Chapter Text
“Oh, good, they left,” said Lalli, climbing out from under the table.
Aunt Siv’s look plainly said that there was nothing good about it. As for Uncle Torbjörn, Emil was afraid to meet his eyes. He was all too aware of the trouble and expense his relatives had gone to in arranging the dinner party. Entirely on Emil’s behalf, too! And most of it had clearly gone to waste. Judging by the expression General Jacobsson had worn on his face as he departed, he would sooner eat roast troll than support Emil’s Cleanser career. Also, while it was true that his daughter had winked at Emil behind the General’s back, what use was that?
“Help me, Emil, please,” aunt Siv said, collecting dirty plates. “No, not you, Lalli dear. If you’re that tired, you had better go straight to bed.”
Emil quickly collected the wine-glasses--all but his uncle’s, which was still in lively use--and followed her into the kitchen. He was vaguely aware of Lalli heading upstairs.
“Oh...” Aunt Siv slumped over the sink. “Another disaster. I thought you had talked to him, Emil.”
“I did! And it helped. You saw how he used the right cutlery for everything.”
“Yes, to play with his food… I know, I know, he can’t help being picky, and it’s not like Lina Jacobsson ate much, either. And yes, his lack of conversation can be chalked up to his language issues, and the lack of eye-contact could be shyness... But covering his ears when the General tapped his spoon against his glass? Or putting his head on your shoulder, or in your lap? Or climbing under the table? None of that is acceptable, Emil.”
In her way, she was right; only a minute ago, Emil had been thinking much the same, with some annoyance. But now that he was remembering Lalli’s obvious discomfort during the General’s toasts, the annoyance was fading.
“I know what you mean,” he told her as he handed over the glasses. “But then, none of it would have happened if the General had not insisted toasting so many of his old victories. Lalli is not used to drinking, especially not an empty stomach. No wonder he was uncomfortable and sleepy. And... affectionate.”
“You make him sound like a child, Emil.” Siv dribbled out a minimal amount of dish soap. “I am starting to worry that you are not doing him any favours, by accepting his, as you say, affections. Should someone like him be in an adult relationship, at all?”
The last of Emil’s annoyance shifted and re-formed, into anger, but before he could make a reply he might regret, Uncle Torbjörn strode into the room, rubbing his hands and smiling. Could the dregs of that expensive wine really have cheered him up so much?
“It’s not that bad, you know,” he said. “Yes, the old man left disgruntled, but I gather that’s his natural state. I suspect that he was going to hate the dinner, no matter what we did, the way he hates pretty much everything, apart from fire, red wine -- and his daughter Lina. And Lina… Lina is the key!”
“Because she winked at me?” Emil asked.
“No, dear boy, because she left this in your napkin.” Uncle Torbjörn held out a piece of paper.
Emil took it. It appeared to be a dressmaker’s receipt, but when he turned it over, he read:
Forget these old fogeys, Emil! Come meet me at the bandstand tomorrow at noon. It’ll be a lark!
“I… see,” said Emil. “You think I should go? But--”
“You have to go!” Uncle Torbjörn clapped his hands. “With your looks, this is exactly the way you will rebuild our, er, your fortune! Not through a military career, through... well-chosen romances.”
“You are forgetting something,” said Aunt Siv icily, moving the dishes around with some vigour. “Emil is not available for romance.”
“And surely Lina must understand that,” said Emil, “after tonight. After all, it’s not even as if she disinvited Lalli. Only the ‘old fogeys’,” he added with a glance at his aunt, in a secret show of his anger.
“Oh, Emil,” aunt Siv said, offering him a drying cloth. “After tonight, nobody could see Lalli as your partner. Perhaps as a pet. Or a charity project. She left him out because she did not really take any notice of him, except as a curiosity.”
Emil looked at the cloth, and then at his aunt. She might be right: this could well be how a general’s daughter would think. Still. It felt important to set things right, at least in this house. “Lalli is no pet, and he needs no charity. I told you before, he was by far the most competent person in the tank. His skill and dedication saved us all daily.”
“If he’s as competent as you claim,” said Uncle Torbjörn, “then it’s pointless to include him in your efforts to get a better posting with the Cleansers. He should simply join the Scouts, where his skills would be appreciated. No doubt he’d be happier there, too.”
Emil considered this as he picked up a glass, and started drying it. It could be true. Lalli might hate the noise of the Cleansers, and the Scouts would be able to recognize his skill at once. And surely the two of them would still be able to meet? “Okay, I will ask him about that,” he said.
“And you will go tomorrow?” Aunt Siv handed him a wet plate. “Alone, as we suggest?”
“After all,” added uncle Torbjörn, “you might be right: Lina’s intentions might be purely friendly. Or even if they are not, you might be able to turn this opportunity into a friendship. And then all that money we spent on wine will not have been poured out down the drain.”
Well, what was the harm? He did owe his uncle a great deal. “Sure, I will go, alone. I doubt Lalli would want to join us, anyway.”
“Good boy,” said Uncle Torbjörn.
Drying all the dishes took a while. After putting away the last spoon, Emil headed upstairs. Finding his own room empty, he checked the guest room.
Sure enough, Lalli lay under the bed, sleeping so soundly that he did not hear Emil enter. (It had to be the wine.) With his face relaxed by deep slumber, he looked so much like he had looked when Emil first met him, on the train and in the tank: young, and deceptively defenceless. Emil felt the last drops of his annoyance drain away.
He wasn’t even that angry at Aunt Siv anymore. He could understand how she came by her misconceptions. Back then, he himself had been drawn to Lalli because he saw him as someone to protect, someone he could be useful to. It had taken him a while to reconcile that image with the many incidents where Lalli had displayed his frankly terrifying competence, until, suddenly, there had come a point where he could see only the competence, and he had felt like such a fool for imagining that he had anything offer to this… force of nature.
Now he knew the truth: that both views of Lalli were correct. He was both worthy of every kind of admiration, and badly in need of someone to take care of him. And there was nothing particularly weird about this, since everyone had these two sides. Emil himself definitely did. And his aunt and uncle, too. It’s just that Lalli’s extremes were so... extreme.
Emil reached out and touched Lalli’s face lightly, brushing away a few stray strands of hair. When this elicited no response, he decided to let him sleep. He took a moment to place a glass of water on the floor, and left for his own room.