By Jonas Hassen Khemiri
Vinnare av Augustpriset 2015
”Folk säger att Samuel och Laide var själsfränder, att deras kärlekshistoria var helt jävla magisk, att dom var menade för varandra. people säger att Samuel gjorde det för att hämnas, för att han var svartsjuk, för att han ville tvinga Laide att minnas honom. people säger att det aldrig hade hänt om inte Vandad hade blandat sig i, att det var Vandads fel, att Vandad gjorde vad som helst för pengar.”
Allt jag inte minns är en roman om kärlek och ekonomi. Om vänskap och våld. Om Samuel som lever vidare i allas minnen, nu när Vandad sitter inspärrad, Laide har lämnat landet och huset är förstört.
Ett antal öden krockar i rasande fart i dagens Stockholm. Bakom alla röster om Samuel skymtar en individual på flykt från sig själv. Vems minnesbilder går att lita på? Och vad döljer sig i det som vi inte minns?
Jonas Hassen Khemiri har skrivit en oförglömlig kärleksberättelse om vår hypersnabba tid, om priset vi människor betalar för att leva tillsammans.
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Everyone suddenly felt happy because my laughter was unafraid. I thought that I could borrow some money from them. Even before 50 I had the words in the air, they had heard and were half-way, across the room on their way out. Yes, yes, of course, money— their money—don't ask me for that! But they can't buy me. I'll take their money but I won't give them anything back. Spit in their faces . . but they won't pay me for doing that—now will they? I write along a single line: I never get off it. I said that you were never to kill anyone, and I meant it.
I believe in my own people. I tell them to strike before even their first cheek can be shattered. Down, Christ! back into the cave . . gnaw the bones of your martyrs—the dirty sonsofbitches, putting shit all over themselves in your name—I'll have no more of that! I demand that the body of no one be degraded. It's into the sun with us! We'll learn to talk joyously; we'll smash all those hideous, befouled images . . God, huh? That's all done and over with: kapoot. I'll make myself some coffee now.
My brother's head —you see! " It was true. The mouth moved in and out like a small red door in his mutilated face. I bent over. " The fire was roaring and snapping and I couldn't hear all he said. I heard: "The dogs . . the dogs .
Allt jag inte minns by Jonas Hassen Khemiri