153
It was a windy evening, with occasional showers.
He had put the scarf and the hammer with the sock round its head in his overcoat pockets. When Ludwig Tacker came out of his front door, Tobiasson-Svartman hurried to waylay him at a spot where it was especially dark and usually deserted. He hid in the shadows next to a wall. His father-in-law passed by so close that he could smell his cigar. The old man's walking stick tip-tapped on the paving stones. Tobiasson-Svartman wrapped the scarf round his face and took out the hammer. Seven paces, eight at most and he would have caught up.
Tacker spun round and raised his walking stick.
'Who are you?' he yelled. 'What do you want?'
Tobiasson-Svartman was terrified. He was sinking, hitting out was a way of coming back up to the surface. Tacker bellowed and defended himself stoutly, hitting with his walking stick and trying to pull off the scarf round Tobiasson-Svartman's face. Tacker was strong. He pulled and tugged and the scarf was half off when the hammer hit him on the nose. There was a crunching sound. Tacker fell heavily. Tobiasson-Svartman ran away. He threw the hammer into the water at Nybroviken, having first knotted the scarf tightly round its handle.
All the time he was afraid that somebody was going to grab him. But nobody came. He was alone with his fear.
He stood in Wallingatan for a long time. He had never been so terrified in all his life. Ludwig Tacker had almost exposed him. Everything would have collapsed.
In the end he opened the front door and walked up the stairs to his flat. Kristina Tacker was asleep. He listened outside her door.
The dead eyes of the china figurines glinted in the light from the street lamps. He sat down in the warm room and hoped that Ludwig Tacker was dead.
CHAPTER 154
The attack on Ludwig Tacker aroused a lot of attention. There were prominent articles in the newspapers. Everybody agreed that the assailant must be a madman.
But his father-in-law did not die. He had a broken jaw, a badly broken nose and he had bitten deeply into his tongue. The doctors treating him established that he also had concussion.
It was evening. Kristina Tacker had been to see her father. Tobiasson-Svartman was in his study, reading a meteorological journal, when she came into the room.
'I don't want to disturb you,' she said.
He put the journal down and pointed to the sofa in front of one of the two high windows. She slumped down.
'You're not disturbing me,' he said. 'How could you do that?'
I've been thinking about what happened.'
'We must be grateful that he wasn't more badly injured.'
She shook her head. 'What kind of a person would try to kill a man he didn't know?'
'It's like in a war.'
'What do you mean?'
'You don't kill people, you kill enemies. And the enemy is nearly always faceless. This man is conducting a secret war. Everybody is his enemy, nobody is his friend.'
She asked no more questions but left the room. He picked up a newspaper and read about himself. About the madman they were looking for.
I am completely calm, he thought. Nobody is going to arrest me, nobody knows. The man who appeared out of the darkness has vanished. He will never reappear. He will remain a riddle.
CHAPTER 155
The next day they went to visit his father-in-law; he was in bed at home, receiving only a few visitors.
He was tempted, just for an instant, to tell Ludwig Tacker who it had been, hidden behind the scarf.
'I'm very sorry to hear about what happened,' he said. 'It's the duty of the police to track down the madman. Let us hope they succeed. Thank goodness it didn't end in catastrophe, at least'
Ludwig Tacker looked hard at him without saying a word. Then he made a dismissive gesture. He wanted to be left in peace.
Tobiasson-Svartman sat down on a bench in Humlegården.
It's not me, he told himself. For short periods I am somebody else, perhaps my father, perhaps somebody I could never imagine. I am searching for something, a bottom that does not exist, neither in the sea nor in myself.
His thoughts faded away. Children were playing in the park. His head was a complete vacuum. He started to feel extremely weary, it was like a bank of fog creeping up on him.
When he woke up it was late afternoon. He went home.
In the flat he found the maid waiting for him, red-eyed. Kristina Tacker had been rushed into hospital some