Free Hitman Anders and the Meaning of It All by Jonas Jonasson Page B

was free. And unemployed. And, after a week on the streets, dirty and hungry.
    But four ham sandwiches and a bottle of raspberry cordial later, she had both a new home and a new job. It paid well from the start, and even after two years the money just kept improving. And, of course, she had also found love! If only the hitman sitting across from her weren’t insisting that they talk about the Bible . . .
    â€œRight, the Bible,” said Hitman Anders. “If you’re done blathering, maybe we could get to the point.”
    The priest took offense at the hitman’s lack of interest in her story and her fate in life. And at the fact that he’d spoken at all, in violation of the rule currently in effect.
    â€œWould you like another beer?” she asked.
    â€œYes, please! Finally!”
    â€œWell, you can’t have one.”

CHAPTER 12
    O ne of the central tenets of newly minted theology graduate Johanna Kjellander’s active non-belief had been that the four gospels were unquestionably written long after Jesus’s death. If there was a man who could walk on water, make food out of nothing, help the lame to walk, drive demons from man into pig, and even get up and walk around after having been dead for three days—if there was a man like that (or a woman, for that matter), why would it take one, two, or more generations before someone bothered to write down all the things that that man had done?
    â€œNo fucking idea,” said Hitman Anders. “But he made lame people walk? Tell me more!”
    The priest noticed that the hitman found the miracles more compelling than the doubt, but she didn’t give up. She explained that two of the four evangelists had had a third evangelist’s writings in hand as they wrote. No wonder their testimonies were similar. But the last one, John, had made up a load of stuff on his own a hundred years after Jesus had hung on the cross. He suddenly claimed that Jesus was the way, the truth, and the life, that he was the light of the world and the bread of life and everything in between.
    â€œThe way, the truth, and the life,” said Hitman Anders, with a certain reverence in his voice. “And the light of the world!”
    The priest continued, saying that parts of the Gospel of John, bythe way, were not even written by John. Someone had made up new bits as much as three hundred years later, including a famous scene where Jesus talked about how he who was without sin should cast the first stone. The guy who came up with that, whoever he was, was probably trying to say that no one was without sin, because there never ended up being any stone-throwing, but the question was what this story had to do with the Bible.
    â€œThree hundred years! Do you understand?” said the priest. “That’s worse than if I were to sit down today and make up how things actually went during the French Revolution, and who said what—and then have all the world’s historians reading, nodding, and agreeing with me!”
    â€œYeah,” said Hitman Anders, without listening to any more than he wanted to. “Jesus is definitely right. Who on earth is without sin?”
    â€œBut that’s not really my point—”
    The hitman stood up right in the middle of the priest’s sentence. The pub seemed to be calling. “See you Wednesday at the same time, okay?” he said.
    â€œOn Wednesday, I don’t think I can—”
    â€œGreat. Bye.”

CHAPTER 13
    T he meetings between priest and hitman were held more and more frequently. At first, the priest had seen no reason to inform her receptionist of them, and after a while it was more that she didn’t dare to tell him. She did everything in her power to keep their talks from evolving in the direction they nevertheless evolved in. Hitman Anders started to express dissatisfaction with himself, saying that he wanted to be led by the priest and God to become a better