The Room Read Free

suffer.
    —
    I never went into the room that day. But I thought about it several times. It was as if I was thinking: I ought to go into the room.

6.
    That night I lay awake thinking about Karl’s cotton cardigan and what sort of unfortunate consequences his attitude problem might have. I thought about Håkan and the way he got away with things. I thought about Ann and the elegant way she rejected me. I realized I would have to look out for her. She was doubtless capable of dragging a creative individual down to the semi-social state of casual interaction involving endless coffee and small talk that characterized most workplaces.
    Oh well. I wouldn’t let myself be affected.
    Instead I thought about the attractive woman in reception. Her smile. The way she made me feel genuinely welcome each morning with just a glance. As if she really saw me. Saw that there was something special about me. I realized that she was one of the rare breed of alert women, of whom there are fewer and fewer, and decided as I lay there to give her a little of my time. Maybe a chat early one morning, maybe lunch?
    In my mind, I went through material from the department. Decisions and framework documents that I arranged chronologically and put in folders. I got up, went out into the kitchen, and drank a glass of milk as I read the ads in the morning paper.

7.
    The third time I went into the room, I did it for no reason. That’s not like me at all. I usually stick to a clear chain of cause and effect, but this time it was as if I just wanted to go there. I closed the door and stopped in the middle of the floor, in front of the desk.
    The desktop was partly covered by a protective pad that seemed almost to have been stuck down. I felt obliged to lift one corner to check that it was only held in place by the anti-slip backing that stopped it shifting even a millimeter in any direction, no matter how you pulled and pushed it.
    In front of the pad was a hole puncher, a stapler, and a teak pen holder containing two ink pens and a pencil. All neatly lined up. All neatly lined up.
    I raised my elbow and rested it on the shiny metal filing cabinet that stood against one wall. I felt a sense of calm in my body that seemed to cleanse my whole system. An intoxicating feeling of relaxation. A bit like a headache pill.
    There was a full-length mirror in the room. I caught sight of myself in it and, to my surprise, I looked really good. My gray suit fit better than I thought, and there was something about the way the fabric hung that made me think that the body beneath it was—how can I put it?—virile.
    I stood there for a long while, resting my weight on one leg, with my elbow on the filing cabinet. It was a good stance. I looked incredibly relaxed. Simultaneously confident and aware.
    I had never thought of myself as “attractive.” Most of the time I used mirrors to check that my clothes and accessories were in the right place. Not to check how “attractive” I was. The idea had never occurred to me. I never actually thought about men as being either more or less attractive. But I realized it was time to start doing so.
    Because the best thing was the look in the eyes.
    The man reflected in the mirror had a remarkable look of concentration in his eyes. He fixed me squarely with his pupils and followed me wherever I went. I realized at once that this was a new asset, a pair of eyes that could demand anything. And get it.

8.
    Inhibited people don’t see the world the way it really is. They only see what they themselves want to see. They don’t see the nuances. The little differences.
    A lot of people, more than you’d imagine, think everything’s fine. They’re happy with things the way they are. They don’t see the faults because they’re too lazy to allow themselves to have their everyday routines disturbed. They think that as long as they do their best, everything will work out okay.
    You have to remind them. You have to show people like that