“He said that he had never touched another man –except his father. That made me think that… well, the only possible conclusion is that his father raped him. Martin called it ‘his duty.’ The sexual assaults must have gone on for a long time. He was raised by his father, so to speak.
“Bullshit,” Salander said, her voice as hard as flint.
Blomkvist stared at her in astonishment. She had a stubborn look in her eyes. There was not an ounce of sympathy in it.
“Martin had exactly the same opportunity as anyone else to strike back. He killed and he raped because he liked doing it.”
“I’m not saying otherwise. But Martin was a repressed boy and under the influence of his father, just as Gottfried was cowed by his father, the Nazi.”
“So you’re assuming that Martin had no will of his own and that people become whatever they’ve been brought up to be.
Blomkvist smiled cautiously. “Is this a sensitive issue?”
Salander’s eyes blazed with fury. Blomkvist quickly went on.
“I’m only saying that I think that a person’s upbringing does play a role. Gottfried’s father beat him mercilessly for years. That leaves its mark.”
“Bullshit,” Salander said again. “Gottfried isn’t the only kid who was ever mistreated. That doesn’t give him the right to murder women. He made that choice himself. And the same is true of Martin.”
Cuando todos hablaban de los desaparecidos y militaban en organizaciones de derechos humanos, yo soñaba en comprar una ametralladora y dispararle primero al milico que había matado a mi papá, y después al resto. Uno por uno.
Lo cierto es que en algún momento me parecía más a Lisbeth. Hoy, solo me quedan los piercing y los tatuajes como un recuerdo vivo de la mierda en la que vivo.
