Free Deep Lie by Stuart Woods Page B

prosthesis.”
     
    “Huh?” Oskarsson blurted.
     
    “An artificial hand, or partial hand, rather. It won’t give you much more than something to oppose the thumb, but it will improve the aesthetics.”
     
    Oskarsson stared blankly at the young man.
     
    The doctor held up his own left hand and waggled the thumb.
     
    “With the prosthesis, you’ll be able to make more use of the thumb, and the stump won’t look so… uh, it’ll look better.” Oskarsson stood up and hitched his trousers with his good hand. The clothes hung loosely on him; he had lost
     
    S4 a lot of weight.
     
    “Thank you, doctor,” he said.
     
    “You’ve been very good to me here. I am grateful.”
     
    Gunnar was waiting for him in the hallway. In the parking lot a man took his picture with a flash camera, and another man tried to ask him questions, but he pushed past them and got into Gunnar’s Volvo. There had been a lot about the incident in the papers in the beginning, but he thought they might have forgotten by now. Submarines were news in Sweden these days, and Oskarsson was the only person who had been harmed by one, except for poor Ebbe.
     
    “I want to go to the grave,” he said to Gunnar.
     
    Gunnar sighed and nodded. He threaded through the streets to the east of Stockholm and stopped at a large, municipal cemetery. Oskarsson got out of the car and followed his son to a plot squeezed between two others.
     
    He stood and stared at the plain stone with its name and dates.
     
    “Is this the best you could do?” he asked.
     
    Gunnar bit his lip and looked away.
     
    “Papa, we don’t belong to a church in Stockholm. This is the way everyone is buried; please don’t make it sound as if we’ve neglected him in some way.”
     
    “I’m sorry, boy,” Oskarsson said.
     
    “Just remember that we miss him, too,” Gunnar said.
     
    “Please keep that in mind with lisa. She’s taken it well, but I’ll need your help with her.”
     
    “I’ll be out of her way,” Oskarsson said.
     
    “I want to get home soon. anyway.” He got back into the car.
     
    “Listen. Papa… we want you to come and live with us. While you were in the hospital we sold the flat and bought a place out in the archipelago. You’ll like it.”
     
    Oskarsson shook his head.
     
    “No, I know you’ll want to be alone; I don’t want to be a burden.”
     
    “Papa, I’ve brought your things up here and given up your room. There’s nothing for you down there any more.”
     
    Oskarsson felt suddenly uprooted and desolate. He had sold the house when his wife had died and moved into lodgings in the village. It had been strange at first, but he had had no one to keep house for him, and he had gotten used to it. Now. apparently, he was homeless.
     
    “Come for a while. Papa, you’ll love it out in the archipelago; we’re right on the water, and it’s beautiful.
     
    You’ll have your own room. Try it just for a while; then, if you want to get a place of your own, well, there’s the insurance money from the boat. I’ve opened an account for you at my bank.”
     
    Oskarsson said nothing. He leaned his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. Something had happened to him these last weeks. He had no will to resist Gunnar. He let himself be swept along, and gave himself to whatever was coming.
     
    The house was out past Gustavsberg, and Gunnar had been right; it was right on the water, and the place was beautiful. There were painters working in the living room, and lisa was supervising a man fitting cupboards in the kitchen. She looked nervous when she saw him. lisa had been a model in her youth, and even now, pushing forty, she held onto her fragile good looks. There were wrinkles here and there, Oskarsson could see, and she wore too much makeup, and her jeans were too tight, but she was still pretty. He allowed himself to be pecked on the cheek.
     
    “Hello, Papa,” she said.
     
    He didn’t like that, much, being called Papa