Ulf smiled.
Then there was Olaf, who confessed that he had been treated for some years for what he called “troubling impulses,” and Peter, a pilot, who revealed that he had mild OCD, which he hoped to conquer before he embarked on further training to fly a new generation of jets. Would Peter ever be satisfied with pre-flight checks, or would he have to repeat them time and time again, until the control tower asked him if he ever intended to take off?
Ulf looked at the parked cars. None of them was a recent model, and, with the exception of one, they all looked sensible and unostentatious. The single car that stood out was a Porsche—and that had clearly seen better days. That obviously belonged to Peter, Ulf decided; a Porsche would not match the aesthetic sense of a wool buyer and appreciator of textiles, nor was it a car for an indecisive person. Ebba would drive the slowest of the cars, Ulf thought, as that would give her plenty of time to decide whether to turn left or right—no such deliberative time would be permitted by a Porsche. That meant that the small, underpowered Fiat, the car previously known by the affectionate soubriquet of the Fiat Bambino, would be Ebba’s.
Besides the Porsche, there was one other German car, a Mercedes-Benz, and Ulf decided that this belonged to Dr. Ebke. If pressed, he would acknowledge that this might be considered a lazy assumption, based on stereotypes, but he had seen it so many times before, and should one sacrifice the defensible results of empirical observation on the altar of open-mindedness? Germans liked German cars. They just did. And they, in turn, used empirical observation to justify what might be seen by others as no more than shallow nationalistic preferences. German cars were well made and did not go wrong. The Germans knew that, and chose their cars on that basis.
So, the mid-range Mercedes-Benz parked second closest to the entrance would be Dr. Ebke’s, the car parked closest to the entrance being that of the administrator, who would, of course, have arrived first in order to open up the building. That left two cars, one of which had tinted windows in the rear. That car belonged to one who had something to hide, and was therefore the car driven by Olaf, who had troubling impulses. Shame, it seemed, could dictate the choice of a car every bit as much as could pride. The final car could now be allocated to Henrietta. It was a Spanish car, a Seat ... Salsa dancing, thought Ulf, which confirmed his diagnosis.
Inside, he found the participants gathered around Dr. Ebke, drinking a cup of coffee in the meeting room.
“A preliminary meet and greet,” said Dr. Ebke, shaking Ulf’s hand. “I thought we might get to know one another a bit before our first session.” He paused. “Your bio, by the way, was very brief. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, but it was rather short, don’t you think?”
“One doesn’t want to burden people,” said Ulf.
“No, of course not,” said Dr. Ebke hurriedly. “But you didn’t tell us what you do, did you?”
“Is that necessary?” asked Ulf.
Dr. Ebke took a sip of his coffee, fixing Ulf with an intense stare. “Our work defines us, don’t you think?”
Ulf shrugged. “If we choose our work, yes. But don’t you think many people are doing things they didn’t choose to do? Don’t you think that many people fall into their occupation because ... well, by chance, or even by heredity? Farmers are like that, I think. Farmers are farmers because their parents were farmers before them.”
Dr. Ebke laughed. “I can see that you’re going to keep me on my toes,” he said. “But tell me, what do you do?”
Ulf did not reply immediately. There was something about Dr. Ebke’s manner that irritated him. And what right had he to information that Ulf might choose not to impart?
“I’m an engineer.” He had no idea why he said this, other than in an attempt to protect his privacy. It was childish, of course, but now that he had said it, he could hardly correct himself.
But that was not needed. “An engineer?” echoed Dr. Ebke. “How strange. I thought you were a detective.”
Ulf stared at the therapist. “Then why did you ask? If you already knew, why did you ask me?”
The direct retort appeared to fluster Dr. Ebke, who suddenly looked pointedly at his watch. “My goodness,” he said. “Look at the time. We must start.” He rose to his feet. “We shall have plenty of time to talk later, Ulf.”
Ulf watched as Dr. Ebke mustered the participants. A set of easy chairs had been arranged in a circle near the meeting-room window, and it was here that they all sat down and were formally introduced to one another by Dr. Ebke.
“Ulf will no doubt tell us more about himself later on,” Dr. Ebke said when he got to Ulf. The therapist gave him a sideways glance as he said this, and Ulf looked away. He had decided that he was not going to like Dr. Ebke, but he would stick it out in deference to Dr. Svensson. It was a waste of a Saturday, he thought, but then what else would he have had to do? There was nothing, really—other than a longer than usual walk with Martin, perhaps, or a visit to his cousin, who had just had her second baby and was keen to show him off because he had been named after him. “Ulf is such a lovely name,” said the cousin. “Both Otto and I thought it perfect.” He would have to find a present for the young Ulf. What did one give a baby? He would choose something silver, he thought, and would have it inscribed: Ulf from Ulf, with the date. Mind you, silver was expensive—and there had been those costly new chairs. So perhaps young Ulf would get something made of pewter rather than silver—and a baby would never be able to tell the difference. Even the expense of the engraving could be cut down if he were to decide on U from U, or even just U.
Olaf said: “I want to share something with you. I’ve never talked to other people about this—never.”
Dr. Ebke nodded encouragingly. “Well, Olaf,” he said, “this is why we’re here. The whole point of a group approach is to share the burden. That’s what we call it: sharing the burden.”
Henrietta said, “Yes. Yes. I’ve always believed that sharing the burden makes it lighter. It really does. That’s been my experience, at least.”
This appeared to please Dr. Ebke. “Henrietta is quite right, you know. It’s always easier to carry something if you have others helping you. This applies to anything—a parcel, a rucksack ... anything.”
Ulf frowned. How exactly could more than one person carry a rucksack? The whole point of a rucksack was that you strapped it onto your back. That was the way they were designed and it would be impossible, surely, to get two people into those straps. They would end up facing away from one another, with the rucksack suspended in between them, the straps entangled in their arms.
Olaf had more to say. “I know I should say what I have to say quickly—I mean now, as opposed to later.”