© Anna-Karin 2002
From The Secular Masque by
John Dryden (1631-1700)
The sun shone in through the windows of the little hotel room. The hotel room was in a little hotel in a small town in Mexico, near Rio Bravo, and thus not far from the state of Texas in the U.S.A.
A man sat in an armchair to the right of the window. The sun shone over his shoulder down on the pages of the book that he was reading. To the left ot the window was a bed, in which a man was sleeping. Every once in a while the man in the chair rose to check on the man in the bed. Once or twice during the day another man came in through the door, to check the temperature of the man in the bed. He also checked his heart with a stethoscope.
The man with the stethoscope was short and stout with dark hair and gentle brown eyes. His name was Dr. Juan Diaz.
The man in the chair was tall and thin, with pale skin and copper red hair. On the right side of his face was a scar running from the jaw to the temple, distorting the cheek and the skin around the right eye. His name was Patrick Hickey. He was a trouble shooter, with the emphasis on 'shooter.'
The man in the bed, who had been suffering from both a severe flu and an infected bullet wound in his side, was, when he was in full health, a tall, though shorter than Hickey, lean, but not as thin as Hickey, man with dark blonde hair and dark gray eyes. Though now he was just a shape curled up under the sheets, sleeping soundly for the first time in a week. His name was, as far as the others knew, John Smith. He was a gun-for-hire, with the emphasis on 'hire.'
Smith dreamed: A boy with red hair was sitting at a table with his head bent down to hide his face. He was crying. On the other side of the table sat an inspector. Smith felt as if he was wiewing the scene from far away, through a lens that gave everything a strange yellowish gray tint. Between sobs the boy said "I didn't mean it. I just wanted him to stop hitting Mom."
Then the scene shifted from the police office to an apartment, where a man lay in a bed, snoring, while a woman lay curled up on the kitchen floor, holding her stomach, sobbing. And there was the boy with the red hair, patting his mother over the head, trying to comfort her. "Schhh Mom. Don't cry. Please don't cry." Smith hovered over this scene while he heard a voice say: "when he was ten years old, he cut his father's throat, from ear to ear", in a drawl that hinted of the unknown speaker's Texan origins.
Then the scene shifted again. The kitchen was empty; maybe the woman had gone to bed someplace else. Then the door opened and the boy sneaked in. He went to the kitchen sink and picked a knife from a drawer. It was a sharp, nasty thing. Smith walked, or hovered, behind the boy, knowing what would happen and unable to do anything about it. When the boy entered the bedroom in which his father lay, Smith decided to stay outside, not wanting to witness the patricide.
After a long time, during which Smith had heard a scream interrupted by a terrible gurgling wheeze, the boy came out of the room. His face, chest, and hands were covered with blood. Smith saw how the woman came running, then how she stopped, chocked. "What have you done?" she asked. "I cut his throat. He'll never hurt you again" the boy answered. "My god! No!" the woman screamed. "What?" the boy asked. "You have murdered your father!" the woman answered before she started to cry. The boy stared at the knife in his hand, then at his bloodied shirt. "Oh", he said before he too started to cry, "is Father dead?" Then the dream shifted scene again. Smith began to feel as if someone was trying to tell him something, but he didn't know who and why.
A police station. An inspector who wrote down the woman's confession that she had cut her husband's throat. Smith knew he had seen this inspector earlier in the dream. "I think you are lying, ma'am" said the inspector.
Then there seemed to be a leap forward in time: the boy was telling the inspector about the murder. Smith held his hands over his ears; this was not anything he wanted to hear. But the words kept trickling in between his fingers and into his ears: "I didn't mean to. I was so angry. I didn't want him to die, just to stop hitting Mom."
And then, released from the grip of his dream, Smith woke up. Not a moment to soon, he thought.
As Smith lay still, he looked around the room to find out where he was. The hotel room was small and the furniture plain. The walls was white, with a vague yellow tone, and the strips round the window and between the wall and the floor were painted brown. He could see a stuffed plush red armchair across the room, with a crucifix on the wall above. Next to the armchair was a chest of drawers with a mirror on top. In the corner next to it was a door. A wardrobe was next to that, and then a bed along the wall at right angles with his own bed. On the floor was a carpet, and from what little Smith could see of it, it needed cleaning. Though the room itself was pretty unknown to him, he thought he recognized it. After all, he remembered going into a hotel, asking for a room and being led to one.
But he could not recall anything after collapsing, and suddenly he felt unsure of what day it was. He looked around the room again to see if there were anything that could tell him what day it was. Nothing.
He heard a creaking noise. The door opened slowly and a short, dark man entered, greeted him
and introduced himself as Dr. Juan Diaz. Smith tried to say a few words in greeting, but
his mouth was dry so he could only croak.
"Here", said Dr Diaz, "have some water." He held a glass of water to Smith's mouth and
Smith drank a few mouthfuls.
"Thank you" said Smith.
"You're welcome."
"What day is it?"
"It's july 21st 1931."
Once Smith had processed the information, he realized that he had been knocked out for over a
week.
"Your friend came here with you. You were in a very bad state."
"Isn't this Santa Monica?"
"No, it's Cerro Rosso."
"I remember coming to a town named Santa Monica", said Smith, confused.
"Your friend told me that he had found you in a hotel in that town, but since there was no
physicians there he brought you here."
Smith wondered who this friend was. Was it sheriff Galt, or Joe Monday, or someone else?
"He's waiting outside. Do you want to see him?" asked Dr. Diaz.
"Yeah. Okay."
Dr. Diaz left the room. Smith thought that the door was the noisiest one he'd ever heard.
If someone tried to enter, the rusty hinges would wake up everyone in the room. He liked
that kind of doors.
Then the door opened again, and a red-headed man entered. At first Smith had trouble putting a name to the red-headed man's face, but after a few seconds of ransacking his memory, he realized who his savior was.
"You're dead! I shot you! You're dead! I saw you die!" said Smith, terrified.
Hickey smiled and winked. Or maybe he twitched. It was hard to know with Hickey.
"I'm not dead", he said. "The doc can tell you that, if you don't believe me."
"How...?"
Hickey was a riddle to Smith. The trouble shooter had helped Smith with everything that he could not do himself, up to and including helping him up from the toilet seat. And Hickey had done this without any comments. When he wasn't helping Smith, he was sitting in the armchair by the window, reading books he'd borrowed from the doctor, or out for a walk. Once Smith asked Hickey why he helped him. Hickey didn't answer that question or any other question that Smith asked.
After a few days Smith began to feel a bit bored lying in his bed without anything to do. Hickey would read aloud for him, and that passed some time for Smith. Smith also began to observe Hickey's habits, as another way of passing time. In the drab room Hickey was the only thing worth looking at, so Smith looked at him, noting the way he moved; the way the scar on one side of the face accentuated the perfection of the other side, like the hair set off the pale skin. But after two day's observation, Smith knew no more about what went on inside Hickey's mind than he had in the beginning.
Doyle had said that Hickey was messy, but that apparently only applied to his manner of executing people. Hickey himself seemed to be tidy and neat, with regular habits. He went up at the same time every morning, didn't spill when he ate and chewed with his mouth closed. He took good care of his clothes and shoes as well as his tommy-gun and his Luger automatic. And he was very quiet, talking only in monosyllables, when he wasn't reading to Smith.
At night Smith would sit up in his bed and watch Hickey sleep in the other bed. Hickey lying on his side, half curled up, looked less cold and aloof when he slept; and the moonlight shining through the window smoothed out the lines in his face, making him look younger. Smith would then think of the boy in his dream, and see him half-buried in the still face of Hickey. Sometimes Smith wondered what went wrong with his and Hickey's lives, and if there was anything they could do to set it right. He never wanted to be a gunman when he was a boy. He'd wanted to be a sea-man, and to sail over the world, to Africa, China, Patagonia, and other places that he'd only read about or seen in the movies. Guns, bootlegging and running for his life hadn't been part of his calculations back then. He would wonder what dreams Hickey might have nursed as a child. During those moon-light moments, before Smith fell asleep, he thought that Hickey was beautiful, in a strange otherworldly way.
As he watched Hickey, openly at night and in sideways glances in the daylight, Smith began to wonder if he was being watched by Hickey as well. He hoped so, though he didn't know why.
As the days went by, Smith got stronger and stronger. One day he managed to get to the bathroom in the hall without help, though he had to stop once on the way there to catch his breath. The day after that, he managed to clothe himself without having to ask Hickey for help with the shoes. And a week later, Dr Diaz told Smith that he was restored to full health. Smith was relieved at hearing this. Hickey seemed happy too. He smiled.
The first thing Smith did was to take a walk down the main street of Cerro Rosso to the St Iago church and back. On a side street he located a brothel, and made a mental note to visit it that night. For some reason he hoped that there would be a red-headed woman there.
"I guess", said Hickey that evening after late supper, "that I can tell you my story now,
when you are well."
Smith briefly thought of the brothel, but decided that it could wait until later. Besides,
he did want to know Hickey had managed to rise from the dead.
"Be my guest", he said.
"My whole life", began Hickey, "since I was ten years old, I wanted a second chance. A chance to stop myself from murdering my father; to stop myself from burning down the orphanage; to stop myself from joining a gang when I was in prison the first time around; to stop myself from wowing revenge when my wife was killed."
Hickey's voice was thick with regret as he continued; "Do you think I wanted to be what I am today? When I was a kid, I never wanted to be a hit man. I wanted to be an engineer. But every step I took brought me further and further away from that. I prayed for a second chance, for a clean past, better future and a different face. But as time went by, I was more and more stuck in this mess. In the end I just wanted to leave. But I couldn't since I had to look after Mom."
The corners of Hickey's lips curved into a sad smile when he mentioned his mother. "Mom
was never strong, but what she lacked in strength, she had plenty of in stubbornness. She
simply wouldn't die. But she did anyway. Cancer in the lungs. The doctors did what they
could, but it was no use. I wasn't there when Mom fought her last round and lost. Maybe she
would've told me why she hung on for so long, if I'd been there. But I wasn't; I was in Jericho.
I got a phone call from the hospital. They told me Mom was dead. So I went home, to take care of
things."
"When was this?" asked Smith.
"Two weeks before you came to Jericho. Well, I took care of things, had the funeral
arranged and finished her businesses. Then I went back to Jericho. By the time I came
back, things had changed in Jericho. Someone had come to town, had his car wrecked by my
men, and had shot Finn, before chumming up to Strozzi. Then I see this gentleman selling
info to my side. You were playing both sides of the board, weren't you? And you had already
heard about me. Cyrano de Bergerac was always preceded by his nose, and I have my
reputation walking before me."
Smith nodded, while he wondered who Cyrano de Bergerac was.
"Who told you about the orphanage?" Hickey asked after a moment of silence.
"Sheriff Galt."
"Thought so. I had my reputation to live up to, and you had the luxury of being
anonymous. John Smith isn't a name, it's a pseudonym. And you look ordinary. Nobody'll
remember you, nobody will be able to give a proper description of you. Me, I'm not that
lucky; red hair, scar, pale; anybody can say who that is."
Smith had to agree. Hickey wasn't easy to forget.
"To make a long story short, I thought I should just shoot you there and then the first
time I saw you. Doyle stopped me though. Told me it could wait until later."
"Lucky me."
Hickey nodded in agreement. "Yeah", he said, "lucky you. But you ran out of luck. And then
Strozzi ran out of luck. And then we ran out of it. And then it was just you and me. And
Joe Monday of course."
"Of course."
"Your shot hit me in the arm. And at the same time I stumbled on something and fell. For a
moment I thought I should just lie still, and then give you a nasty surprise. Then I stopped
myself. I had been wanting a second chance. Maybe this was my second chance. So I decided
to lie still and play dead. I let you get away. I spared you."
There was a moment of silence as Smith recalled the scorching sun and the dust twirled around by
the wind.
"Anyway, when Joe Monday walked away, back to town, I took the car, drove into town, took
the money left at the hotel, and some water, before deciding that I should follow you, to
see where you were going."
"Why?"
"No point in sparing your life if you are going to die from something else", Hickey said
in a matter-of-fact voice. "An infection for example. So I drove after you, and I guess I
was about one day behind you, maybe two. I found you at that hotel, in Santa Monica. You
were knocked out and boiling. Not to mention the flies checking out your wound. I asked
where the nearest doctor was, and then I took you in my car and drove here. While Dr. Diaz
took care of you, I got your car here."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
"So", said Smith after a while, "you're going to start a new life?"
"Yes."
"Where are you going?"
"To Vera Cruz."
"Why?"
"Because I was in church earlier to-day. I thought I should light a candle in front of St.
Nicholas. When I put the candle in the candle-stick, a red butterfly came and settled on
the ship St. Nicholas held in his hand. It flapped its wings once, before becoming so still
one would think it had been made out of paper and silk. Then it flew away. I decided to
take it as a sign."
Hickey's smile was the smile of a man who knew where he was going, and
who was happy about it.
"To-morrow I pay our bills and leave. You go your way and I go mine", said Hickey.
"What are you going to do in Vera Cruz?"
"I'm going to see if I can find a ship that wants me onboard, to work for food and
lodging."
Smith had to blink, look at Hickey, and then blink again to make sure the other man was
serious. He concluded that Hickey was serious. Then he thought of his life without
Hickey in it. He didn't like the thought of traveling or living anywhere without
Hickey. Then he made a decision.
"Can I come with you?" he asked.
"If you want to", answered Hickey. "I don't mind."
The car drive from Cerro Rosso down to Vera Cruz was uneventful. Hickey and Smith took turns driving, and since they didn't want anyone who saw them to thing that they were running away from something they drove leisurely down through the states of Chihuahua, Coahuila, Nuevo León and Tamaulipas, before they reached the state of Vera Cruz. The journey had taken about a fortnight, due to such incidents as the radiator of the car boiling over a couple of times, and the incident of a cat having her litter in the back seat, using Hickey's coat as bedding.
They had stayed overnight at a small inn in Nuevo León; and the cat had obviously taken a liking to the car of Smith and Hickey, so she had crept into the back seat during the night and had settled down there. They had spent the entire morning trying to convince the cat that anywhere else but the backseat of their car was a far better place for her to stay and raise her kittens. But the cat didn't agree, and she was quite firm in her insistence on staying where was, thank you very much. In the end they didn't have the heart to evict the tender mother and her kittens, so they decided to let her stay in the car, and simply drive away, with her in the back seat. The cat, whom they christened to Missy, did hiss the first times the car stopped and started, but got used to it, and seemed to wiew it as one of life's many inconveniences that one simply would have to endure.
Both Smith and Hickey got very fond of the cat and her kittens. Missy herself was a petite black cat with white mittens and socks, but her litter of three were more varied. One was black, like his mother, one was gray, while the third one was red. The kittens caused Hickey and Smith to drive even slower than before, and when one of them drove, the other would sit with one of the kittens in his lap, baby-sitting it, until Missy came and fetched it. They named the black kitten Junior, the grey one Dusty and the red one Sandy.
Smith liked to watch Hickey while he played with Missy or the growing kittens. Hickey
admitted that he always wanted to have a pet when he was a boy, "but that never
happened because we couldn't afford one." Then Hickey had asked Smith if Smith had owned a pet
when he was a kid.
"Yes", answered Smith, "a dog, a white mutt with black spots here and there, named Ace. It
was my parents' dog, but I was the one playing with him, taking him out for walks, giving
him food, and all that. It was a good dog."
"Tell me more about him", said Hickey, "please."
And while Smith talked about Ace, Hickey listened raptly.
"What are we going to do with Missy and her kittens when we get to Vera Cruz?" asked Smith
one evening when they admired the stars shining over the Gulf of Mexico.
"I don't think we'll get onboard a ship before the kittens can manage on their own", replied
Hickey as he scratched Missy behind the ear. "There's the Depression, so the trade over the
seas isn't what it used to be. And I don't want to get onboard any ship that's going to the
U.S. Too many who want to get even, or who want me to 'eliminate trouble'. I'm not going to
waste my second chance."
"Okay."
They had made a little fire and was boiling some water in a kettle. Missy sat at a distance from the fire while the kittens slept in the car. Soon Smith would wrap himself up in a thick blanket and lie down to sleep, and Hickey would sit and guard the fire and the car. When half the night had passed, it was Smith's turn. Sometimes Missy would come out of the car to keep either of them company. Smith yawned and stretched. It would feel good to get some sleep. In a couple of days they'd arrive to Vera Cruz, if nothing happened. Like those Mexican highwaymen the other day that had stopped their car, told them to get out, and hand over their money and the car. They had been very surprised when they had seen Hickey, who had been driving, pick a tommy-gun from somewhere and aim it at them. Smith had picked up his firearm and had been prepared to back up Hickey against the highwaymen. It had been a bit comical when the would-be robbers had excused themselves and left the place.
Trust Hickey to know when the combination of a big smile and a tommy-gun could frighten big, strong men.
Afterwards, Smith had told Hickey that sometimes it was an advantage to look mean and frightening. But Hickey had shrugged, murmuring something about witch hunts and not wanting to frighten children.
The port of Vera Cruz was a lively place, with ships going to all parts of the world, and coming from all over the world too. Hickey had warned Smith about the problems with getting aboard one of those ships without being a real sea-man, but Smith would ask around if there were any men needed anywhere in the harbor.
Soon enough they were informed by one of the dockworkers that if one wanted a job in the port, one would have to go to the 'House' at dawn to sign up on a 'roll' and then wait to be given a job, if there were any that day. And the job was to load and unload the stow off and on the ships. And those signing up first were those who'd be given a job first. Marco, which was the dockworker's name, also told them that if the cargo had been dislocated, it was more dangerous, and one would be paid extra for that.
"That's one thing when the stow is neat and tidy, so one just have to get the hooks and the nets in place, without risking one's life", said Marco, "and another when the stow's a mess, and removing one box might make all the others come crashing down on you." Smith and Hickey thanked him for the information and the warning. Then they went to see where the 'House' was, so they'd find their way there the next morning, and not have to waste any time getting lost.
Since they were running low on money, they had to find a cheap place to live. And they found such a place in the quarters near the port. It was a small boarding house called Casa Santa Carita. It was home to dockworkers, sea-men and fishermen; run-down and smelling of soup made of cheapest possible ingredients. The price for one bed, meant to be shared by two persons, in a small room that was hot in the day-time and ice cold in the night-time, was its most attractive feature. The woman running the place told them that breakfast was included in the price, and one of the guests that was passing by right then, said that it tasted better then it smelled. Smith hoped that he was right. And judging from the look on Hickey's face, so did he.
Then Smith asked if there was anyplace they could park their car, and was informed of an
old stable at the back of the house. Then there were the question of the cats, and the
land-lady told them that pets were allowed, but that their owners should make sure that the
pets in question did not bother any of the other lodgers, and that the pets were to make
their business outdoors.
"Well", Hickey said, "That's taken care of at least."
Then they went upstairs to see their new accommodations. The kittens were
carried by Hickey, while Missy trotted next to him, and Smith carried everything else,
including Hickey's tommy-gun, hidden at the bottom of Smith's carpet-bag.
It was a small room, even smaller than the one at the hotel in Cerro Rosso. The walls of the room were red, a muddy almost-brown red. Hickey said that it reminded him of dried blood on brown cotton. The ceiling was yellow, but had probably been white once. According to the land-lady the sheets were changed at least once a week. After a quick glance at the bed, Smith hoped that she was telling the truth. And from the look on Hickey's face, so did he. The kittens took to the room quite quickly, and began to explore the hide-and-seek possibilities of the floor under the bed, while Missy kept an eye on them from the window high up under the ceiling.
Hickey stretched out his arms to determine how wide the room was.
"There is a couple of inches between your fingertips and the wall", said Smith. If the room had
been any wider, then he would have offered to sleep on the floor, but as it was now, the bed
took up almost all of the floor, except for a couple of feet between the door and the bed.
"We'll have to share the bed", he told Hickey.
"Not a problem to me", said Hickey and shrugged.
Then there was the question of where to store their things. Under the bed seemed like a good
idea, until they thought about the other things, like spiders and centipeds, that might be
under there.
Smith spotted a row of nails hammered into the wall at eye-level. The nails protruded about
an inch from the wall, and looked like they could be used to hang up things on. His and Hickey's
bags were soon hung up on the wall.
Then they all want to bed, both men and cats. Hickey soon fell asleep, and in his sleep he held
Smith tight. Smith was awake for a while, thinking about this and that. Being held by Hickey made him
feel safe. The cats slept on top of the covers, wherever they thought was comfortable.
He had slept with women. Women had wrapped their arms around him as they slept, but it hadn't
felt safe. Nice, but not safe.
Women had never made Smith feel safe. Appreciated, adored or even possessive, but never safe. Not safe enough to trust with his life. For some reason, that he really didn't want to find out right now, he trusted Hickey to watch his back. And he also trusted Hickey to be able to look after himself. A woman, in Smith's opinion, was something that needed to be looked after. At least the women Smith met.
Maybe that was the reason he'd never stayed for long in a relationship. Sex was one thing, and not the same thing as love. And what good was love if you couldn't trust the one you loved?
And right about then Smith fell asleep.
Smith woke up. There were bells ringing. He counted the number of tolls. The clock was half past four. Time to get up if one wanted some work in the harbor then. But it felt good to lie in Hickey's arms, to feel his body pressed against his own.
Smith wished he was a millionaire so that they could sleep all day. Then he'd have a big bed, with silk sheets and goose-down covers. They would both wear red silk pajamas. And they'd sleep all day. And all night. He could see the image in his mind.
But they weren't rich, and they had to get up.
Wrenching himself up, Smith woke up both Hickey and the cats. The kittens meowed a bit in protest, but Hickey just rose from the bed, and then they got dressed. The breakfast tasted better than it smelled, thankfully, and would last them until noon.
When they left Casa Santa Carita, Hickey told the cats that he and Smith was going down to the
harbor to find some work. The cats were to stay at the boarding-house until their masters got
back from work.
"Do you really think they understood what you said?" Smith asked Hickey.
"I don't know, but it's worth a try."
The House was beginning to fill up with men when the ex-gangsters got there. Marco, the dock-
worker they'd met the day before, said hello, and helped them to sign up on the 'roll'.
A couple of minutes later the Dock-Master showed up. He began to read out loud the names of the
ships, and the names of the men that were to work on them.
"Marco Pérez, Simon Cervantes, John Smith and Patrick Hickey", he said, Madame Jules at quay
4." The men left for the boats as soon as they'd heard where they were going to work.
Madame Jules was a small ship, and its cargo was quickly unloaded and put on trucks down to
the warehouses.
"Let's go and see if there's more work, after the break", said Marco. "They might need more
people on the Marylebone. It was caught in a storm on the Atlantic, and its cargo got badly
messed up. It'd be extra pay for us."
The others agreed, and after the noon-break they went to the House to hear if there were any
need for people anywhere else.
They were sent to the Marylebone.
"The Marleybone" had crates and bales of fabric in its cargo. The dock-workers were climbing around trying to figure out where to put the hooks and the nets. Some of the crates leaned on each other, so if you removed one the other would tumble over, and crush something. Hickey went to check out some such crates. To everyone's surprise he actually started to climb the crates. He seemed to totally ignore that the crates were wobbling slightly from side to side. Marco wondered aloud if Hickey had a death wish since no sane man would go near those crates, much less pull such a stunt. Smith heard him, and hoped Hickey knew what he was doing. After a few tense moments, during which the crates seemed on the verge of coming tumbling down, Hickey pointed out which crate that could be removed first. Then he climbed down. Smith felt his heart go back to its normal size again after having shrunk to the size of a pea in pure fright.
When they walked home that evening with their pay in their pockets, Smith asked Hickey why he
had climbed up on those crates.
"I thought it was the thing to do", said Hickey.
"You scared me! I thought you would die!"
"But I didn't."
"But you could've died!"
Hickey was silent for a few steps.
"Would you really care that much?" he asked.
"Yes!"
"Why?"
Now it was Smith's turn to be quiet.
Then he said "because I want you to stay alive, but I don't know why. I don't want to travel
alone."
Hickey smiled. He seemed to like the answer. "Wouldn't want you to travel alone. I'll be more
careful."
"Good", said Smith, "I'll trust you on that."
When they were turning around the corner to the street where Casa Santa Carita was, Hickey
stopped and turned to Smith.
"If you trust me to stay alive, then I'll trust you to stay alive. I don't want to travel alone
either."
Smith nodded. "It's a deal", he said.
They shook hands on it.
The cats were waiting for them by the door to the boarding-house.
"See, they understood what I said", said Hickey.
The days passed by, clustering into weeks. The weeks turned into months. Soon it was winter. The kittens grew up, and left home, looking for their own territories. Missy, relieved of her mother duties, began to follow her humans down to the harbor where she would hunt for mice in the warehouses.
The two ex-gangsters made sure they blended in with the other dock-workers at the harbor. Gone was the flashy three-piece suits, and the cocky poses. Instead patched, and many times mended, clothes took their place. A suitably humble curving of the back ensured that nobody would look at them twice, and certainly not think of them as anything else but poor, insignificant men.
Hickey enjoyed being anonymous for the first time in his life. Smith felt relaxed working with cargoes instead of shooting people. No Mafia dons to please, no wars to get involved in, no running for your life. Just boxes and bales, bars and nets. And you knew where you were with those.
One day in december a Swedish ship arrived, with a cargo of concrete and steel. The ship was called C.J.L. Almqvist and both Smith and Hickey, among many others, were assigned to unload its cargo. The ship's radio had broken and they would have to stay longer than planned in Vera Cruz. One of the sea-men of the C.J.L Almqvist, Per Augustsson, wanted to learn English. When he heard that two of the workers were from U.S.A., he sought them out.
Smith was eating his noon-time meal, together with the other workers when he saw a tall, bony
lad with flaxen hair walk up to them. Hickey commented that it was one of the Swedish sailors.
"Hello", Per said, "You U.S.A. people?"
"Yes", answered Smith, indicating Hickey and himself.
"I ask, teach me English?"
Then he pointed to himself. "Per Augustsson", he said with a smile, before pointing at them.
"You be...?"
Smith introduced himself and Hickey, and Per took this as an agreement to teach him English.
That wasn't what Smith had intended, but Hickey began to talk with the young Swede.
During the days that followed Per sought them out at every opportunity, talking with Hickey,
wondering over words, and what things were called.
"I better take chance when I have it", he said.
Smith didn't like Per much. Or, if he was to be honest with himself, it was the fact that Hickey
talked so much with the young man, and seemed to have fun. He felt left outside, and didn't like
it. In short, Smith was jealous.
Per sensed this, and a week before his ship was due to leave, he showed Smith a small
picture of a girl. Then he explained the picture for him.
"This is my fiancée. Her name is Olga Pettersson. I love her. She is clever and pretty. I'm not
taking your man from you. No need to be green in the eyes", said Per. His eyes shone when he
talked about his girl back home.
Smith felt a bit confused. He hadn't been jealous, had he?
Still, he was a bit friendlier towards Per after that talk.
The day before the C.J.L. Almqvist was leaving, they were talking as usual. Smith told Per
about Missy and her kittens, and how they had to drive carefully because of the kittens sleeping
in Hickey's coat.
"So you have cats", said Per. "Would you like to sell one of them to my captain? He believes
that cats onboard the ship brings good luck. Our old cat was blown overboard in a storm, and
then the radio got broken. Might be a connection, captain thinks."
"We only have one now, Missy. The others have left home."
"Want to sell her?"
Hickey got a cunning glint in his eyes, and Smith knew what he was thinking.
"We don't want money for Missy", said Hickey. "We want to get out in the world. We'd like to
get onboard your ship. We can't pay, but we're willing to work for food and someplace to sleep."
Per digested what they had said.
"I'll talk with the captain. Come with me."
Smith and Hickey waited on the quay, while Per was onboard talking to the captain. The wait was
long, and they got more and more nervous by each passing minute. Then, after the longest ten
minutes of their new life, they saw Per come running down gangway. He was smiling and they hoped
it was a good sign.
"Captain said yes. But we leave early tomorrow morning so you have to move fast. We leave, cat
or not."
As soon as they had gotten over the shock of joy, Hickey went to the warehouses to fetch Missy. Smith went to Casa Santa Carita to pay their bills and fetch their things. He wondered briefly if the guns in their bags could remain hidden onboard the ship.
On his way to the ship, Smith ran into Marco. He told him that he and Hickey were leaving town. Marco nodded, and wished them luck.
Hickey was standing on the quay next to the gangway, with Missy in his arms, when Smith returned
from the boarding-house. Smith was breathless from the fast walk and the excitement.
"I was afraid you had left already", Smith said.
"Not without you. Wherever we go, we go together", said Hickey.
Smith smiled. It felt good to hear Hickey say that, even if he knew that Hickey never would
go anywhere without him.
Then they walked up the gangway onboard the ship. Per met them and followed them to the
captain's quarters.
The captain made it clear to Smith and Hickey that they were allowed onboard only because of
their cat. Then, after that brief welcome, he put their names on the ship's roll, and wrote
a contract with them. After that they were members of the ship's crew, but working only for food
and bed.
"That contract will make you poor as church-rats", said Per, "but it was the only way to get you
onboard."
"We'll manage. At least we won't starve", said Smith, and Hickey nodded.
Per took them for a tour of the ship. They were shown the messes where the crew ate, and where the higher ranking officers ate, the kitchen, the cabins where the crew slept, the wheel-house and the engine rooms. Then, as it got late in the day, they were lead to a cabin with six bunks. Per showed them to the bunks where they would sleep for the rest of their stay onboard the ship. The other sea-men who lived there too were about to go to bed, or to get up for the late shift. They looked at the new-comers, and Per introduced Smith and Hickey, and explained why they were onboard. The only thing the sea-men had to say was that it was good to have a cat onboard again. At least that was what Per said.
The first night onboard was not easy. Smith was alone in his bunk. The ship moved from side to side like a cradle, keeping him awake. Hickey was in a bunk across the cabin, and he couldn't sleep either. They lay awake listening to the sounds of the other people sleeping soundly. It was almost dawn when they finally fell asleep, and then they only got to sleep for a couple of hours, before it was time to rise.
At dinner, that first day onboard the ship, the crew was singing a song that neither Hickey nor Smith could understand. Per explained that this day was S:t Lucy's day. The crew sang songs to celebrate it. Some of the songs were sad and wistful, while others were joyful and rhythmic. "Now it's only eleven days to Christmas," said Per, "But we won't get home until march."
The Americans were put to hard work. They cleaned the cabins, helped out in the kitchen and shoveled coal in the engine-room. Smith didn't mind working in the kitchen, but shoveling coal was back-breaking. He and Hickey worked the same shift, so they could see each other when it was meal-time. Missy, on the other hand, lived comfortably in a basket in the captain's room. She was given tasty morsels from the cook, and was more of a good-luck talisman than a mice-huntress.
Per became an unofficial liaison officer for the communications between the Americans and the Swedes. And it was a role he liked. But the other swedes kept a distance to the new-comers.
Christmas came. Each member of the crew got a gift from the captain, at a big dinner. To their surprise, even Smith and Hickey got gifts. Hickey got a tiny chess-board, with tiny chess-men, meant for travelers, and Smith got a book on chess, in Swedish. Per said that he'd be glad to help them translate the book.
A few days after Christmas, Smith sat in the mess drinking a cup of coffee. The other crew-men was working on their small projects. One was writing a letter, asking the others for help with the spelling and grammar, while three or four others were reading. The others chatted, and discussed absent people and politics. Smith felt alone. Hickey was on look-out duty, and was currently sitting up at the highest point of the ship, looking for other ships and everything else that might mean trouble. Smith decided to try and figure out what he felt about Hickey.
Hickey wasn't a nice man, Smith thought. He wasn't the man you took home to meet your parents. He was a *man*. So why do I want to spend the rest of my life with him? He likes cats, he has a sense of humor, he's patient, he can shoot a man just for the hell of it. But so can I. I miss him when he's not around. I get jealous when he talk to someone else. I'm happy when he's happy. We laugh at the same jokes. Is this friendship? Or is it... love?
Love. Smith thought about that. Doyle have loved that half-blood woman of his, in his own possessive way. Per loved his fiancée. Did Smith love Hickey? Was it love to want to spend the rest of one's life together with somebody? Was it love to follow someone to distant lands? Was it love to want to share his bed? To want to kiss him? (He'd never thought of that before) To want to se him happy? To want to give him things? Was it love?
He thought about this for a long time. Then he made a decision.
C.J.L. Almqvist had arrived to the town of Esbjerg in Denmark. The crew was on a shore leave after having spent days loading concrete. The concrete was going to get shipped to Argentina by way of Gothenburg. Only Smith and Hickey was left onboard, for two reasons; it was their their turn to keep watch, and they didn't have any money to buy any butter or ham, which was what the other members of the crew was going to buy for their families home in Sweden.
Smith had heard the Danish dock-workers talk and he thought that Danish and Swedish sounded very alike, but the Danes and the Swedes had objected to that. They told him they didn't understand each other. Yet the Swedes were in the Danish town shopping tonight.
Smith and Hickey were sitting in the mess, as usual. They kept an ear out to hear any messages coming through the ship's radio, or any one who might want to get onboard the ship. Hickey was busy solving a chess problem he's found in the chess book. The illustrations was easy to understand, even if he couldn't read the language. Smith was watching Hickey. He never tired of watching that fine-chiseled face with the high jawbones, and the straight nose, and those full, yet thin lips. Hickey didn't notice Smith watching him because he was concentrating on the chess- board.
For once it was quiet onboard the ship. There was no sound of engines, no noises from the crew talking and arguing, and no cries from the sea gulls.
Hickey moved one of the chess men, a black rook.
"See", he said to Smith, "the rook forces the king to move in the only direction it can move,
down the board. Then the other rook keep watch while the first goes in and finishes the job."
"That's clever."
"That's a basic setup."
Smith gathered his courage while Hickey put away the little chessmen in their little box.
"There's something I'd like to tell you", he said.
"Yeah?"
Smith hesitated, coughed and licked his lips.
"Well", Smith said, "I love you."
Hickey stared at him. he blinked and looked away. Then he looked at Smith again. Then he began
to cry. Resting his elbows on the table, hiding his face in his hands, he was shaking. Smith
thought he was crying, but then he heard him laugh. Awkwardly Smith stroke Hickey's back while
Hickey tried to stop laughing and crying.
When Hickey had managed to calm himself down, he blew his nose and shook his head.
"Sorry for that. I don't know what came over me."
Then he was silent for a while.
"I was so happy to hear that", said Hickey.
"To hear that I love you?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
"I've been in love with you for some time, in fact since Jericho", said Hickey, "I watched you,
hoping you would maybe feel the same."
"I've been watching you since Cerro Rosso."
"I thought you were just suspicious."
They sat for a while looking at each other.
"Let's take this from the beginning" said Smith and grinned. "I love you."
Hickey smiled. "I love you too", he said.
And then, seizing the moment, they kissed.
It was an inexperienced kiss, a clumsy kiss, but they thought that it was the sweetest kiss they'd ever had, so far. Then they kissed again, and again.
"I don't know how this works in bed", said Smith, a few kisses later.
"Neither do I. Let's wait, till we find a place of our own."
"Agreed. Another kiss, before the others come back?"
"Sure."
The voyage between Esbjerg and Gothenburg was short, only two days. Onboard the ship Smith and Hickey had very little time to discuss their relationship, much to their discomfort. They decided to go ashore, to start a new life someplace where they could have a home, with a door they could lock to keep out the rest of the world. The night before they arrived to Gothenburg they were on deck, talking.
"It took a man", Smith told Hickey, "to make me want to settle down."
Smith wasn't too impressed by his first view of Gothenburg. No big buildings, just a lot of
houses that seemed to cling to the hills surrounding the river. It didn't look like Vera Cruz,
or like New York, or Chicago. But in the dark blue dusk windows lit up one by one until it seemed
like the sky had fallen down, and it made the town look less humble and gray.
"That's pretty", said Hickey, when Smith mentioned this to him. "You ought to be a poet."
"Ain't got the talent for it", said Smith with a shrug, but he smiled. It wasn't the first time
Hickey had told him that. And Smith had felt warm and good inside every time.
Smith and Hickey decided to stay in Gothenburg. It was a small town, compared to the other towns they'd been to, but it was far away from all the places where they might stumble into the Mafia. It wasn't Italy, and it wasn't Ireland. Besides, Per had told them of his old aunt who ran a workman's hotel, and who might be willing to rent out a room to them. She might also know people who could perhaps be willing to hire them. The depression hadn't struck as hard in Sweden as it had in the U.S. but connections were still the best way to get a job. Or anything else for that matter.
The next morning Smith and Hickey left the ship, and Missy, behind. Per was leading them to the house of his aunt. The workman's hotel, called Anderssons Hotell, was a few blocks away from the harbor. Hickey asked Per what the word 'hotell' meant, and was told that it meant 'hotel'.
Per's aunt, Hedvig Andersson, was a kind lady with white hair and prim, neat clothes. She bade them sit down with a cup of coffee in the parlor, and put forth plate after plate with small cookies, sponge cake buns of different kinds. All in all Smith counted to nine different kinds of cookies and cakes. Per told them, while aunt Hedvig was fetching the last plate, that one was supposed to take the cookies first, one of each sort, and then the buns, one of each, and eventually the sponge cake. Then one had to have room for the cake, which was the high point of the coffee table. Smith's stomach hurt at the thought of eating all that.
At the end of the day, aunt Hedvig had been favorably impressed by the good manners of the two Americans, and was willing to rent out a room to them. Since they didn't have much money, and no Swedish money at all, they would have to work for their bed and breakfast.
Aunt Hedvig told Smith and Hickey that they could move in the same night, but that she wanted to clean up their room first. That was all right with them, and they gladly agreed to take a walk up and down the street, while they waited for the room to be ready for them. They needed some fresh air after eating aunt Hedvig's cookies.
Smith and Hickey moved in at the hotel a couple of hours later.The room was neat and tidy, as well as rather large. There was a W.C. at the end of the corridor, and showers in the cellar, next to the laundry room. The room faced the street, which was a bit inconvenient, according to aunt Hedvig, since the noise began at five in the morning when the farmers from the countryside came into town with their horses and carriages full of vegetables and other products. And then it continued with the dock-workers and the workers in the ship-yards until about ten in the evening. Smith told Per to tell his aunt that they didn't mind, since they had slept through worse than that.
Then aunt Hedvig told them what they were expected to do to earn their food and lodging.
"Clean the rooms", she said as Per translated. "Run errands, help with the laundry, sweep the
street outside, and help the dustmen with the dustbins. Any questions?"
"Will we get much food?" asked Hickey, in Swedish.
"Yes", said aunt Hedvig, in Swedish. She was a bit surprised, and a bit relieved. Now she
wouldn't have to worry about them misunderstanding her orders.
Per congratulated Hickey to have such a talent for languages. Then he asked if he could read
Swedish yet. Hickey told him that he didn't.
"You better learn that", said Per, "because people are going to expect it."
Smith told himself, and not for the first time, that he really had to start learning that
language.
They went to bed in the same bed. Smith felt a bit shy and awkward since he didn't know what Hickey wanted to do. Hickey didn't want to do anything but a kiss and a cuddle though, and Smith knew he could do that. And they kissed, trying out different kinds of kisses, finding out what they liked. Afterwards Smith was curled up in Hickey's arms. It felt good to share a bed with Hickey again, and to lie in his arms, waiting for sleep to come and claim them both.
Their first day at aunt Hedvig's hotel was filled with hard work as they had to carry
bundles of dirty linen to the washroom in the cellar, and then boil the laundry in huge kettles,
under the supervision of Viola Tapper, the maid. She added the detergent to the water and made sure the
water boiled just enough. Hickey had to stir around the laundry in the kettle with a pole, bent
over the water. Smith helped with the rinsing and had to dip the linen into cold water
until the water dripping from the fabric was totally clear. When they were done with the
laundry, the whole day had passed, and they'd only taken a break once, for lunch. They talked
about this as they hung up the laundry in the dry attic, where the air would dry the sheets,
but out of reach to the birds and the thieves.
"This is great" said Viola, "Normally this would have taken two days, and now it was done in
only one."
"Is it laundry day often?" Hickey asked.
"No, only once a month, every third friday and saturday. And today it's friday."
After a while she added: "And tomorrow we'll mangle the bed linen and the table linen. Mrs.
Andersson will be pleased." She smiled.
In the evening they went to the showers in the cellar to wash themselves. Aunt Hedvig gave them some soap, and lent them a pair of towels.
It was good to get clean, Smith thought. He hadn't gotten a chance to really wash himself all over since he left Jericho. He felt content, standing in the shower, putting soap in his hair. He had also gotten a good look at Hickey's naked body. There hadn't been any room for any overt stares as there were other people in the showers. But there had been a few surprises, such as the scars on Hickey's body, and the fact that he was very thin. The thinness made Hickey look very delicate and fragile, but Smith knew better. Still, he felt very protective.
Afterwards Smith and Hickey talked about the firearms in their suitcases. It didn't take a long time for them to reach a decision.
Aunt Hedvig's hotel was clean and whole, and totally unlike Casa Santa Carita. The food was plain but wholesome, and Hickey took a liking to the Swedish hash served every monday. Smith preferred the fried fish, which was served every wednesday and friday. Aunt Hedvig cooked the food herself, with the help of Viola, who also was in charge of cleaning the rooms and the hallways. Viola was grateful that Smith and Hickey had been hired. Now she would not have to do all the heavy work around the house anymore, just one third of it.
The other lodgers were workers in the docks and in the shipyards. Smith couldn't help comparing them to the dock-workers and sea-men he had met in Vera Cruz. The Swedish lodgers were tidy and quiet. It was hard for the Americans to get into contact with the Swedes. But some would talk to Hickey, and began to include Smith in the conversations, when he had learned enough of the language. Thus they began to make friends, and learned more about Sweden and Swedish society, with all its complex rules and unwritten laws.
A couple of weeks after their arrival to Gothenburg, Per came to visit. He brought his fiancée Olga. Aunt Hedvig brought out the coffee and the cookies, as usual. When they all had taken their places around the table in the parlor, Per announced that he was going onboard the next day. Olga added that they would get married as soon as Per got back from that journey. Everyone congratulated them, as they blushed at all the attention they ought to have known they would get.
That evening Smith and Hickey took a walk to an abandoned part of the harbor. Smith carried a suitcase, in which he and Hickey had put their firearms. The firearms had been taken apart, so that they could never be reassembled again. As they walked alongside the wharf they tossed one piece of metal after the other into the water.
Smith felt like he had been relived of a huge burden. Now he would be able to live the life he had never wanted to live before, the life of a common worker. He'd thought of them as losers once, those hard-working men of the factories and the ports. Now he wanted to be one of them. He wanted to be able to tell people what he did for a living, wanted to be able to tell them that he was proud of his job. He told Hickey this as they walked back to the hotel.
"That's what I've felt ever since my wife was murdered", said Hickey. "Mary, that was her name,
went through the same thing as me, but she died, and I didn't."
After a few minutes, Smith spoke again.
"Can't you tell me about your wife. I'd like to know what she was like."
Hickey didn't answer at once. Smith began to think that he had offended his companion, when
Hickey began to talk.
"Mary Doyle was her name. She was a sister of Doyle, and that made me his brother-in-law.
I wasn't in a position to say no when she got her eyes on me. I was young, and my place in the
gang was insecure. And marrying Doyle's sister might be like volunteering for
target practice, with me as the target. At least, that was what I feared."
"So... She decided that you two should get married?"
"She told me to propose to her, and I did that. It turned out to be pretty okay, being married
to her. We were honest to each other. I knew her preferences, and she knew mine. She and I, we
were never in love, didn't love each other, but we were good friends. Almost like sister and
brother. We had a good time together. Liked the same films. Danced well
together."
"You told me you wowed to avenge her, on her funeral."
"Yes. We were going home from the movies together." Hickey's tone got short and clipped. "A car
drove by. Men jumped out of it. Forced us to get inside the car. They drove us to a warehouse.
Another gang, dagos, wanted to know everything about the next shipment. Neither Mary nor I told
them anything. In the end, after they'd kicked and beaten us, they raped Mary. Then they drove
ice-picks through our throats. Mary died. I survived."
"When did this happen?"
"Six years ago."
"When we met in Jericho, you were still having that wedding-ring on your finger."
"I hadn't gotten them all."
"That other gang, it was Strozzi, wasn't it."
"Yes."
"Then I understand why you kept shooting them."
"M-hm."
Smith knew that he would hear more about Mary, in due time. He could afford to be patient.
The spring passed, and summer came. The gray, humble town was transformed by the long days into a green, lively center of attention. The amusement park opened and all over town one could hear the music from the outside dance floors. Smith was surprised by the change of mood, which to him had happened almost overnight. Viola often went to the funfair with her boyfriend, and didn't come home until early in the morning. Some of the lodgers at the workman's hotel moved out into the countryside, where they would find work at farms. Others stayed in town, waiting until for the harvest later in the year.
One morning aunt Hedvig told Smith and Hickey that there were an open spot at the fish harbor. "It pays better than I do", she said and told them to get going.
They were happy for the opportunity to earn some money. If they could earn enough to pay for their room at the hotel, then they would not have to help out with the laundry. Or with the cleaning. Or sweeping the sidewalk. Or anything else that was women's work.
The foreman, Johan Hjelm, a big man with a big belly and big muscles, took one look at them,
asked them a few questions, and hired them.
"Mrs. Andersson sent you. That's good enough for me. I know her, so I trust her judgment. You
screw up and she'll be ashamed of you. Got it?"
They nodded yes. Then Mr. Hjelm gave them gloves, and told them to get their own as soon as
possible. Security measures were briefly covered, and then they were put to work.
The fish market hall looked like a church, so it was called the "fish church" by the locals. Fishers came in their boats early in the morning with their catch put in small crates. The workers carried them into the church, while the salesmen haggled over the price with the fishers. People from all over town came to buy fresh fish, and other fruits of the sea. The restaurants sent people to buy the best quality and by the crate. Smith and Hickey helped taking the purchases into town, to the restaurants and the waiting cooks.
At the end of the first day at the "fish church" the workers were paid, and walked home. Smith and Hickey asked aunt Hedvig exactly how much the room cost, per week. Then they decided to save a half of each day's pay to pay their weekly rent. The room wasn't expensive, but they were paid very little.
And so the summer went by, with work at the fish church, and with friday nights at a dance floor. Sometimes Smith would pick up a pretty girl to dance with, and sometimes Hickey would. And sometimes they'd dance with each other. The other visitors to the dance floor didn't seem to care, since some of the girls would dance with each other too. Or maybe they took it as an amusing act.
Smith found Hickey easy to dance with. The steps came naturally, as Hickey allowed himself to be lead by Smith around the floor. But it was more than just being in step with each other. It was being able to touch one other in public, to try out steps in the same way they tried out their relationship: What came easily? What needed practicing? What needed negotiations and compromises to work?
One early morning as they went home from the dance floor, Smith told Hickey that he thought of
their relationship as a bit like dancing.
"I think so too", said Hickey, "but both parts have to be dancing the same dance."
The sun rose over the hills east of Gothenburg. It was still early in the morning, and everything was silent. The old citadel, called the Crown because of its roof-decoration, was the best place to wiew the dawn, Hickey thought. And the sunrise proved him right. Smith had to agree that sunrises should be seen from high places, and the Crown was high above the roof-tops of the town.
They watched as the first crack of dawn colored the whole world a golden color. They'd forgotten their keys, in their room, and the hotel didn't open until half past six in the morning.
The fresh morning air made them feel a bit cold, so they sat close together with their backs to the old walls and their faces to the sun.
"I wonder when I enjoyed a sunrise last", said Hickey.
"Me too."
Then the birds began to sing. The bells of the churches in the area began to toll. Smith counted the number of tolls, and concluded that the hotell had opened now. They rose, turned their backs to the sun and walked home.
They were hungry, and Viola made them a hasty breakfast.
"Now I remember when I enjoyed a sunrise", said Hickey between mouthfuls of porridge and jam,
"It was when I was fourteen years old, and woke up early a sunday morning, in the orphanage,
to find that the whole dormitory was bathing in gold. It was so beautiful, and I was happy it
was a sunday so I could get to be in bed for a little longer."
Smith nodded. He searched his memory for something similar.
"I remember a sunrise like that", he said, "when I was a boy, and woke up early a christmas
morning. It was still dark, but I thought I might get to see Santa Claus. I waited and just
past dawn, that was just a reddish tone over the roofs, I fell asleep by the window. When I
woke up, Santa Claus had already been there with my gifts. And the sun was half-way above the
rooftops."
After breakfast they went to the "fish church" to put in a saturday of work. The next day they'd sleep, since it was sunday.
Patrick Hickey worked alongside with Smith at the "fish church" until the World War 2, when he was drafted to guard the borders of neutral Sweden. He had applied for, and had gotten his Swedish citizenship in 1936. After the war he got a job at a car factory in Gothenburg. He retired at the age of 65 in 1960, and lived to 1979. He died in his bed in his and Smith's apartment in a working-class part of Gothenburg.
In 1946 Hickey adopted a daughter, due to rather unusual circumstances. She was named Sophia.
John Smith worked at the "fish church" until WW2, and got drafted to a different military unit than Hickey. They kept in touch via letters, written in Swedish, since they learned that the letters in English wouldn't get past the censor. He had become a Swedish citizen at the same time as Hickey. After the war Smith got a job at a ball bearing factory, where he stayed until his retirement in 1963, at the age of 65. During his life he wrote many essays and short stories, which were published in English literature magazines. He died in his apartment from a heart attack in 1980.
They were mourned by their adopted daughter and her family, and by Per Augustsson and his family.