Have you heard of Ödevret? It is a small manor between Eksjö and Mariannelund, not so small for that matter. 1780 hectares of forest, meadow, fields, wetlands, ponds, gravel pits, crushed rock and fences. And then houses, lots of houses. At the time there were landlords and tenants, over 300 people lived on Ödevret. But then, of course, the steam sawmill and the glassworks were also in operation, at least occasionally. Does that sound like a fairy tale? It is – a fairy tale from the heart of Sweden.
What we are about to tell you happened the year Lars Sandman became a major and company commander. It was about time. Now there were two majors at Ödevret, Lars and then Carl Wilhelm Sundin, the owner of the estate. He had indeed disarmed a long time ago, but was still always called the major. So when we talked about Lars we always just said Lars, and we have said that since he was little. He came to Ödevret when he was four, together with his adoptive parents.
It was good for him that he finally became a major and company commander, but it was completely overshadowed by something else. Elin and Lars had four children, first the twins Jakob and Malin and then the two little ones, Mats and Rolf. You might think these are old-fashioned names, and they are, but they have a connection. Mats was Lars' adoptive father and Rolf was the old priest who lived on Ödevret and meant so much to Lars and Elin. But that's another story.
However, in August of that year, Jakob became seriously ill. He was twelve years old at the time. It soon turned out that he had leukemia of the most aggressive kind. He died in Advent and was to be buried in the days between Christmas. We all mourned with the family, Jakob was a nice and original boy. He had friends in all the houses here on the farm. The German hunting team from the University Hospital in Tübingen knew nothing about Jakob's death, so they came to the Monday hunt as usual and no one got around to telling them that we were all in mourning. As usual, they invited Lars and Elin and some of the rest of us to the supper in the hall in the Main Building after the hunt. When Tobias Sundin and Mikael Nilsson took over the running of Ödevret, the Main Building was furnished into two apartments, and Carl Wilhelm moved to the Inspector's Villa. The Main Building was allowed to remain, and Camilla – Mikael's wife – still owns the Coachman's Inn, so she was the one who served.
Lars didn't actually want to go to the dinner, but Elin said:
– You won't get better by staying home. But don't mention anything about Jakob, then they'll just start talking about how it is with leukemia and how much better it would have been if it had been German doctors.
And Lars had served in Kurdistan and Iraq and had learned that it is a very serious matter to refuse an invitation. Over there it can be perceived as a mortal insult. So he went to the supper, and the German doctors had already realized that he had become a major and addressed him incessantly as Herr Major. It was clear that it cheered them up. He did not mention anything about Jakob.
Lars sat next to Professor von Plötzen-Sauerhof, who was now the leader of the hunting team. As a young assistant doctor, he had hunted on Ödevret together with Professor Axel Bernhard Fürthner, the world-famous immunologist, and could remember Lars as a child. Over dessert, von Plötzen-Sauerhof told him that he was now the head of a large anti-drug program in the Bundeswehr, and soon he touched on a few things that Lars, in his opinion, should know. The most basic thing was of course how to recognize that someone is under the influence of drugs. The surest sign is the iris of the eye. In a person under the influence of drugs, the iris retracts further under the upper eyelid. Another sure sign is uncontrolled small movements of the fingers, sometimes also of the lips. If you have the opportunity to take a reading test, dyslexia often appears, especially when using cannabis. In that case, the effect of the drug can last up to three days.
– Notice that, Mr. Major, three days! I've seen it with ministers, generals, and professors, for that matter.
All of us who were there were very touched by Jakob's death, Camilla most of all, she took it harder than Elin. But no one had told the hunting party about it, and they didn't notice anything, fulfilled as they were by the hunt and their own successes as hunters. They talked, laughed, toasted and joked about shots that had missed and shots that had hit, about hares that had escaped and hares that had been shot. And the deer! It was so close, so close! Of course they sang too, A hunter in the Kurpfalz, all the verses.
Lars was neither happier nor sadder from the evening with the German hunters, but three days later Jakob's funeral came. Lars and Elin had initially planned to bury him in the cemetery in Eksjö, next to his grandparents, but in the end it was decided that he would lie in the cemetery in Norra Långaryd, next to Mats, Lars's adoptive father. The funeral was conducted by the garrison chaplain. When he visited the family shortly after Jakob's death, he said:
– There are different ways of saying at a grave. Some just say thank you, some say rest in peace, but some also say Rest in peace until the morning of resurrection.
Afterwards, Elin said:
– So we shall say, Rest in peace until the resurrection morning. Then we will get him back.
And so it happened. We were all there, and we heard it. It wasn't just us who were there, it was everyone in Långaryd, or almost everyone. The whole church was full. There were many who had lived through the family's struggle that autumn, when the ambulance came to Ödevret every week and every other week and finally didn't come at all.
There was a training break around Christmas and New Year, and then Lars' company was to have an important company exercise at the Coastal Field and work with an EOD platoon. A platoon from the Home Guard would be B-force, and that could be quite demanding, because they often have local knowledge. Lars' company was an engineer unit, but Lars has always maintained that an engineer unit should be able to do everything and be used for everything, like a Swiss Army knife. The exercise at the Coastal Field included everything, deployment, patrolling, mine clearance, crossing watercourses, casualties, medical care, handling of the dead, reporting, field posts, defending resistance nests, attacking resistance nests, recovery, personnel compensation and probably much more. Lars wanted a lot, some say - for a lot. Perhaps the exercise had too high an ambition from the start. But Sandman believed that even if everyone couldn't get everything, everyone should get the most possible. He had even had the Volunteer Air Corps mark an air raid.
When he received the company on Monday morning for departure to Kosta, he had Dr. Plötzen-Sauerhof's words in mind. He walked slowly along the trail and looked each one in the eye, cast a quick glance at his fingers and then moved on to the next man. In one he saw that the iris was further in under the upper eyelid. The fingers were moving uncontrollably. He said:
– Lindgren comes to me after the lineup.
Then he moved on. This was the first time he encountered a drug problem in his company.
When the soldier came in, Lars handed him a page from the Swedish Armed Forces' training regulations. The soldier took it and held it upside down.
– Turn it right, it will be easier. Read ten lines.
The soldier tried. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, tried again, and finally he said:
– I can't.
Lars looked at him.
– Have you used cannabis?
The soldier looked surprised.
– How can the major know that?
– Because I know what one should know in my position as company commander.
The soldier leaned forward and looked pleadingly at Lars.
– Yes, I have used cannabis, I didn't think it would be noticeable, but don't send me home anyway, don't send me home, please Major!
– I can't take you to the exercise when you're under the influence. You have to stay here in Eksjö.
– Anything, as long as you don't send me home. Major's father, Lieutenant Sandman, helped my father when he was doing the dirty work. The others bullied him, but the lieutenant helped him. Dad always talked about Lieutenant Sandman. Dad was an alcoholic, but he got saved and he went around testifying and singing, and then he always told stories about the lieutenant.
– What did he say about my father?
– That there can be children of God where you least expect them. It's just a matter of them figuring it out themselves. He wanted so badly for the lieutenant to be saved too, but he went to Africa and died there. My father always went to his grave when we were in Eksjö.
– How was Dad doing then?
– He relapsed and now he's an alcoholic again. I don't want to come to him and he'll find out I've used cannabis. Let me stay!
– We won't send you home in this condition. You can stay here in the detention center. When the drug wears off, we'll take you out to the field.
The company adjutant was given detailed instructions. He looked dissatisfied, but he said nothing. Lindgren would first be sent to the doctor, the doctor would decide whether he should go to the hospital for detoxification, if not, he would remain in the barracks under supervision and kept busy. So far everything was clear, when the company rolled out towards the training field in Kosta. But on Monday evening the adjutant got the flu. Afterwards he said:
– It was like getting hit in the head.
There were other staff members left, but Lindgren's supervision was lost. He became idle and stuck to his computer. Afterwards, it was clear that he had been working on an American B-movie about Okinawa titled Harakiri.
On Wednesday night, the watch commander found Lindgren bleeding in the shower. He had pressed a kitchen knife against his diaphragm and was beyond saving. At three in the morning, the messenger reached Lars in the field.
– The watch commander wants to speak to the major.
So an intense activity began to spin: police, forensic doctor, sealing off the shower room, interrogations, protocols, the doctor, the personnel manager, the garrison chaplain, contact with the parents – and at the same time the company exercise was in full swing. At noon on Wednesday, Lars gave a brief information about Lindgren's death to the company that was deployed. Twice that day he went back and forth between the field and Eksjö and the number of phone calls he could not count. On Thursday evening, the soldiers' representative arrived.
– Major, we know that Lindgren is dead. We want to know how it happened and why. There are lots of rumors here. One of the soldiers says he will never enter the regimental lodge again. There are demons there. It's Rodrigo, he's Filipino.
Two hours later, the garrison chaplain was out in the field with Lars.
– What should I do? What should I say?
-Where is the problem?
– The most urgent problem is that a soldier with a Filipino background says that there are demons in the lodge. He refuses to go there and he also spreads the information.
– I'll go there and sing a few hymns, then they'll leave. Tell him that.
But what did the policeman say?
– He said that no one can be blamed for what happened.
– That's how it looks to a police officer. But there is also another perspective. Everyone can be blamed for what happened. Everyone.
– What do you mean?
– I myself could have been more visible in the company. You could have made sure that he did not have access to more cannabis. You could have checked that he was really being kept under supervision, but you were so busy making sure that all your training sessions would work, that you forgot about Lindgren. That is the disadvantage of wanting too much. The adjutant could have handed over his responsibility to someone else when he himself became ill. The comrades could have noticed that Lindgren was abusing and let you know long before. Everyone can be blamed for something. That is what you should say.
– You blame us all.
– You already do that yourself, without me. It's conscience. And now there's a sharp moment in the company drill – a memorial service for a dead comrade. You can delete other moments. You're to invite the parents to the memorial service. I'll lead it.
On Friday afternoon, the company was set up in the Lake Park in Eksjö. The sun shone over the thin ice on the lake, and it sparkled in frosty branches. Lars said:
– Comrades, we will honor the memory of a dead comrade. Everyone can be blamed for something today. The pastor leads the memorial service. Three comrades now give memorial words.
Three of the comrades from the same platoon stepped forward, clumsy and uncertain. They said a few commonplace things, the third the most.
A minute of silence followed. It was very quiet and very long. The wind blew softly through the trees.
The pastor said:
– You heard Major Sandman's words: "Everyone can be blamed for something." That's right. We have that in common. We could have done something different and something more for Jonas Lindgren. We will take that with us, so that we never have to go through anything like it again. But I have more to say to you – and me. On my collar mirror you see neither rifles, swords nor burning grenades, you see a cross. It stands for Jesus Christ, who has taken on what can be blamed for us all. In my hand I have the regiment's chalice from 1710. That's where Jesus promised to be. On Monday evening at 19 pm I will celebrate communion with it in Eksjö church. You are all welcome there.
Lars cast a quick glance at the priest.
– Now the final whistle blows for Jonas Lindgren. Hats off.
We didn't see it ourselves, but one of the platoon commanders told us that afterwards Lindgren's father came forward and hugged Lars Sandman.