The Black Path by Åsa Larsson

mother has invited the ladies of the area to the summer concert which is held at the beginning of August every year, outdoors of course, you don’t let just anybody inside the house. For those who have been invited it is still one of the high points of the year; they are happy to pay the small amount for their ticket; after all, the money always goes toward the maintenance of the cultural and historical value of the house, it’s almost a charitable cause, there’s always a roof that needs repairing and walls to be replastered. And as they’re mingling afterwards, Mama makes a point of saying firmly to Diddi’s French teacher: “The family regard him as a very gifted student.” Papa is on excellent terms with the principal of the school, but the principal knows it’s a question of give and take. It’s nice to be friends with the lord of the manor, but of course it doesn’t come free.
    Diddi has got through high school somehow, cheating a little here, borrowing there. You can always find hardworking but dull people who will exchange help with essays and exams for a little bit of attention. A win-win deal.
    He does have one talent, does Diddi. He’s easy to like. Tilts his head to one side so that his long blond fringe isn’t in his eyes when he’s talking to someone. Genuinely seems to like everyone, especially the person he’s talking to at the time. Laughs with both his mouth and his eyes, reaching out and touching people’s hearts with such care and ease.
    Now it’s Mauri Kallis’s turn to feel chosen and special. It’s a Wednesday evening and they’re hanging out in the student bar. It’s as if they’ve been friends for ages. Diddi ignores a pretty blonde girl who’s sitting and laughing just a fraction too loudly with her friends a little way off, glancing in their direction. He says hi to loads of people who come over and want to chat. But that’s all; this evening does not belong to them.
    Mauri is drinking a bit too much, the way you do when you’re nervous at first. Diddi is keeping up with him, but he can tolerate it better. They take it in turns to buy. Diddi has a little coke in his pocket. Just in case the opportunity arises. He’s playing it by ear.
    But actually, this guy is not completely without interest. Diddi talks about selected highlights of his childhood. The pressure from his father to study. The outbursts of rage and the humiliating words when the exams had gone badly. He admits openly and with a laugh that unfortunately he’s just a ditzy blond, and doesn’t belong here.
    But then he defends his father. He’s got his own baggage, of course. Brought up in the old school, had to stand in the doorway and bow to his father, Diddi’s grandfather, before he was granted permission to come in. There weren’t too many cuddles, sitting on Daddy’s knee.
    And after offering these initial confidences, he begins to dig and to ask questions. And he watches Mauri, this skinny guy whose trousers are too big, who wears cheap shoes and a beautifully ironed shirt made of such thin cotton you can see the hairs on his chest through it. Mauri, who carries his course books in a supermarket carrier bag. He doesn’t spend his money on material things, that much is clear.
    And Mauri talks about himself. He did a break-in when he was twelve, and got caught. He talks about the social worker who made him pull himself together and start studying.
    “Was she pretty?” asks Diddi.
    Mauri lies and says yes. He doesn’t know why. Diddi has to laugh.
    “You really are full of surprises,” he says. “You don’t look much like a criminal.”
    And Mauri, who tells half-truths and chooses what he’s prepared to talk about, doesn’t say a word about the fact that it was a gang of older boys, his foster brother and his pals, who sent him and some other younger kids who weren’t old enough to be charged to do the crap jobs.
    “What does a criminal look like?” he asks instead.
    Diddi looks slightly