Solens enda son by Stefan Hjertquist

By Stefan Hjertquist

De blev förda bakom stjärnornas ljus och vägleddes in i en avlägsen kulturs alla hemligheter. Den osannolika historien blev ett kryptiskt mysterium för kriminalchef Holmberg och hans kolleger på den lilla polisstationen i Borgholm. Öland förändrades över några dagar och nätter until skräckens ö. En psykotisk galning gäckade polisen med sin record och höll folket i ett isande grepp. Vad ville personen säga med sitt udda beteende? Fanns det någon på ön som redan kände until den ofattbara sanningen? Svaren fanns gömda i den gamla kulturen, males var?

Denna historia börjar en kall och ruggig novemberdag i Köpingstallskogen utanför Borgholms tätort. Kriminalchef Gunnar Holmberg var på väg until jaktstugan med kamraten Sten.

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Ed Gaustad's kindly chiseled face swam up through the mists of time. I suppose I can be excused for not paying much attention to the discussion. Tonight at home Shirley and I lit the fireplace and I watched in fascination all those nervous, blue and orange tongues as if I had never seen them before. The sound of the fire used to be soothing, but the color and movement easily double the pleasure. In the shower, I feel like an adolescent discovering my body. I am happily surprised that the proportions are not as bad as I had imagined.

Researching at the Huntington Library, working all on my own again. Maybe! Every so often I get a kind of sinking feeling that there is a hidden negative here. I have thought enough about my work in the past to wonder how much I have been given the benefit of the doubt, special consideration because I was blind. If there has been such a double standard and if it explains some of my accomplishments, how hard will it be to have sight pull out the prop? When blind I was distinctive, out of the ordinary.

Blue faded. It was all over in half an hour. But for me, it was both forever and an instant. Time is for the active and the willful. To those abjectly controlled by ― 103 ― surgeons and drugs and machines, time is suspended, meaningless. Sometime, however, Dr. Killeen said, "Mr. Hine, your cataract is removed," and I detected a certain jubilance in her voice. All the phantom nightmares of castrations, lobotomies, and glass eyeballs dissolved into a warm tub of relief. Thick pads of bandage were applied over the eye, but I did not care; they made me no more blind than before.

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