"Heard anything from Yngve?" he asked, of my older brother. It didn't appear to have any contact with the charcoal at all, it seemed to be floating above it. A low almost transparent flame, blue at the bottom, rose in the grill. He stepped toward me, grabbed the lighter from the table, and lit the charcoal. "She'll be here soon." His eyes were glassy. The kitchen window was open, from inside came the clattering of glasses and crockery. Bare chest, blue swimming shorts, feet thrust into a pair of sloppy sneakers without laces. He was in the back garden pouring lighter fluid over the charcoal in the grill when I arrived.
I jumped off the bus after Lundsbroa Bridge and ambled along the drowsy, deserted summer street to the house he was renting, where I had stayed that winter. In order not to feel so utterly naked, as I did when I wore only a shirt, I took a jacket with me, slung it over my shoulder and held it by the hook since it was too hot outside to wear it. I had put on a white shirt, black cotton trousers, and white basketball shoes.
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