Read A summer with Kim Novak for Free Online

said diplomatically. ‘How long has she been like that, by the way? Can’t you make her better?’
    I wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with the ills of alcohol. My father’s cousin Holger was of that type and in fourth grade we’d had a teacher for half a semester who went by the name Finkel-Jesus. He drank steadily in the classroom throughout the day and was fired after he fell asleep in the staffroom and pissed himself.
    Rumour has it, in any case.
    Edmund shook his head.
    ‘We keep it in the family,’ he said. ‘It’s not officious.’
    ‘Uh-huh,’ I said. ‘But I think the word is “official”.’
    ‘Who cares what it’s called,’ said Edmund. ‘Either way, she’s why we move so often. At least, I think so.’
    And then I felt sorry for Edmund Wester.
    And for his dad.
    And maybe I felt a bit sorry for Mrs. Wester, too.
    We went to see a Jerry Lewis film at the Saga that evening. The Westers treated us to that, too.
    ‘Holy shit,’ Edmund said while we walked home. ‘Everyone should be like Jerry Lewis. Then the world would be fab.’
    ‘If everyone was like Jerry Lewis,’ I said, ‘then the world would have gone to the dogs thousands of years ago.’
    ‘Clever,’ he said. ‘We do need Perry Mason types, too; you’re absolutely right.’
    ‘Paul Drake and Della,’ I said.
    ‘Paul Drake is too bloody good,’ said Edmund. ‘The way he walks into the courtroom in the middle of a cross-examination and winks at Perry. Christ, what a bloke!’
    ‘And he always wears a white blazer and black trousers,’ I said. ‘Or maybe it’s the other way around.’
    ‘Always,’ said Edmund.
    ‘Della is in love with him,’ I said.
    ‘Objection,’ said Edmund. ‘Della is in love with Perry.’
    ‘The hell she is,’ I said. ‘She’s in love with Paul Drake.’
    ‘Okay,’ said Edmund. ‘She’s in love with both of them. That’s not so odd.’
    ‘That’s why she can’t choose between them,’ I said. ‘Objection sustained.’
    We went around saying those lines for a while.
    ‘Objection overruled.’
    ‘Objection sustained.’
    ‘Cross-examine the witness.’
    ‘No further questions, your honour.’
    ‘Not guilty!’
    Edmund lived further up on Mossbanegatan and I lived down by the sports centre, so we went our separate ways at Karlesson’s shop. Karlesson’s was closed for the evening; its green windows were shut and the chewing-gum dispenser was chained to the bike rack and locked with a padlock.
    ‘Did you know you can use broken sausage forks in the gum dispenser?’ I asked Edmund.
    ‘What?’ said Edmund. ‘What do you mean?’
    I explained. You simply broke a centimetre off the end of the flat wooden spoons they give out with mash. Ice cream spoons worked too, actually, but they were harder to find. Then you pushed the wooden bit into the twenty-five-öre slot and gave it a turn. No problem. Clickety clickety click. Shake shake. Worked every time.
    ‘You’re kidding,’ said Edmund. ‘Are you up for it?’
    We dug around in the rubbish bin that was mounted to the wall and finally found a sticky ice-cream spoon. I measured and broke it off against my thumbnail. We waited for a gang of giggling girls to pass by, and then we did the deed.
    Four balls and one ring.
    We each took two balls and Edmund took the ring for his alcoholic mother.
    ‘Slick,’ said Edmund. ‘We should come here one night this summer and clean it out.’
    I nodded. I’d been harbouring that plan for a while.
    ‘You just have to find the spoons,’ I said. ‘But there’re always some on the ground near the hot-dog stands. Herman’s and Törner’s on the square.’
    ‘One of these nights, we’ll do it,’ said Edmund.
    ‘Sustained,’ I said. ‘One night this summer.’
    Then we said goodbye.
    I knew that my brother Henry was an unusual person, but I didn’t know just how unusual until he said something one evening; it must have also been during the final week of school.
    ‘Super-Berra is a