It was one of those spring Växjö mornings when the mist clings stubbornly over the trees leaving a damp chill in its wake when I decided to visit the carpenter’s workshop; not very far from the cul-de-sac I live. The place looked silent from outside even though I was sure that Bo Ahlqvist was inside, I had made sure of that with a call the evening before, expressing my will for a renewed kitchen cupboards and the need to see him beforehand. I pulled the heavy metal door under the sign ‘Bo Ahlqvist & son’ and I felt that its groan echoed loudly in the quiet of the eerie morning.
Pushing through I was met with a scene that made me take a deep breath. Tools lay scattered across the hard cement floor like fallen soldiers. Drawers open, spewing sawdust everywhere. Funny things the thoughts that come in mind when you see a picture like this. Robbery was flashing like an alarm light while loud sirens were ringing.
Oddly, the only thing ringing was the big electric clock on the far wall and the only lighting was coming from a heavy man’s lighter.
Presuming that this was Bo Ahlqvist, the carpenter, I said ‘good morning’ with a thin smile. In my call the evening before I had already asked if he speaks English and he had answered, “good.” Which doesn’t say much while says a lot. I was going to find out soon.
My instinct kicked first, “are you alright?” I asked looking around the scattered tools and open draws.
He looked at me somehow surprised and answered, “yeah, why not?” A rasped, gravelly voice. I looked again around without saying anything.
“That? We had an installation last night, no time to sort out everything and the boys were tired when we came back.” The gravelly tone again. Might be the cigarette he had just lit. Damn I wanted one but the face of my cardiologist crossed in front of my eyes and it changed my mind immediately.
“So, my kitchen…” I started saying and he just stood there unmoved, smoking his cigarette and watching me quietly.
Ideally he should sit down and confess all his crimes, eyes full of tears and pointing me at the responsible for the robbery in his house. Ideally is not this world so no confessions and no crimes pointing, just a hard look and me thinking that this might have been all a mistake.
“Well,” I started again, I’m not really sure what I want, I just feel I need a change and I came here to see if you have any ideas for something …perhaps more rustic…” I was improvising and I’m really bad in improvising.
“I know your house.” He said after some silence. “All the houses around there are just the same. I made some work to one of your neighbours a few months before.” Okay, his English wasn’t so bad. That’s positive, right?
“I have some magazines here, if you care to look,” he said pointing at a pile of magazines and books in the edge of a long and obviously used a lot workbench.
Not really knowing what to do next I moved towards the workbench and the magazines. “Do you want coffee?” He asked and he moved towards the other side where I could see a small kitchenette. “No thanks,” I answered fast. “Just had my morning bit of caffeine and insulin.”
When I’m nervous I make stupid jokes but and to my true surprise he understood and he found it funny because he laughed. A clear even though still rasped, laugh.
I looked at him and suddenly he didn’t look the big angry man he projected when I first entered his workshop. He looked an ordinary hard working family man with a big belly. He shouldn’t smoke though but I didn’t say anything. “Sit here,” he said again pointing at a chair next to a small table just in front the kitchenette. “Sit and take your time, we don’t have anything urgent this morning so the boys will be late after what a full day, yesterday.” I looked at the chair and the table and I felt that the jeans I was wearing needed washing anyway. So I sat.
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Cul-de-sac, Växjö! 