The Invoice by Jonas Karlsson Read Free Book Online Page B

must be someone down on the second floor…”
    The woman with the bank name ran her pen along the lines of Maud’s report and worked her way through column after column, reading quickly in a fairly low voice.
    “Okay, a clean sweep of H.C.s across the board, high E.H. points since the age of twelve, no empathy inhibitors. Parents both deceased, no family of his own, but regular experience quotient from comparable relationships. No setbacks noted since last December. Zero poverty rating. Top score on the emotional quotient…A number of good friendships over the years, all high engagement. Also an uncle—full marks as a role model. The child’s response regarding the subject is fully emotional. Reliable, but with no great responsibilities…Strong emotional attachments without any pressure to achieve.”
    She moved on through the file, still pointing with her pen.
    “Besides the welfare premium, whiteness premium, male premium, there’s also…let’s see…No problems sleeping. Workplace compatibility one hundred percent. One old friend—Roger—who visits regularly, but no social obligations. In other words, nothing but positive attributes…”
    I realized that none of this was really meant for my ears, but somehow it was rather wonderful to hear my life described that way. Almost impressive. I thought it sounded as if Maud had summarized my life in an extremely elegant way, and I couldn’t help noticing that Georg raised his eyebrows a few times.
    The woman with the bank name sat there straight-backed throughout in a way that I thought must be uncomfortable, but presumably she was used to it because she didn’t look at all troubled.
    She had quite a small face, which made her eyes look disproportionately large behind a pair of glasses with heavy black frames. She might not have been conventionally beautiful, but there was something about her that commanded respect, which itself could probably be regarded as attractive, I reasoned. And if her lips had been filled, there was no denying that it was a very good job.
    “Art? Culture?” Georg muttered.
    “High musical receptiveness,” she went on, reading out loud from Maud’s report. “Responds positively. Affected by stimuli of the simplest harmonic variety.”
    “Payment capacity?” Georg said, and the woman leafed through her papers and pulled out another sheet.
    “According to the report, extremely low, no private wealth, although no home inventory has been carried out…yet…even if the respondent declares that he has…let’s see…‘instruments.’ ”
    She put a hand to her mouth as she cleared her throat. Or suppressed a giggle.
    “And a small collection of science-fiction literature. Value unknown.”
    Georg turned to me at last.
    “Well, then…And you haven’t made any payments?”
    Out of the corner of my eye I could see the woman with the bank name glancing at the report, evidently unable to resist shaking her head. That could have annoyed me, but I was still too astonished that Maud knew so much about me and had summarized it so nicely in that document.
    “Er, no…” I said.
    He frowned and hummed to himself as he carried on looking through his papers.
    “It’s fairly unusual for people with similar scores to you not to have any money,” he finally said. “Your category mostly consists of people with relatively large assets. Some, of course, were born with a silver spoon in their mouths, which is also one reason why their scores are so high—it all forms part of the same picture, so to speak. But even if they weren’t born rich, their Experienced Happiness often gives them a certain excess of energy, if I can put it like that. This is usually reflected in financial gain. But with you…the situation seems rather different…”
    “Yes,” I said, and laughed, holding out my hands.
    Georg fixed his eyes on me.
    “You do understand how much money we’re talking about here?” he said.
    I slowly shook my head and blew some air