* * *
There’s a lot that isn’t talked about in a small town, but there are no secrets when you’re twelve years old, because at that age you know where on the Internet to look. Leo’s read everything. Now he’s wearing a long-sleeved top, in spite of the heat. He says it’s because he got sunburned, but he just doesn’t want anyone to see the scratch marks. He can’t stop scratching himself at night; the hate has crept under his skin. He’s never been in a fight, not even about hockey. He often wonders if he’s like his dad and just doesn’t have violence in him. But now he just wishes someone would pick a fight with him, bump into him accidentally, give him one single reason to pick up the nearest heavy object and smash his face in with it.
“Brothers and sisters should look out for each other,” that’s what everyone says when you’re growing up. “Don’t argue! Stop fighting! Brothers and sisters should look out for each other!” Leo and Maya were supposed to have a big brother; perhaps he would have been able to protect them. His name was Isak, and he died before they were born of the sort of illness that makes it impossible for Leo to believe that there’s a god. Leo barely understood that Isak had been a real person until he was seven years old and found a photograph album with pictures of him with their parents. They laughed so much in those pictures. Hugged each other so tightly, loved each other so infinitely. Isak taught Leo an unbearable number of things that day, without even existing. He taught him that love isn’t enough. That’s a terrible thing to learn when you’re seven years old. Or at any age.
He’s twelve now, and he’s trying to be a man. Whatever that means. He tries to stop scratching his skin raw at night, tries to sob silently, curled up tightly under the covers, tries to hate without anyone else seeing or realizing. Tries to kill the thought that won’t stop thudding at his temples. Brothers and sisters should look out for each other, and he wasn’t able to protect his sister.
* * *
He wasn’t able to protect his sister he wasn’t able to protect his sister he wasn’t able to protect his sister.
* * *
Last night he scratched his chest and stomach until a long wound opened up in his skin and blood started to seep out. This morning he looked at himself in the mirror and thought that the wound looked like a fuse leading to his heart. He wonders if it’s burning inside him. And how long it’s got left.
4
Women Are Always the Problem
The older generation used to call Beartown and Hed “the Bear and the Bull,” especially when the towns were due to play each other at hockey. That was many years ago now, and no one really knows if Hed already had the bull as the emblem on their jerseys at the time, or if they put it there after being given the nickname. There was a lot of livestock around Hed in those days, more open countryside, so when industry arrived it was easier to build factories there. The people in Beartown were known to be hard workers, but the forest was denser there, so the money ended up in the neighboring town to the south. Older generations used to speak metaphorically about the struggle between the Bear and the Bull and how that kept things in balance, stopped one of them from having all the power. Perhaps it was different back then, when there were still enough jobs and resources for both towns. It’s harder now, because the idea that violence can ever be controlled is always an illusion.
* * *
Maya is over at Ana’s. These are the few minutes of peace and quiet before the text message arrives, the last moments between Kevin leaving town and all hell breaking loose again. They had three weeks when people almost seemed to forget that Maya existed. It was wonderful. And it will soon be over.
Ana checks that the gun cabinet is locked, then fetches the key and makes sure the weapons inside aren’t loaded. She lies to Maya and says she’s going to “clean them,” but Maya knows she does that only when her dad has started to drink again. The final sign that a hunter’s alcoholism has crossed the line is when he forgets to lock the cabinet or leaves a loaded weapon inside. That’s happened only once, when Ana was little and her mom had just moved out, but Ana has never quite stopped worrying.
Maya is lying on the floor with her guitar on her chest, pretending not to understand. Ana carries the burden of being the child of an alcoholic, and it’s a lonely struggle.
“Hey, idiot?” Ana eventually says.
“Yeah, what, you moron?” Maya smiles.
“Play something,” Ana demands.
Maya giggles. “Don’t give me orders, I’m not your musical slave.”
Ana grins. You can’t cultivate that sort of friendship, it only grows in the wild. “Please?”
“Learn to play yourself, you lazy cow.”
“I don’t need to, you idiot, I’m holding a rifle. Play or I’ll shoot!”
Maya roars with laughter. They had promised each other that. That when summer came, the men in this stupid town weren’t going to take their laughter away from them.
“Nothing miserable, though!” Ana adds.
“Shut it! If you want to listen to your stupid, bouncy blippety blip music you can get a computer,” Maya says, giggling.
Ana rolls her eyes.
“Okay, I’m still holding a gun! If you play your junkie music and I shoot myself in the head, it’ll actually be your fault!”
They both roar with laughter. And Maya plays the happiest songs she knows, even if in Ana’s opinion they’re really not that happy at all. But this summer she takes what she can get.
* * *
They’re interrupted by two short buzzing sounds from their phones. Then two more, followed by another two.
* * *
Being the general manager of a hockey club isn’t a full-time job. It’s three. When Peter’s wife, Kira, can’t be bothered to hide her irritation, she usually says, “You’ve got two marriages, one with hockey and one with me.” She doesn’t add that half of all marriages end in divorce. She doesn’t have to.
The local politicians in the conference room will downplay this meeting, say it was “only about sports.” The biggest lie Peter has ever managed to make himself believe is that hockey and politics aren’t linked. They always are, but when politics work in our favor we call it “cooperation,” and when it favors others we call it “corruption.” Peter looks out of the window. There are always flags raised in front of the council building so the bastards inside can see which way the wind is blowing.
“The council . . . we . . . it has been decided that we should apply to host the World Skiing Championships. Beartown and Hed together,” one of the councillors says.
He’s trying to look authoritative now, which is hard when you’re simultaneously picking muffin crumbs from your jacket pocket. Everyone knows that he’s been trying to get funding for a conference hotel for years, and the World Championships would give him the chance. As luck would have it, this particular councillor’s brother-in-law works at the Ski Federation, and his wife runs a business that arranges hunting trips and “survival courses” in the forest for wealthy businessmen from the big cities who evidently can’t survive without a minibar and spa center. Another councillor adds, “We need to think about the region’s image, Peter. The taxpayers are worried. All this negative publicity has created insecurity . . .”