Christmas in Karlstad

Disclaimer:

The following is adapted from the novel Let the Right One In by John A. Linqvist and the film bearing the same name. The characters in this work are those of Mr. Linqvist and no copyright protection is asserted to this work.

Eli had arisen just after dark. She had come out of the bathroom without saying much, wearing the same oversized, black sweatshirt with the German Men's National Hockey Team logo she'd had on yesterday.

Oskar had woken up a little earlier, around 2 p.m. For several weeks, he had been moving his bedtime later and later so he could spend more time with her at night. Yesterday, he'd turned in around 9 a.m. He slept on a mattress they had put down in the bedroom with a few blankets and a pillow.

He was in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal and reading a math book he had checked out from the library when she came up to the table. She looked more pale than usual, and her eyes had dark smudges under them. She had announced that she was "going out," and left. There was a flatness to her voice that he didn't like. He watched her leave, heard the door close, and was once again alone in the silence.

It was times like this that he sometimes wondered about his decision to be with her. When she was away by herself, his mind would drift to thoughts of his mom. With Christmas coming, this had happened quite a bit lately. He didn't talk about it with Eli.

Two nights ago, he had brought home a little artificial tree. They had set it up in one corner of the living room and decorated it with a strand of multicolored lights and ornaments. Eli had told him that when she was a child, they had not brought a tree into the home for Christmas. She had been around long enough, though, to understand that it had become a tradition, and because it pleased Oskar, she had helped set it up.

Afterwards, as they sat on the couch in the darkened room, admiring its blinking colors, Eli had asked him, "Do you believe in God?"

He thought for a moment, then responded, "Well, I know Mom had me baptized when I was a baby. And she used to take me to church, when I was really little. But I think we stopped going when she split up from Dad.

"So yeah, I do think there's a God. And I believe in Jesus. But I don't remember the last time I've been in a church. How about you?"

Eli didn't respond right away. He looked at her; watched as the hues from the little tree played across her features and turned her cheeks varying shades of pink, blue and green. Then in a detached and distant way she said, "Mama believed in God . . . and I think I might've been baptized, although I don't really remember too well. But I'm not sure what I believe now. I guess I feel that if God does exist, I'm about as far away from Him as I could be."

Oskar knew that Eli would think the answer to his next question painfully obvious, but he forged ahead because he wanted to continue the conversation. "Why do you say that?"

Eli said nothing; just turned her head and stared at him flatly. So he quickly added, "I mean, you didn't ask to be . . . how you are."

Eli tilted her head back, rolled her eyes up and stared at the ceiling with a forlorn expression. She exhaled heavily and swallowed hard. "I wouldn't expect you to understand. Do we have to keep talking about this? I'm sorry I brought it up."

Oskar turned on the couch and tucked one leg up underneath himself. He touched her forearm and said, "Eli . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

Eli scootched over, relaxed against his shoulder, and closed her eyes.

"Oskar, let's not kid ourselves. You know what I am—what I do." She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "Do you have any idea . . . how many people I've killed?"

Oskar felt a chill ascend rapidly up his spine. Suddenly, he, too, regretted the present conversation. Hearing her pose the question while looking into her lovely, dark eyes was extremely disconcerting. "Um--"

Eli sighed. "So many that I've lost count. But there must be—thousands. Thousands, Oskar. Can you understand that? I don't think they let people like that into Heaven, do they?"

Oskar was at a loss for words. A period of silence, seemingly interminable, spun out between them. Then in a small, uncertain voice he said, "Well, probably not. But . . . couldn't you still go, if you were sorry for what you did?"

"Oskar, that only works if you promise never to do it again. And that's not exactly in my cards, is it? There's only one way I could make a promise like that. And believe me, there were a lot of times before you came along that I thought about . . . ending it. Ending myself. So I wouldn't have to go on with all of this."

Oskar nodded, then responded quietly, "Suicide. Yeah." He hesitated, looked down at his fingers, then said softly, "I've-- I've thought about it, too, actually. A few times. When I felt—you know, really down about myself. But you know what's funny? That's wrong, too, I think. It's in the Bible somewhere."

Eli straightened up, looked at him incredulously, then laughed cynically. "What?! Oh . . . but of course! That's the way it always is, isn't it? Damned if you do, damned if you don't! But why? It's not like you're hurting someone else."

Oskar looked down at his lap and scratched his head. "Not sure. I think it's like—you're supposed to love yourself. And your life is a gift from God. It's not yours to take."

Eli stared at him. "A gift from God."

"Uh huh." He looked at her; couldn't tell what she was thinking.

Eli frowned, looked away and back at the little glowing tree; then just shook her head slowly. Finally she said in a small, sad voice, "Doesn't make any sense."

Oskar reached around her and gave her a hug. "Eli, I think I understand how you feel about yourself. But don't forget how I feel about you. I think you were a gift to me."

Eli looked at him with a little half-smile. "Well, I couldn't help that, Oskar. I would have done anything to protect you, to save you. You know that."

"That doesn't—that doesn't make it any less important, Eli. You may think you're this . . . horrible monster, or something, but—you're everything to me. And I know what kind of a person you are, truly--on the inside."

Eli turned to face him and smiled; took his hands into hers. "I guess it's a good thing—"

Together, they finished her sentence: "--that we have each other."

"Yeah!" Oskar exclaimed. They smiled at one another and kissed.

Their conversation had eventually drifted into the celebration of St. Lucia's Day. Eli had told him stories about how, when he was little, they had dressed up like St. Lucia and wandered from house to house at night, singing songs and begging for food.

For the fun of it, the next day Oskar had gotten Eli a wreath with candles to wear on her head. For a makeshift white robe, they had dressed her in a sheet.

After lighting the candles, they had turned off the lights, and stood together in front of a mirror tacked to the back of the bedroom door. Eli looked at herself in the mirror; she appeared mildly intrigued, and after a few seconds, a small smile surfaced on her face. When he had seen the glow of the candles around her head, he had thought again how Eli was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Then she had turned and silently walked around the apartment, holding a candle in both hands with the sheet dragging behind her.

He moved into the hallway, and when she turned to go into the kitchen, he noticed that her face was wet with tears. When she came back down the hall to him, he asked her if she remembered the St. Lucia song. She replied no, so he sang it to her, feeling a little silly doing it by himself:

Hark! through the darksome night

Sounds come a winging:

Lo! 'tis the Queen of Light

Joyfully singing.

Clad in her garment white,

Wearing her crown of light,

Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!

He was happily surprised when, halfway through his hesitant, solo rendition, Eli began, softly and quietly, to sing along. They finished the song together:

Deep in the northern sky

Bright stars are beaming;

Christmas is drawing nigh

Candles are gleaming.

Welcome thou vision rare,

Lights glowing in thy hair.

Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!

* * *

Oskar had dozed off on the couch in the living room when he woke up to the sound of the door opening. He turned and sat up, and his book tumbled off his chest and onto the floor. Eli stepped inside and shut the door.

"Hi," he said, his voice a little fuzzy.

She said hi in return, but did not come closer, instead remaining in the shadows by the door, away from the floor lamp at Oskar's end of the couch. Even in the half light, though, Oskar could see the stains on her sweatshirt's black and yellow eagle emblem. She excused herself, saying that she needed to use the bathroom.

He heard the shower running for awhile; then silence. He kept reading. There was nothing further from the bathroom.

Eventually, Oskar noticed how late it was. He sat up and turned off the lamp. In the predawn gloom, he went to the bathroom and put his ear against the door. There was no sound.

He debated going into the bedroom to his mattress, or opening the bathroom door. He had never intruded into her space while she slept before. Finally, out of a mixture of concern and curiosity, he turned the knob. It was not locked, and he cracked the door open a bit.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness. He saw her sweatshirt lying in a heap on the toilet. A blanket covered the top of the tub. From underneath came a noise he had never heard before—a soft, low rumbling sound.

Quietly he stepped into the tiny room and shut the door. Stood at the edge of the tub and carefully lifted the corner of the blanket.

Eli was wrapped in another blanket at the bottom of the tub, sound asleep. She was . . . well, purring was the only word in his vocabulary he could think of. He listened to her with wonder.

Oskar thought for a few seconds more. Then, he undid his belt and took off his corduroys, grabbed her sweatshirt and cautiously stepped in. He lay down and squeezed in behind her, using her sweatshirt for a pillow. Wrapped his arm around Eli and held her tight.

Love you, he thought. Hope God does too. And fell asleep.