Faceless killers

He has forgotten something, he knows that for sure when he wakes up. Something he dreamt during the night. Something he ought to remember.

He tries to remember. But sleep is like a black hole. A well that reveals nothing of its contents. At least I didn't dream about the bulls, he thinks. Then I would have been hot and sweaty, as if I had suffered through a fever during the night. This time the bulls left me in peace. He lies still in the darkness and listens.

His wife's breathing at his side is so faint that he can scarcely hear it. One of these mornings she'll be lying dead beside me and I   won't even notice, he thinks. Or maybe it'll be me. Daybreak will reveal that one of us has been left all alone.


He checks the clock on the table next to the bed. The hands glow and register 4.45 a.m. Why did I wake up? he asks himself.

Usually I sleep till 5.30. I've done that for more than 40 years. Why did I wake now? He listens to the darkness and suddenly he is wide awake. Something is different. Something has changed.

Translated from Swedish by Steven T Murray