The Asylum (3 page)

Of course Jan found out the name only a few minutes ago; it was going round and round in his head when he walked in, along with the name of the murderer Ivan Rössel, but still he looks around as if the answer might be written on the walls. ‘No,’ he lies. ‘What do they call it?’

Högsmed looks slightly strained. ‘I’m sure you already know.’

‘Maybe … The taxi driver mentioned something on the way here.’

‘Did he indeed?’

‘Is it … is it St Psycho’s?’

The doctor gives a quick nod, but still seems disappointed with the answer. ‘Yes, that’s what some outsiders call it.
St Psycho’s
. Even I have heard the name a couple of times, and I don’t always …’ Högsmed breaks off and leans forward slightly. ‘But those of us who work here
never
use that term. We use the correct name: St Patricia’s Regional Psychiatric Hospital – or just “the hospital” if we’re short of time. And if you are employed here, I would insist that you use one of those terms.’

‘Of course,’ says Jan, meeting Högsmed’s gaze. ‘I’m not keen on nicknames either.’

‘Good.’ The doctor leans back in his chair. ‘And you wouldn’t be working inside the hospital anyway, if you get the job. The pre-school is separate from the hospital.’

‘Oh?’ This is news to Jan. ‘So it’s not in this building?’

‘No. The Dell is a completely separate building.’

‘But what do you do with … with the children?’

‘What do we
do
with them?’

‘When they come here, I mean. How do they get to spend time with … with their mother or father?’

‘We have a visitors’ room. The children come in through a sally port.’

‘A sally port?’

‘There’s an underground corridor,’ says Högsmed. ‘And a lift.’

He picks up several sheets of paper from the desk. Jan recognizes them: his application form. Attached is a printout from the criminal records bureau, showing that Jan Hauger has never been convicted
of
any kind of sexual offence. Jan is used to requesting this proof from the police; it is always required when someone applies to work with children.

‘Now let’s see …’ Högsmed screws up his red eyes and slowly begins to leaf through the form. ‘Your CV looks excellent. You worked as a classroom assistant in Nordbro two years after you left grammar school, then you qualified as a pre-school teacher in Uppsala, and you’ve had several temporary posts at various nurseries and pre-schools in Gothenburg. You’re currently unemployed, it seems, and still living there.’

‘I’ve only been out of work for a couple of months,’ Jan says quickly.

‘But you’ve had
nine
temporary posts in six years. Is that correct?’

Jan nods without speaking.

‘And nothing permanent so far?’

‘No,’ says Jan, pausing for a moment. ‘For various reasons … I’ve usually been covering for someone on maternity or paternity leave, and naturally they’ve always come back to work.’

‘I understand. And this is also a temporary appointment, of course,’ the doctor says. ‘Until the end of the year, in the first instance.’

Jan can’t ignore the faint implication that he is a restless person. He gestures in the direction of his CV. ‘The children and the parents always liked me … And I’ve always had good references.’

The doctor carries on reading, and nods. ‘So I see, they’re excellent … from your last three employers. They all recommend you without hesitation.’ He lowers the papers and looks at Jan. ‘And what about the others?’

‘The others?’

‘What did the rest of your employers think? Were they unhappy with you?’

‘No. No, they most certainly were not, but I didn’t want to include every single positive—’

‘I understand,’ the doctor interrupts. ‘Too much praise starts to look suspicious. But is it OK if I give them a call? One of the nurseries you worked at in the early days?’

The doctor suddenly seems alert and curious; his hand is already resting on the telephone.

Jan sits there in silence, his mouth half-open. It’s all down to the hats, he suspects – he refused Högsmed’s psychological test. He wants to shake his head, but his neck won’t move.

Not Lynx
, he thinks.
You’re welcome to call the others, but not Lynx
.

He finally manages to move his head to indicate his assent. ‘That’s fine,’ he says, ‘but unfortunately I don’t have the numbers.’

‘No problem – they’ll be on the internet.’ Högsmed casts a final glance at the list of Jan’s former employers, then keys in a series of letters on the computer.

The name of one of the nurseries from the early days. But which one?
Which one?
Jan can’t see, and he doesn’t want to lean across the desk to find out if it’s Lynx.

Why did he include it in his CV?

Nine years ago!
Just one mistake with one child, nine years ago … Is all that business going to be dragged up again?

He breathes calmly, his fingertips resting gently on his thighs. It’s only lunatics who start waving their arms around when they’re under pressure.

‘Excellent, there’s the number,’ Högsmed murmurs, blinking at the screen. ‘I’ll just give them a call …’

He lifts the receiver, keys in half a dozen numbers and glances over at Jan.

Jan tries to smile, but he is holding his breath. Who is the doctor calling?

Is there anyone left from his time at Lynx – anyone who still remembers him? Anyone who remembers what happened in the forest?

3

‘HELLO?’

Someone has answered the phone; the doctor leans forward across the desk. ‘Patrik Högsmed, senior consultant at St Patricia’s Hospital … I’m looking for someone who used to work with Jan Hauger. That’s right, H-A-U-G-E-R. He was with you on a temporary basis eight or nine years ago.’

Eight or nine years ago
. Jan lowers his head when he hears those words. In that case it has to be one of the nurseries in Nordbro. Either Little Sunflowers or Lynx. Jan left the town where he grew up after that.

‘So that was before your time, Julia? OK, but is there anyone who was there when … Excellent, if you could put me through to the person who was in charge back then … yes, I’ll hold.’

The room falls silent again, so silent that Jan can hear a door closing somewhere down the corridor.

Nina
. Jan suddenly remembers that the person in charge at Lynx was called Nina Gundotter. Strange name. He hasn’t thought about Nina for many years – he has pushed all his memories from Lynx into a bottle and buried it.

The white clock is ticking away on the wall; it is quarter past two now.

‘Hello?’

Someone is speaking to the doctor, and Jan digs his fingers into
his
thighs. He holds his breath as he listens to Högsmed once more introducing himself and explaining his reasons for ringing.

‘So you do remember Jan Hauger? Excellent. What can you tell me about him?’

Silence. The doctor glances briefly at Jan, and carries on listening.

‘Thank you,’ he says after thirty seconds. ‘That’s very helpful. Yes, of course I’ll pass on your regards. Thank you very much indeed.’

He replaces the receiver and leans back. ‘More positive comments.’ He looks encouragingly at Jan. ‘That was Lena Zetterberg at the Little Sunflowers nursery in Nordbro, and she had nothing but good things to say about you. Jan Hauger was enthusiastic, responsible, popular with both parents and children … Top marks.’

Jan begins to smile again. ‘I remember Lena. We got on very well.’

‘Good.’ The doctor gets to his feet and picks up a plastic folder from the desk. ‘Let’s head over to our own excellent pre-school … You do know that we use the term
pre-school
these days, Jan?’

‘Of course.’

Högsmed holds the door open for Jan.

‘The term
nursery
has become just as outmoded as
playschool
,’ he says, before adding, ‘And it’s the same with psychiatric terms; they lose their acceptability over the years. Words such as
hysteric, lunatic
and
psychopath
… They are no longer used. We don’t even talk about
sick
or
healthy
people at St Patricia’s, we simply refer to
functioning
or
non-functioning
individuals.’ He turns to Jan. ‘Because who amongst us can say that we are always healthy?’

A difficult question, and one to which Jan does not reply.

‘And what can we really know about one another?’ the doctor goes on. ‘If you were to meet a man walking along this corridor, Jan, could you tell if he was good or evil?’

‘No … but I suppose I would assume that he wished me well.’

‘Good,’ says Högsmed. ‘Trusting others is mostly a matter of how secure we are in ourselves.’

Jan nods and follows him through the hospital.

Högsmed is ready with his magnetic card once more. ‘This is actually the quickest way to the pre-school,’ he explains as he unlocks the door. ‘You can go through the hospital basement, but it’s a tortuous and not very pleasant route, so we’ll go back out through the gate.’

They leave the hospital the same way they came in. As they pass the security guard’s office Jan glances at the thick safety glass and asks quietly, ‘But some of the patients here must be dangerous, surely?’

‘Dangerous?’

‘Yes – violent?’

Högsmed sighs, as if he is thinking of something tedious. ‘Well, yes, but they’re mostly a danger to themselves. Occasionally they might be violent towards others,’ he says. ‘There are of course certain patients who have destructive impulses, antisocial men and women who have done what you might call
bad
things …’

‘And can you cure them?’ Jan asks.

‘
Cure
is a big word,’ says Högsmed, looking at the steel door in front of him. ‘Those of us who are therapists do not attempt to enter the same dark forest in which the patients have lost their way; we stay out in the light and try to entice the patients to come to us …’ He falls silent, then continues: ‘We can see patterns in the behaviour of those who have committed violent crimes, and one common denominator is childhood trauma of various kinds. They have often had a very poor relationship with their parents, with frequent instances of abuse and lack of contact.’ He opens the outer door and looks at Jan. ‘And that is why we run this particular project, the Dell. The aim of our little pre-school is to maintain the emotional bonds between the child and the parent who is a patient here.’

‘And the other parent agrees to these visits?’

‘If they themselves are well. And still alive,’ Högsmed says quietly, rubbing his eyes. ‘Which isn’t always the case. We are not usually dealing with socially stable families.’

Jan refrains from asking any more questions.

Eventually they are back outside in the sunshine again. The doctor blinks in pain at the bright daylight.

They walk towards the high wall. It hadn’t occurred to Jan before, but the air seems so pure on this autumn day. Dry and fresh.

‘After you, Jan.’

The gate in the wall slides open and Jan steps out.
Out into freedom
. That’s actually the way it feels as he stands there in the street, even though he could have left the hospital whenever he wanted to, of course. No guards would have tried to keep him there.

The steel gate closes behind them.

‘This way,’ says Högsmed.

Jan follows him, gazing across towards the outskirts of the town to the south. Beyond a wide, freshly ploughed field he can see several blocks of small terraced houses. He wonders what the owners of those houses think about the hospital.

Högsmed also glances across at the houses, as if he can hear what Jan is thinking. ‘Our neighbours,’ he says. ‘In the past the town wasn’t quite so extensive, of course, so the hospital was more isolated out here. But we have never had any problems with protests or petitions, unlike some other psychiatric units. I think the families over there know that our operation is secure … that the safety of all concerned is our number-one priority.’

‘Has anyone ever escaped?’

Jan realizes this is a provocative question.

But Högsmed raises his forefinger to indicate the number one. ‘Just one patient during my time here. It was a young man, a sex offender, who had managed to build a rickety structure out of fallen branches in one corner of the grounds. He simply climbed over the fence and disappeared.’ Högsmed looks over towards the houses again and goes on: ‘The police picked him up in the park that same evening, but by then he’d already made contact with a little girl. Apparently they were sitting on a park bench eating ice cream.’ The doctor looks up at the electric fence on top of the wall. ‘Security was tightened up after that, but I’m not convinced that anything nasty would have happened. Sometimes those who
run
away seek out children simply because they are looking for security. They are small and frightened inside.’

Jan says nothing, he simply keeps on walking along the track in front of the wall. He has guessed correctly; they are heading towards a wooden building north of the hospital. The Dell.

The wall curves away before they reach the Dell, crossing a grassy area before it disappears behind the hospital. There is only a low fence around the pre-school. Jan can see several swings, a red playhouse and a sandpit, but no children. Presumably they’re indoors.

‘How many children do you have here?’ he asks.

‘About a dozen,’ says Högsmed. ‘Three of them are staying here on a permanent basis at the moment, for various reasons. Six or seven come during the day. Then there are a few more whose attendance is more sporadic.’ He opens his folder and takes out a sheet of paper. ‘We do have a small number of rules when it comes to dealing with the children. Perhaps you could read through them now.’

Jan takes the sheet of paper; he stops by the gate leading to the pre-school, and begins to read:

STAFF RULES