“So we finally get out of that Lappland shithole,” I say. “You should have been with us on that trip, Doughboy. Ten of us fellas and ten liters of
And if my eyes tear up on me, well, Doughboy, he ain’t the kind of guy to make you feel foolish about that. He pats me on the shoulder and says “Don’t cry, there, Knutteboy. You got friends that care about you, here at home if nowheres else.”
“You’re somebody a man can count on,” I say to him, even though I’d still like to teach them bastards at home a thing or two, sitting there in the kitchen, dragging my name through the mud.
“Put that woman out of your head, Knut-boy,” Doughboy says.
Not like I’ve been thinking about her, but now when I do it’s hard for me not to wonder what she’s up to tonight. I’m grieving. Come all the way out here to bury my one and only father, and she’s out somewhere getting up to god knows what. Alone is what I am. Ain’t a goddamn soul left to turn to.
“Let’s just polish off this last little bit,” Doughboy says.
She’s not the only one that knows how to go out and have a good time, even if the one she’s promised herself to is off grieving a heavy loss. I can empty a glass too, and so I do.
“Stuck in that goddamn Lappland shithole, I was, for eight long months,” I start to tell him.
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” says Doughboy, like he knows all about it already.
Don’t see why he thinks he can take that tone with me. Bigger dogs than him have had to lower their tails to Knut Lindqvist. You’re on your own now, Knut-boy, and there ain’t a goddamn soul left on this earth you can count on. So is it any wonder your eyes start to sting?
“Get hold of yourself,” Doughboy tells me. “What say we go to the Pavilion, you and me?”
I try to get up, but it’s trickier than you’d think, the way his chairs swallow you up.
“It’s too far,” I say. “We’ll never make it.”
“We’ll take the car,” Doughboy says and grabs my arm to hoist me up. Only the floor moves on me and when I grab the table to catch my balance a glass goes crashing to the floor. What a pain in the ass! Why do folks have to put their glasses so close to the edge like that? The table ain’t so steady either, so I grab hold of the gramophone stand. A vase topples over and smashes to pieces on the floor. It’s that last glass of
“Forget the vase,” Doughboy says. “Let’s go!”