Read Two Soldiers for Free Online

rather be big in a small world than small in a big one.
    The windowpane caught the sun; he moved so he could better see the people sitting down there in the warmth, waiting, groups of inmates, sentenced to days, months, years. They never thought about time, never allowed themselves to, they knew that anyone who counted their breaths in prison could not bear to draw air for much longer.
    This morning—three were leaving. At around five o’clock, transfers, 0342 Gorgis and 2415 Lang from Block F, on their way to Kumla prison and Tidaholm prison, respectively. Around seven o’clock, a release, 0221 Jacobs from Block C, on his way to the Bommen hostel in Gothenburg.
    Part of life. That would continue elsewhere.
    This morning—three who were due to arrive. From Härnösand prison, six and a half years, aggravated rape, A3 Right. From Huddinge remand, four and a half years, armed robbery, F2 Left. From Kumla, transferred because he was a bad influence on other inmates, life for murder, segregation unit, Block H.
    Part of life. That would continue here. And could not be counted.
    But he did it himself.
    Counted.
    Four and a half years, plus six and a half, plus life, expected to be the full twenty-five years. Thirty-six years more in a morning.
    Half an average life to waste away.
    He studied the dusty prison yard again, looked at the men sitting on a simple wooden bench just inside the concrete wall, who were so different from those who had sat there when he started; they were younger, angrier, more broken, more violent—what once had been a life of crime that petered out when exhaustion replaced energy, was now conscious career choice: I will be successful. I will be someone. I will be a criminal, and you know, if I’m really good, I’ll even go to prison . He had walked back and forth between the terraced house and the wall all his working life and somewhere along the way he had failed to see the change and no longer had any idea of how he would recognize it. In Aspsås there had been the community inside that you could long to leave and a community outside where you could long to be, but now there was a third one and he had never been there because he had no idea where it was.
    There was a knock on the door.
    He waited, turned toward the other window, which was wider with a view of the main gate, which opened just then, and the roof of the white prison service transport bus that drove in and parked near the central security entrance.
    The door again, harder, longer.
    He opened.
    “Have you got a minute?”
    “Come in.”
    An older man, tall, slim, a friendly face, lines that had lived. Martin Jacobson. Lennart Oscarsson looked at one of his few friends. Both here and out there.
    “We’ve got a problem.”
    “We do?”
    “Him.”
    The prison governor turned back to the wide window. A young man, no more than a teenager really, was being led out of the side door of the white bus.
    Handcuffs. Body cuff.
    Four prison guards, in front and beside and behind.
    “From Mariefred prison. Six years and four months. Relocated following threats to the staff and suspected of beating up two other prisoners, crime classification perverting the course of justice.”
    One more.
    Six years and four months.
    A morning with thirty-six years had become a morning with forty-two years and four months. More time not to be counted.
    “Marko Bendik. He’s on his way over to me. But I can’t have him.”
    “Why not?”
    “Sentenced in the same case as someone who’s already there. Aggravated assault and attempted murder in central Stockholm. Plus the public prosecutor is preparing another case for other crimes that the two of them have committed together.”
    The prison service bus had red stripes running along the white. The young man pulled forward for a moment, hit his handcuffs against one of the side windows; it sounded and looked like it broke.
    “Never two accomplices at the same time. Never in isolation.”
    Lennart Oscarsson