting for him on the other side. Pull the trigger, he told the machine. For a moment nothing happened, then he perceived his finger slowly advancing on the trigger. He felt the trigger counter the pressure, as it was harder to pull until it would fire off. Just one nanosecond more and it would be all over.

The doorbell rang. It was clear and loud. He put back the pistol in its place immediately. The tension in him decreased, but he was not relieved. Why on earth couldn't he be left to himself when he finally found a solution to his life? Why did fate want to take this very last option from him? Why couldn't he just simply die?

His body quickly descended downstairs and opened the front door.

"Hello, old chap," Gregers said with a slight smile. There was some awkwardness in his voice. Because of last night, of course, he thought. His friend must have come here to explain. Not that he would care. If Gregers liked kissing a guy like Molvik, then Gregers liked kissing a guy like Molvik. If Hedvig wanted to have group sex, then let her have it. He wouldn't mind. He just wanted to die.

His arms made welcoming gestures, as if saying: "well, come in, don't stand there in the rain". They went into the workshop. Gregers looked at him intensely, after they had seated themselves. It was obvious that his friend had a lot to tell him, but didn't know where to begin. He gathered it wouldn't make any difference if he helped him get started. "I'm sure you want to tell me about last night. If you think that I deplore you because of what happened, then you're wrong. I'm not going to judge you or deem you good or bad."

"It's not only that," Gregers said painfully. "You don't understand. You never did."

"Tell me then," for a moment his thoughts of suicide dispersed.

Gregers gazed into his eyes, hesitated for a second. Then Gregers said the most perverse sentence he could think of: "I love you." He was perplexed, stunned, exhilarated and disgusted all at the same time. Gregers took his hand to his heart. "I have always loved you. I just couldn't tell you before. I was too chicken to let you know. I was afraid that you wouldn't understand. That's why I had to run away from you. All these years I was on the run, because I couldn't face you, I couldn't face that I loved you. I know that you think I'm simply an insane gay asshole who has the nerve to treat you like this, pop up and mess up your life after all the woes my family incurred upon yours. But that's not true. I want to remedy everything. I want to..." Gregers moistured his mouth with his tongue. "I want to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. I want to offer a business partnership to you. I want to make up for what you lost because of my father." He watched Gregers listlessly. He would have been thrilled and excited before if someone offered him a tenth of what Gregers was now proposing. But now was too late. No partnership meant anything to him. Not any more. And with that, his intentions of suicide faded away. Anger took its place.

"We could make your duck into a phenomenal success," Gregers continued.

"The duck?!" he asked his hate focusing on the things he had believed to have loved.

"Yes," Gregers seemed unaware of the imminent eruption.

He went to the box containing the robot, and unwrapped it. "We are talking about this?" he asked with a theatrical tone and sounded quite menacing. Gregers nodded and sensed trouble. In the next moment, he threw the duck onto the ground with vehement force, the force of a creature for which nothing mattered any more, which was ready to combat anything or anyone in its way. A creature that wouldn't care if it died in the process. The duck made a crash landing, and was shattered but stayed in one piece until he hopped on it, kicked it, and tore it to extremely small pieces. Gregers watched in complete silence and fear.

When he finished the destruction, he glimpsed at his friend and said: "I'm fed up with the lies, with the virtual worlds, with the substitutes for love. I don't want anything from you, especially your pity."

Before Gregers could respond in any way, the door opened and Gina entered. Her countenance was somber. She turned even more somber when she looked at them, and the remnants of a once almost real virtual bird. She turned towards Gregers demandingly. "Thanks a lot," she said between her teeth, "thanks for messing up our lives. We had everything fine before you came back."

Gregers sighed. "I'm so sorry." There were teardrops emerging in his eyes. "I wished... I wanted to make things better for you. I'm so sorry for messing it all up."

"Sorry is just not good enough," she said close to crying.

He was almost amused. Here were two strong people, who had enjoyed manifesting their power over his life now in complete disarray. Like two parents who didn't know what to do when their infant turned to drugs to substitute for the missing love. But he definitely wouldn't be the one to exhilarate them. They deserved punishment for all the things they had done to him, all the despair they had caused.

"I wanted to remedy the things...," Gregers repeated as if trying to convince himself. "I asked Hjalmar to be my business partner."

"Really?" Gina asked, her countenance eased all of a sudden. "And what did he say?"

Gregers pointed to the plastic and metal parts strewn all over the place. Gina looked at him inquisitively. "Have you gone mad?" she asked. "What has got into you? This is the chance you have been waiting for in your whole life."

"No," he said plainly. "This is the chance you wanted me to wait for in my whole life. I never wanted it."

Life started returning to Gina and Gregers. They sensed that it was time for a counteroffensive. "Of course," Gina said, "as you had no ambition for anything. Was it up to you, you would have liked to live in some shabby hut on some remote island, and let life run past you without noticing...."

She continued nagging; he had to smile. She was naturally right. He let the words slip by him. He thought about his life up to this point, and had to declare it an absolute bore. Not that he hadn't enjoyed it now and then, but presently the things he amused himself with before seemed dull and irrelevant. He had to consider a strange notion. Earlier he had been convinced that intelligence was the greatest gift of evolution, the best thing in life. He watched ancient native tribesmen from some far away land on TV and despised them. But not any more. He realised that happiness was more important than intelligence. The tribesmen had been happy. What was even more stunning to him now was that happiness and intelligence were paradoxically contradictory to each other. The more intelligent a creature would get, the less it would be satisfied with its life. Then what was the point? Perhaps intelligence was simply a by-product of evolution, a side-track that would ultimately eliminate itself, either by homicidal or by suicidal fashion. It seemed that his society chose the latter with an aging population and diminishing birth numbers. Everyone seemed to have so high standards that made it impossible for them to stand each other. Everyone seemed to have one sole interest: to make money. But it was just stupid, he mused, as they spent their money on making more and more of it. It was a self fulfilling process.

"Think about grandpa." He plunged back to the real world. "He could finally retire," Gina said. "Later we could buy him a place up in the woods, where he could live like in the old days."

"Do you know about honour?" he asked. Then he added: "Of course, you don't. My father will never go back to the mountains, because they are sacred to him. The woods remind him of the days when he was someone."

"You Ekdals are all so indulgent in honour," Gina said sarcastically. "It's time you came back to Earth. You have this elevated vision of the simplest matters that ought not be considered at all." He began to feel a crumb in his throat; his neck started to ache as always when he was really pissed off. He tried to respond, but couldn't for his lips were dry. He was gaping instead as if not receiving enough air. "And the only good thing you have done, you have now destroyed," Gina pointed at the scattered electronic parts. It was extraordinary that she deemed the late artificial duck a good thing. Never before had she done so. The robot had been rather a stupid toy, the product of a childish mind.

"I'm sure we have the documentation of the duck in the company's database," Gregers said soothingly. "We don't need the prototype to start mass production."

He stared at Gregers. He didn't want to hate him, but he hated him so much that couldn't be described. He didn't hate him because his friend was gay or bisexual or whatever, but because Gregers was a Werle. And so was Hedvig. And even Gina was a Werle in some sense. And he was an Ekdal, a man of the past. This was definitely not his terrain. He felt as an intruder, an alien in his own home. He was once a warrior, he pondered, like in a movie he had seen titled: "Once Were Warriors". He had, of course, only one thing in common with the main character in the motion picture: he had no future. He was well-educated, perhaps even talented, yet he had no future. It was understandable that a brutal, lazy, wife-beater, unemployed character wouldn't have a future. But that he didn't...?!

There was a faint smile emerging on his face. Whether he laughed at himself or at the situation, he couldn't determine. "Welcome to the family," he unexpectedly said and embraced both of them, placing one hand on Gina's shoulder, the other on Gregers'. "Let's go upstairs and have some fun, the three of us."

"You are mad," Gina said and tried to unleash herself from his grasp in vain.

"Why not?" he asked. "You like the Werle type, Gregers likes me, and it's all the same for me. We can be a real proper family, you know." He laughed with bitter sarcasm. He stared at Gregers. "You know that we are one big happy family, don't you?" Gregers looked at him with wide-open eyes, and shook his head. "Hedvig is your sister, brother. So restrain yourself."

Gina was furious, she broke herself loose. "What are you saying, Hjalmar? Haven't you hurt me enough this morning?"

"How can you say something like that?" Gregers asked. "You couldn't deny Hedvig is your daughter, she is so much you."

"Her eyes," he moaned and realised with dubious sentiment that he must have looked like a madman indeed. "But we can easily ascertain, it takes only a few days," he told Gina, who was shaking with anger and pain. "We send some samples..."

"Stop it right now," Gina said and started crying.

"You are just pulling our leg?! It can't be true." Gregers glimpsed at Gina and then gazed at him. "Or could it?" He simply nodded, Gina was sobbing. "I'm so sorry, man," Gregers uttered.

"It's too late to be sorry," he said, took his coat and left them there. He didn't smash the door behind himself.

For the one million and first time he went for a walk on the same path.
Chapter 5: Fifth Reaction

"I'm leaving," he said. "I'm going away for good."

"You can't just go away. You have your life here," Gina pleaded with him.

There was a suitcase set ajar on the bed; he had already thrown some underwear in it. He knew they weren't well folded; the whole case would fill up quickly. He didn't want to leave. There was nowhere he could go to. He simply wanted to see Gina crawling and asking for mercy.

"But I'm going," he said defiantly. He put a couple of other things into the suitcase, then realising that he couldn't have looked all that convincing added: "I'm only taking the absolutely necessary things. I'm coming back for the rest later... when I've found a place to stay. Then I'm going to take dad with me, and you, Werle types, can do whatever you want."

"We are Ekdals," Gina resisted.

He stared at her. He thought the situation would have been comical if his life wasn't on the line. He looked around and pondered. Maybe he did behave childishly. After all what really mattered? Hedvig wasn't his daughter from a genetic point of view, but he had raised her. He remembered the way she had twisted his nose with her tiny fingers as a baby, her first steps and the first word she uttered: "Dad". How could he forget? He reminded himself of the funny things they had done together. Shouldn't all these years weigh more than anything? His social part claimed that it should be more important, but the abyss disagreed. The latter pointed to Hedvig's new behaviour pattern, the party animal that resembled the Werles so much. She wasn't an Ekdal, and she would never be one. His kind was deemed to extinction in this world, his resources had been used and he was discarded. Why should he participate in his own disappearance? Why should he contribute to the proliferation of the Werle types? And why was it wrong to reject duped happiness for having a daughter that wasn't his?

But how could he just leave them? It would be like when his mother had deserted them. She had wanted her freedom, wanted to travel in the world. They had been a hindrance to her in fulfilling her dreams. Even though he had been older than Hedvig at the time, he was still vulnerable and scared. He shouldn't commit the same injustice. But he had to keep the illusion he was going away until he had figured out what to do.

He took his suitcase downstairs leaving Gina crying in their bedroom. He seated himself in front of his computer. He waited for her to come. But instead of her, his father appeared unexpectedly. It was too early in the afternoon for him to have come home.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," old Ekdal answered. "Have been given the afternoon off. Compliments of chief Werle."

He hummed surprised. That was unusual, he thought. He watched his father vanish upstairs. Old Ekdal moved slower than his age or physical condition would have permitted. All these years he had never really sat down with him to talk, he thought his father was satisfied as things were. Now, though, he realised how much old Ekdal must have been alone seeking shelter in the virtual forest of the computer. He looked with hate at the machines that he once had believed to bring humanity some form of salvation; they had brought him nothing but humiliation. There was just one thing in which he differed from his father, he thought, and it was his capability of seeing what was real and what wasn't. Or perhaps it was rather a misfortune for him. With bitter enlightenment, his clean up of the computers commenced. He deleted all his files. He couldn't imagine having any use for them ever again. He did all this contrary to his common sense that would have dictated him to keep them until he made up his mind what to do with his life.

He was almost finished with the arduous job of deleting years of presentation material, the manuscripts of a fake dream and his mail, when Hedvig arrived from school. She had a coquettish smile on her face.

"Hi, dad," she said.

He stared at her with eyes maddened with hate he felt for chief Werle. She stopped smiling, and ran upstairs shortly thereafter to descend together with her mother.

"You tell her," Gina was furious. "You tell her!"

"What do you mean I'm not your daughter?" Hedvig asked frightened. "Daddy?!"

He took a deep breath. He tried not to look in her eyes, because it made him weak and he would have been sobbing, he loved her so much. But he was what he was. He had to tell her, she deserved to know; in fact, she had to know. "The truth is that I found out only recently that we are not blood-relatives," he said. "It was a terrible surprise."

"And you don't love me any more?"

One part of his soul wanted to embrace her and tell her that he would never leave her, the other said that she was already an independent woman, and would eventually leave him. She could take it. But he couldn't take it that every time he would look at her, he would be reminded of failure and the dominance of chief Werle.

"Of course, I love you," he answered cold as ice.

Hedvig started crying. "And who is my natural father?" she asked.

"It's..." He looked at Gina with despise. "It's your turn."

"It's Mr. Werle," she chuckled. "I'm so sorry for all this, honey," she hugged her.

Hedvig sunk her head and blinked at him. She cried out: "I don't care. You are still my daddy." She made some frightened steps towards him, then observing his loathing facial expression declined. She stood between him and Gina for a while. Then her attitude changed completely. "Fine, if that's what you want. The Werles are much funnier than the Ekdals anyway. And rich... I'm sure they will have nothing against me in their family." There followed a deep and sorrowful silence.

Then suddenly a thundering sound petrified them; it seemed to him to echo in the house for almost a lifetime. When the reverberation ended, they all started running up the stairs. They knew too well the sound of the revolver from the virtual world of computers; old Ekdal had often enjoyed listening to the sounds of the weapons possessed by him. They could even tell which one it must have been. As they reached the top of the stairs they could hear a low tumbling sound. It sounded like a heavy object dropping to the ground. He hurried to his father's room. The door was closed and no one responded to his vehement knocking. After a couple of seconds, he pushed his way in. He found what he had anticipated. Old Ekdal sat in his favourite armchair, his head thrown back, some blood dropping to the ground covering the revolver he had loaded the other day. He checked even though he knew his father was dead. Gina and Hedvig embraced each other and were sobbing in the door opening.

"What happened?" his wife asked. "Is he...?"

He nodded. "At least he's now in the eternal hunting grounds."

"How can you say something so stupid?" Gina paused for a moment. "It must have been an accident."

He looked at them. He knew it was no accident. He had forgotten to unload the revolver, that's true, but old Ekdal had always been very particular about safety. His father had always checked the guns, could tell by their weight if they were loaded or not. Old Ekdal must have overheard their conversation. All these years his father humbled himself. The pain he must have endured. Pain that even alcohol couldn't ease.

"There is a note on the desk," Gina said.

He noticed it only now. He took it and read it. It was very short. It read: "I'm so sorry, son."

"What does it say?" Gina inquired. "Let me see."

He handed her the paper. She perused it, and said: "I don't understand."

"I do," he told her, and went to take care of matters concerning his father's death.

He needed to get out of the house. He went to his father's favourite pub, ordered a strong drink. He looked around.

The man with dark complexion was there, and although his world and thoughts were entirely different from his, he sat beside him. He was greeted open-heartedly. "Hello, family man. Last time we met, you impressed me. Leaving with two hot mammas, quite something." He looked at the man, his eyes showing grief. "Wife found out?"

"My father is dead. Shot himself. Said to have been an accident."

The man with dark complexion was moved. "That's sad. I'm really sorry. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing," he said and swallowed his drink in one.

"Life sucks." His mood changed from mirth to one of condolence. "My father is still alive. But who knows for how long? He has been conscripted at the age of 70. Can you believe it?"

"Why is that?"

"Because of the imminent war. Haven't you heard?" the man sounded a bit irritated for a moment. "Of course, you must have had other matters to think about. I may soon be an orphan as well. I tried to get my family out of the country, but I failed. I let them down. I don't know if I will ever see the only woman I loved."

"The war is because of the dictator, right?" he inquired completely unaware of recent events in the world.

"Like hell it is," the man with dark complexion said bitterly. "I wish I could say so, for he is the reason I had to leave. But I'm afraid it has nothing to do with it."

"Is it about natural resources then?"

"No, not really." The man paused for a while, sipped his beer. "I think it's the way the northern countries let their steam out. This is how they compensate their own anger and social despairs. But it's hard for me to understand why you have to attack us for not being able to find a lifestyle you can accept or for not being able to control your women."

"That's an interesting theory."

"It's the truth. You go abroad destroying other peoples' lives, because your lives are empty. In your big freedom you lost your standards, your cultural heritage and religion." The man with dark complexion patted him on the shoulder. "Don't take it personally. I have nothing against you. You're a nice guy."

"I don't like being a nice guy."

"There is nothing wrong with being a nice guy. There is nothing wrong with wanting to live with one woman for all your life, and requiring the same in return."

"How do you know that I didn't... with the two women?"

"I didn't know. But now I do. Although I could have guessed."

He wondered. He was a nice guy even to this foreigner. Possibly he was predestined to emanate a nice guy aura that would stick to him forever. He wished he was everything but that. But, obviously, his desires were meant to be unfulfilled in this world. Perhaps it was all a brilliantly devised computer game, where his parameters were set, and he could not exceed them no matter how hard he tried. These parameters doomed him to failure; they would have made him a winner in the Viking times, but not in the modern age of Werles.

The man with dark complexion changed the topic. They talked about sports although none of them really cared; he knew they were both like ducks having been shot and now sinking to the bottom of the sea, where they would bite the sea-grass and would never again emerge. For sometimes death was the best available solution.

Relling looked at him with inquisitive eyes. He almost felt devoured by those eyes.

"You know, I wasn't born here. I lived in the south before I moved because of political reasons. Or so I said." He shook his head, he didn't know, and he couldn't guess. Of course, the dentist's skin had a slight dark complexion, but it wasn't all that unusual. "More correctly put, I came here, because I was different. Society there couldn't accept this, my kind have been stigmatised there. But you see I couldn't deny who I have always been. And you cannot deny who you are. If you try, you will only make your life miserable." Relling stopped for a moment taking a deep breath. "Once I had a wife. I didn't want to get married, but I didn't want to upset my family, especially my mother; I gave in to pressure. I thought that I could change, but I couldn't. I left hoping to find a new life, to find out who I was. I took an entirely new identity, a new name, and started a new life."

He nodded. There was nothing unacceptable in what Relling had to say. Everyone in the north knew what went on in the south, the anti-democratic oppression of people and their civil liberties. He had sipped in this knowledge in childhood as everyone else; it became a part of his cultural identity.

"I left because I was abnormal in that society. I had to agree with that, I still do. Here, on the other hand, I almost feel normal. Strange, isn't it? I look at you, and I see a man who has not accepted his destiny, who has not accepted who he is."

"I have not?" he tried to sound funny. "I thought so."

"No, you have not. You seem like me back then. Trying real hard to be something you're not. You don't belong here. You are a Viking, and all the Vikings have left. You are forcing yourself to live the life of a pussy. Look in the mirror." Relling made him face a mirror. He saw a handsome, tall man with eyes that reflected suffering.

"Thanks," he said, and felt his energy was vanishing. He thought he was a pussy too. Did it really show so much? He didn't like it when others could find his weak spots, because when they had, they usually hammered at it. And so he had to keep his emotions hidden deep inside.

"I was upset last night because of Molvik and young Werle. I know Gregers is only playing with Molvik. He doesn't want to believe me. It hurts. I have been living with Molvik for years."

"You too?" he asked, but wasn't really surprised. He wasn't really surprised of anything any more. Perhaps only his eyes were blindfolded to see the truth. "I don't mind," he said ascertaining that he liked bald-head anyway, whether he was gay or not.

"I'm homosexual. But Gregers, I don't think he could decide just yet what he is." Relling stared at him, his face showing affection for him. "I wish I could help you. I wish. But I cannot. Only you can resolve the matter. Only you. No one can help." The dentist stopped for a second. "I often think about life. I have a lot of time to think. I try to be as objective as possible. And abstract. And what I see is that history does repeat itself. There are some differences, but from an abstract point of view, they are irrelevant. Today we are living the times of the Roman Empire at its height before its sudden collapse. These are the times when the normal becomes abnormal, and the abnormal becomes normal. The cornerstone of any society, the family is disappearing. Instead, I see families breaking apart, if forming at all. I see a lot of people who cannot stand the other because they are so damned independent, and yet they feel desperately and incurably lonely. They are all searching for the perfect love, the perfect life. They deny that they age. Forty-year-olds act as teenagers. And when they see a man as normal as you are, they will do everything to make you feel abnormal. You cannot accept our lifestyle." Relling's last sentence was more like a command than a statement.

"You are right," he said. "I don't feel I belong to the _Big Brother_ world."

"Then go," Relling embraced him. "Go away from here. You still can."

"Go where?"

"There are still places you could call home in the south. Where normal is normal, and abnormal is abnormal. But hurry. These places are disappearing."

He nodded. Some strange energy emanated his body, surged from within and filled him with warmth. "I will," he uttered.

"You are normal, and we are abnormal," the dentist held his hand. "Don't ever let us tell you otherwise. Don't listen to the voices of shame. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Do not be ashamed for being normal. Fulfil your dreams. Fulfil your destiny."

It was getting dark, the weak sun of the north setting early. He looked out of the window, at the deserted streets that would be animated with life later when the nightlife would begin. The wind was blowing some leaves on the tidy streets; everything was clean and cold. How many times had he looked out of this window and how many times had he gone for the same walks, he pondered. He would go up to the mountain-side of the city, look at the harbour below, the fish market and the _Skansen_. He would think about his bright future, make optimistic plans and dream about the discoveries he would make in computer science. He had made himself believe in them. All these ideas occurred to him alien now. He realised they were necessary though, for otherwise he would hardly have survived. They had allowed him to continue with a life completely lacking excitement, feeding him with benevolent lies. Reality had been simple and boring: he had been a not-too-recognised employee of a big firm, very much dependent on the ambience of a charismatic syndicator, who had systematically turned down all his innovations and blocked all his attempts of becoming independent. The market had been in chief Werle's hands. He had had no life of his own. He had tried to disconnect himself from his surroundings, build an oasis. He had his workshop, his duck, and his family. But the oasis had been swept away by the surroundings, and there remained nothing. His whole previous life seemed to him as a strange dream revolving around computers and knowledge and technology. He had been so convinced they could make his life happier. Well, they hadn't.

He had packed a suitcase. He looked at it, still hesitant. But he knew that the next day he would have to get on the airplane. He would have to go the south. He had to try to live a normal life.

He had made all the arrangements. He had collected the life insurance money after his father, divided it into two, half of it went to Gina, the other half to him. It wasn't much, but it had to do. It would be just enough for him to start a new life in the land he was going to. He would leave the house to Gina and the girl; they would manage fine.

He rummaged in his pocket and found a shabby note. It said Lene and there was a phone number. He peered at it, then with one sudden move threw it in the waste basket. Lene looked like a woman of the finest grade, but she was no woman to him. Just a whore. He had no desire for her kind.

The doorbell rang and he went downstairs. Gregers stormed in.

"I heard you want to go away."

"Yes," he said. "I am going away."

"Maybe you should reconsider," Gregers told him energetically.

"There is no way I would." He shook his head. Everything and everyone seemed so much different to him now than before. Like a classical and a modern painting would about the same subject. Even Gregers looked different. Whether his novel view was modern or classical he couldn't decide.

"I have here a contract with _Microbots_ ," Gregers waved a paper, "worth millions. It's your duck."

"I have no duck, remember? I destroyed it."

"The details were in the company's archives."

"Your father would never let those out of his hands."

Gregers smiled vaguely. "He has retired. He couldn't face his bad conscience for firing your dad the day he died." Gregers stopped for a sigh. "I am company chief now, and I managed to convince the board to make this deal. You're the main beneficiary."

He was reluctant to believe that chief Werle would let go so easily. In any case, Gregers sounded sincere. This was the break he had been waiting for in his whole life. The dream came true. But it wasn't his dream any more. It came too late. Because there were things in life that had merits only at a certain time, not before and not after. He tried to imagine his life rich in the north. He would buy a house on the mountain side of the city, a red sports car and anything else he wanted. The house would be empty though; he would sit inside it all alone or rave in town searching for real love that the red sports car would make sure he would never attain. For if he so obviously was rich, how could he trust anyone?

"I'm so sorry for the past. But maybe we could work out the family details," Gregers said to which he laughed. He found his friend amusing.

"I don't want to be unfriendly, but it would be better if you left."

"Think about it, Hjalmar. Tomorrow you may see things differently," Gregers said on his way out.

He closed the door behind him. The next day he would be far away. He knew he would never return. He would rather die. He could never again face defeat and humble himself for Werle types. He could never again face his family that cheated him.

For a lion wouldn't eat grass for long, he thought. Lions were meant to be lions, and nothing could change that. And he was meant to be a man.

It was time for him to be a man.

###The End###

To contact the author write to **johnfajo@zoho.com** , or visit the author's page at Smashwords.com.
