The Swedish Sex Bomb (LSD, #7)

15. San José

San José

We sit in the car, looking forward. There's nothing to see. I don't start the engine. Where to go? What to do next? I have no ideas left. The silence in the car is deadly. Frieda searches in her purse for a paper handkerchief and blows her nose, to avoid showing her emotions.

We have one final destination: I have to take Frieda back to the clinic, dump the car, and return to my hotel for instructions about my next mission. And somehow I'm waiting for a miracle that avoids the unavoidable.

I turn on the radio of my spiPhone, just to disturb the silence. The warm voice of Nat King Cole fills the emptiness: «Unforgettable». He couldn't make a better entrance.

I confess: "I wish I could sing like Nat King Cole. Nat and I have something in common, you know. Both our fathers were butchers. Well, his father was a butcher, and my father still is..."

There's that silence again, dropping from the sky as an unexpected visitor we'd both rather prefer to go away.

"You've never told me anything about yourself. I don't even know your real name.", Frieda says.

"Some things are better left unsaid, Frieda, and other things are better kept a secret. In my world, information means a risk. Telling you my real name, or the name of my parents, or where they live and what they do, would give someone a slight chance of using the information and doing something terrible to the people I love and admire."

The silence returns, floating on the unforgettable voice of one of the most remarkable singers ever.

"Long before we were born, Nat King Cole lived in a country where discrimination was common behaviour in all layers of society. There is a story about the time when he became famous, at the end of the 1940s, when he was the first black American who bought a house in the exclusive white neighbourhood of Hancock Park in Los Angeles. The people who lived there told him, without any shame, that they were not pleased with 'unwanted people' in their neighbourhood. Nat King Cole replied: «And neither do I. When I see any unwanted person coming, I'll be the first to complain.» Nat King Cole was also the first black American to have his own TV show. He was so much more than just a magnificent voice. He gave hope and joy to many people in a way that hardly any other entertainer had ever done."

The song is over. A woman tells her listeners in rapid Swedish something about Nat King Cole and continues announcing the following song: Frankie Goes to Hollywood.

"Do you know a way to San José?
I've been away too long
I might go wrong and lose my way
Do you know a way to San Jose?
I'm going back to find my peace of mind in San Jose."

My thoughts drift away. Where will I ever find some peace of mind? Where can I find my own San José?

Frieda grabs my hand: "What is it? Why are you so sad? Is it the song? Does it remind you of something?"

I look away, to avoid her seeing into my soul in my small moment of weakness: "Forget it. It's nothing." But I can't and I don't want to lie to her: "You're right. It does remind me of something. Do you know the text of this song? It's about going back home. Your dream was a nightmare. Fame and glory mean so much for so many people... until they realise they'll never have it. That's when they decide: going back to where I came from, San José, is the best I can do."

Holly Johnson's voice repeats my explanation:
"With that dream in your heart, you're never alone
Dreams turn into dust that blows away
And here you are without a friend
You pack the car and ride away

I have lots of friends in San Jose
Do you know a way to San Jose?"

I try to put my thoughts into words in a way Frieda might understand: "I wonder where my own San José is. Since I could walk, it has been my dream to be a spy. I wanted to save the world and protect the good people from Dr Evil. I've studied, worked hard, and lived my dream, but...

» Dr Evil doesn't exist.

» People create all that evil themselves.

» How do you protect seven billion people from greed, sloth, pride, envy, gluttony, wrath and lust? They all see evil as their biggest virtue, as the dream they always wanted. People will never learn. There are not enough spies to save the world. All the inhabitants refuse to think about others because they're too busy, thinking about themselves. When I heard Nat King Cole, «Unforgettable», I remembered his father was a butcher, as was mine. I thought about what I'd left behind to follow my stupid, crazy dream. My parents haven't seen me in years. I never call them. I didn't even send a postcard for Christmas. And when I'm thinking about my father, the next song on the radio is «San José». Do you speak enough Spanish to know who San José was?"

Frieda responds with her eyes in a question mark.

"San José is Saint Joseph, the father of Jesus Christ. The song is about giving up a stupid dream and going home, to the house of your father, to be with people who love you... And right now, I'm a bit lost and I don't know where to go."

Frieda grabs my arm, looks at me with big eyes and says: "Saint Joseph? The house of your father? To be with people who love you? That's it, Benny. I have an idea of where we can find my sister. Start the car. We have one final destination. It's a long ride, all the way to the northern part of Sweden, near the border with Norway and Finland, to the little village Raja-Joosepin at the end of the world. Or do you have anything better to do right now?"

I start the car and drive it towards the motorway, but I don't understand why: "I don't understand. Why are we going there?"

"What's the first thing you pack when you go to work?"

"My wallet, my phone, my suitcase, my..."

"When you go on a holiday, what's the first thing you do?"

"I make sure I have my passport, my money, my suitcase, my phone, my..."

"Imagine you're walking through the park and someone grabs you from behind, either to rob you, rape you, kidnap you, or kill you. What would he find in your pockets?"

"My pepper spray, my phone, my money, my passport, my keys, my..."

"Do you remember our first contact, Benny? I called my sister on her mobile phone and you picked it up. Agneta left her mobile phone at home. When do you leave your mobile phone at home, Benny? Can you think of one reason why you would leave your mobile phone at home?"

I can't think of any reason except being kidnapped, but Frieda does: "San José! She's gone to San José. She's gone to the house of her father. Don't you get it? Oh, I'm so happy."

No, I don't get it: "But... We've gone to your parent's house. They had no idea where she could be. She hasn't been there for at least a month."

"Oh, dummy. Do you mean you have only one father? You are smart enough to figure this out. I'll put the destination in the travel guide on your phone. We won't get lost. Until we're there, please don't say anything. I need to focus. I need to visualise. My sister is there. I need to work on wishful thinking, so much, it will become true. Oh, I'm so happy..."

Frieda closes her eyes and lets me do the driving. And driving it is. From north to south, Sweden is 2.000 kilometres long. We were in Malmö, the most southern part, and our destination is the end of the world, close to the northern border with Norway and Finland. From Stockholm Airport, it's a sixteen-hour drive. We stop for coffee, lunch and dinner, we stop to buy petrol and to use the bathroom, and we drive on, the whole night, without sleeping.

There's no life at the end of the world; there's snow, there's darkness, and there's a lot of nothing, kilometre after empty kilometre. And finally, there is Raja-Joosepin, a tiny village, three houses and a church. Frieda gets out of the car and enters the church, to ask for some information. A few minutes later, she gets back into the car and points at where we have to go. After about five kilometres, we turn left. Eight kilometres further, we turn right and follow a dirt road into the woods. No GPS works here. This is the end of the world.