Sun and Shadow by Åke Edwardson

sympathetically toward the cup. “Please. It’s on the house.”
    She laughed at him. It was like the first time ... when it had all started. She, the other one, and he ... they’d both laughed.
    She’d accused him of not being a real man. Just look at yourself, she’d said.
    Now he did exactly what he wanted to do in this room, which had turned completely white in his eyes. He hardly noticed them as he walked over to the stereo and switched on the cassette that the other one had switched off with a curse only seconds after he’d started it.
    “Do-not-switch-off-that-music,” he said.
    “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
    “Do-not-switch-it-off.”
    “We want you to get out.”
    ‘Just fuck off,“ she said. ”We don’t want you here.“
    “I-am-staying-here,” he said, turning the sound up and starting to react to the bass, to the guitars. The room was white. He closed his eyes tightly. He had stopped seeing. There was no darkness. He felt something hit his stomach, like a punch, or a kick, but he didn’t open his eyes. The white was still out there. He didn’t want to see it. The music was everywhere, WOAHWAOHWHAAWHOAWHAAWHO, he felt another blow and somebody was pulling his hair and he opened his eyes. The other guy hit him again, knocking him to the floor. This cretin was trying to get to the music, but he was in charge now. He was in charge. If he lay still and allowed him to turn off the music it would all be over, but that was impossible. He was in charge now. The real man. He stood up, opened his eyes and peered at them through the whiteness, and he no longer knew if it was quiet. He heard nothing as he grabbed hold of her, felt nothing, nothing as he groped after him as well, after his body. The white glow was still there, but at a distance now, as if waiting. He grabbed at her again, at him again.
    A long time.
    He was shaking like a dog. The music was still on when it was over. He’d done everything and toward the end he’d had all the help—the courage—he’d lacked earlier. He was still there in the white glow. He could hear the words, one after another, nobody else could make out any words in the blare of the music, the-blood-is-sacrificed-in-my-face.
    Angela rang after five minutes.
    “All done.”
    “Good.”
    “So, what now?”
    “I’ll borrow money from Mom today. But you could phone the bank and ask them to send me some money to arrive tomorrow.”
    “Where to?”
    “To one of the banks in town. I’ll call in at the first one I come to and ask if they can receive transfers. Actually, I can phone my bank myself if you can give me the number now.”
    “Okay. That was ... pretty bad luck.”
    “It was badly handled by me. That shouldn’t happen.”
    “Every cloud has a silver lining. You’ll learn to have a bit of sympathy with the victims from now on.”
    “Hmm.”
    “You’ll have to report this to the police.”
    “Oh, please.”
    “Of course you must, Erik. You can’t come back home and contact your insurers and all that without having reported the incident to the police on the spot. Do I have to spell that out for you, of all people?”
    “No.”
    “Maybe the thief will pocket the credit cards and send all the rest to the police.”
    “Maybe Santa lives at the North Pole.”
    “I’m serious, Erik.”
    “Okay, okay. I’ll report it to the police. At least I know where the police station is.”
    “Good. Worse things have happened, Erik.”
    “I know, Angela. I know.”
    He walked around the bus station, investigating the waste bins and the dusty bushes, but the thief hadn’t thrown away the wallet.
    Winter was still feeling furious, but Angela was right. There were people worse off than he was.
     
    The gray marble walls of the police station had turned white when the sun started shining on them. He went up the steps and turned left to the Oficina de Denuncias, and tried to explain his problem to a uniformed officer at a desk. The man held up a hand, and