‘You’ll have to forgive me. I’m on new medication, and it makes me a little . . .’ He taps his temple. ‘Shall we sit down?’
He takes one of the leather armchairs, signals to her to take the other.
‘And your job?’ he asks. ‘How are you getting on as . . . ?’
‘Good, thanks – I started today. I’m taking over as the local GP from Sigbritt Andersson.’
Bertil takes a sip of the whisky and soda Ingrid put out for him a little while ago, next to his pipe and ashtray.
‘And you’re happy at Bokelund?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you met the count? Rudolf?’ Bertil shakes his head crossly. ‘No, I mean his boy. Hubert.’
‘No, we’ve only seen each other from a distance.’ Thea thinks of the face she saw at the window during the thunderstorm. The sorrowful man in the west wing.
Bertil nods slowly. ‘Just be careful. A lot of bad things have happened at Bokelund.’
‘Like what?’
Bertil frowns. He suddenly looks irritated again, as if he’d intended to say something completely different.
‘How . . .’ he says after some thought. ‘How’s it going with . . .’ He waves his hand again, as if he’s trying to catch the right words. Thea realises that the conversation has reached its conclusion. Regardless of who David’s father once was, the people he’s met and the things he’s achieved, he is now on his way into the great oblivion. The thought makes her feel very sad.
‘Dinner’s ready!’ Ingrid calls from the hallway with exaggerated cheerfulness. The sound of her voice makes Bertil’s eyes light up.
‘Wonderful! Let me escort you to the table, my dear.’
He gets to his feet and gallantly proffers his arm.
*
They chat their way through the starter. The castle, the preview dinner, the weather, the TV report. Ingrid and David do most of the talking. Bertil sits in silence at the head of the table, concentrating on his food, and Thea doesn’t have much to contribute.
‘So how was your first day at work, Thea?’ David’s mother asks when the main course has been served.
‘Good, thanks. Dr Andersson showed me the surgery, then we made a home visit to Kerstin Miller.’
‘She’s not ill, is she?’ David asks.
‘Just a touch of the flu. I think it will be difficult to stop her from going back to work too soon.’
Thea thinks she sees Ingrid cast an anxious glance at her husband, but Bertil is fully occupied with his meal, and doesn’t appear to be paying any attention to the conversation.
‘I heard an old story while I was out there,’ Thea adds.
‘Oh? What story was that?’ Ingrid asks.
Thea hesitates, then realises she’s said too much to stop now.
‘It was about Elita Svart.’
Bertil drops his fork onto his plate with a crash. His face is ashen.
‘The spring sacrifice,’ he says in an unexpectedly clear voice. ‘Poor child. You must never tell anyone. Never, never, never . . .’
He stops, then bursts into tears.
17
Walpurgis Night 1986
Hoof and horn, hoof and horn. All that dies shall be reborn.
Eva-Britt taught me that rhyme when I was a child. She and Lola always recite it when they’re mixing herbs.
What does it mean? I wanted to know.
It means that death is necessary for new life to flourish, little Elita, Eva-Britt replied.
Many people are frightened by the thought of death, the idea that everything comes to an end. Not me. Nothing ever comes to an end. Now let’s say it together:
Hoof and horn, hoof and horn. All that dies shall be reborn.
Don’t you feel better already?
P
er Nyberg and his father found the one-year-old fawn in the enclosure nearest to the castle forest. The carrion crows led them to the right place, a huge flock circling above the cadaver.
The belly was open. The crows and other carrion-eaters had made in-roads, but the wound in the throat was still clearly visible.
‘How many is that?’
Erik Nyberg took off his cap and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Three. The count won’t be pleased.’ He stomped around on the grass, looking for tracks.
‘Do you still think it’s a wolf or a lynx?’ Per wondered.
‘Have you got a better explanation?’ The response was rapid and a little too sharp. Erik paused, crouched down.
‘What have you found?’
No reply. Per went and looked over his father’s shoulder; there were a number of U-shaped indentations in the ground.
‘Hoof prints?’
Erik quickly straightened up, brushed the dirt off his knees.
‘They’re old,’ he muttered. ‘Nothing to do with this.’
He nodded toward the dead animal.
‘We need to go over the enclosure again. There must be a gap in the fence somewhere that we’ve missed – but first we have a job to do at Svartgården.’
The name made Per’s heart beat faster, and he had to make a real effort to maintain his composure.
‘What kind of job?’ he asked, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.
‘We’re terminating the lease.’
‘Shit – why?’
‘Because the count is selling the land to the army.’
‘So what happens to Lasse and his family?’
Erik shrugged. ‘Not our problem. The count can do what he likes with his land. Grab hold of the front legs.’
He seized the deer’s hind legs, while Per fumbled in his pockets for his gloves, only to realise he’d left them in the car. He could feel his father’s eyes on him, staring at Per’s smooth hands.
‘For fuck’s sake, Per – just do it. Getting dirt under your fingernails occasionally is part of what we do. You have to get used to it.’
Reluctantly Per seized the front legs. The fur was rough and cold. He suppressed a shudder.
Between them they carried the body to the car, with Per doing his best not to stare at the wound in the animal’s throat. The patches of dark red blood on the white belly. The big, empty eyes, reflecting the sky above.
The whole thing was so harsh, so brutal. So far from what he really wanted to do. The person he wanted to be.
He thought about Elita, about his dreams.
His heart beat even faster, bringing a flush to his cheeks. He glanced anxiously at his father, hoping he hadn’t noticed anything, but fortunately Erik seemed to be completely focused on the task in hand. His lips were moving, murmuring words that were barely audible:
‘Nature is hungry and the Green Man is riding through the forests.’
18
T
he atmosphere is subdued during the drive home.
‘I’m sorry,’ Thea says in an attempt to fix things. ‘I had no idea . . .’
‘It’s fine,’ David murmurs. ‘Dad’s not himself. Mum had high hopes for the new medication, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. Not yet, anyway.’
‘What do you think he meant?’
‘Nothing – he mixes things up. Names, people, events. Everything somehow blends into one.’
‘But he remembered Elita Svart. Dr Andersson told me the whole story. All four of you were there – you, Nettan, Sebastian and Jan-Olof. You saw Elita’s brother . . .’ She breaks off. ‘Why have you never mentioned any of this?’
David sighs. ‘It happened such a long time ago. I don’t want to rake up the past.’
‘It must have been terrible – to see your friend . . .’
‘Elita Svart wasn’t our friend.’ His tone has hardened.
‘Oh – I thought . . .’
‘You thought wrong.’ He doesn’t say anything for a little while. ‘Elita was sixteen, and very . . . mature for her age. We were only twelve, nerdy kids who played board games. As far as we were concerned, Elita was
in a different league. When she suddenly started taking an interest in us, it was amazing. She made us feel special. She was good at that – she knew exactly what to do.’
He slows down, turns left out of the village and follows the narrow lane leading to the castle. There are no street lamps here, and the darkness closes around the car.
‘So what did Elita get out of it?’ Thea wonders.
‘I don’t know, to be honest. Maybe she enjoyed being in the centre of attention. Whatever it was, she started sending us on little errands – to buy sweets, collect her clothes or school books, take messages. We became her secret little servants, but the sick part is that we were more than happy to go along with it. We were completely bewitched by her.’
He shakes his head as if he finds it hard to believe what he’s saying.
‘Even though she was a gyppo?’
That word again, bitter as bile.
‘That was the kind of thing other people said behind her back. Adults, mostly.’
‘Your parents?’
David pulls a face, confirming Thea’s suspicions.
‘Elita made us promise not to tell anyone what we were doing. It wasn’t difficult; none of our parents would have approved of us spending time with her, which of course made the whole thing even more exciting.’ He falls silent.
‘So what happened on Walpurgis Night?’ Thea ventures after a moment.
No answer. David is clutching the wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead. He looks as if he might be working up to telling her.
They come from nowhere, suddenly appearing in the beam of the headlights. Black creatures with humped backs, pouring across the lane.
David slams his foot on the brake and wrenches the wheel to the side. The tyres screech on the tarmac and Thea just manages to grab the handle on the roof before the car lurches across the ditch and ends up in a field of rape. The front wheels sink into the soft ground, bringing the vehicle to an abrupt stop. The engine dies, and there is total silence for a few seconds.
‘Are you OK?’ David asks eventually.
Thea nods. Her heart is racing, the air inside feels thick, it smells of petrol and exhaust fumes.
‘W-what the hell was that?’
‘Wild boar. A whole fucking herd of them.’
He gets out and walks around the car to inspect the damage. She hears him swear, and decides to join him. The cold air makes her shiver. It’s dark, but she can clearly see the front wheels buried in the ground. One of the headlights has stopped working.
David jumps back in the car, starts the engine and tries to reverse. Earth and greenery spurt up around the tyres, but the only result is that the car sinks even lower.
‘Fuck!’ He slams his fists against the wheel. Gets out again and kicks one of the tyres.
‘Shall we call the roadside recovery firm?’ Thea suggests.
‘We can’t do that, for fuck’s sake! We’ve both been drinking. If the recovery guy calls the police and I go down for drunk driving, the restaurant is fucked!’
He takes several deep breaths then spreads his hands in an apologetic gesture.
‘What I mean is, we can’t risk any negative publicity. Not now, with the preview night coming up.’
Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to drive home, Thea thinks, but decides to keep her opinion to herself. To be fair, she could have stopped him, suggested they ring a taxi.
‘So what do we do now?’
David is chewing his thumbnail. ‘I’ll call someone who can help us. Get back in the car and keep warm.’
She does as he says, leaves the door open for a minute or so to get rid of the fumes. She can hear him on the phone, but she can’t work out who he’s talking to.
She finds it difficult to understand why he’s never mentioned Elita Svart. On the other hand, there are plenty of things she hasn’t told him, things she hasn’t even told Margaux. The reason why Elita Svart’s story feels so personal. So close.
She leans her head back and closes her eyes. David’s conversation fades to a faint murmur, before being replaced by her big brother Ronny’s voice.
Jenny, Jeeenny!
She opens her eyes, sees lights approaching, dazzling headlights accompanied by the sound of a powerful engine. A tractor with double front and rear tyres rolls easily off the road and stops a few metres behind their car.
The driver clambers down from the cab and shakes hands with David. Thea gets out of the car. She shades her eyes against the bright lights and waits for David to introduce her, but the tractor driver gets there first. He’s in his early fifties, dressed in a fleece jacket, overalls and heavy boots. His hair and the stubble on his chin are peppered with grey, his eyes so intensely blue that Thea can see them in the darkness. He pulls off one glove.
‘Hi – Per Nyberg. We’re neighbours.’
His hand is surprisingly soft.
‘Thea Lind.’
‘I live over at Ängsgården – my father Erik and I lease most of the castle’s land.’ He smiles broadly. ‘He’s one of your patients – I think you’re due to see him tomorrow. He can be pretty bad-tempered, just so you know, but he doesn’t mean any harm.’ Per winks at her in a way that could almost be flirtatious, then turns back to David.
‘Wild boar, you say – it doesn’t surprise me. The population has exploded since we were young. They do a tremendous amount of damage to the crops.’ He inspects the car. ‘Good job you managed to swerve – you don’t want to crash into a herd of wild boar. It’s like hitting a concrete block.’
Per releases a chain wound around the weights at the front of the tractor and attaches it to the back of their car.
‘If you get behind the wheel, David, I’ll pull you out. Thea, move back so that you’re not too close to the chain, in case it breaks.’
He climbs into the cab, puts the tractor in gear then begins to reverse slowly so that the chain gradually tightens.
Within a couple of minutes they’re back on the road. The car looks somewhat the worse for wear, with only one functioning headlight and the sides covered in mud.
‘Thank you so much for your help,’ David says. ‘And Per . . . It would be good if we could keep this little incident between us.’
‘You’re welcome. And don’t worry, this isn’t the first car I’ve hauled out of a ditch. Out here in the country we help each other. We keep each other’s secrets, don’t we?’
He turns to Thea, winks again in that way that’s so hard to interpret.
‘Good to meet you, Thea. I hope to see you again soon.’
19
Walpurgis Night 1986
Leo has always been afraid of Father. Crept along close to the walls, keeping his gaze lowered. Jumped every time Lasse raised his voice.
‘Leo is a cuckoo in the nest, Elita,’ Father says. ‘An unwelcome little interloper who must be kept in line to stop him taking over completely.’
But Leo is no longer little, neither on the outside nor the inside. Something has been growing within him ever since we were children. Something dangerous that can escape at any moment. It frightens me, yet at the same time I find it attractive. Isn’t that strange?
A
rne lingered by the car for quite some time, hoping that Elita would return. He took the opportunity to go around the back of the shed and pee in one of the muddy puddles. Stood among the bracken thinking about her sitting astride the powerful horse, controlling its movements. His shirt was sticking to his back. He loosened his tie, looked over at the house for what must have been the fiftieth time.
Elita had rushed off as soon as she heard the car, called out Leo’s name in a way that still caused Arne physical pain in his chest.
Shit!
He got in the car. The rubber mat was covered in mud, and the smell of the marsh seemed to have seeped into the upholstery. He started the engine and drove slowly up to the house.
The yard was quiet; there wasn’t even any sign of the dogs. Arne waited for a few
more minutes before going up the steps. He could hear loud voices from inside; one of them was Lasse’s.
He reached for the door handle, hesitated. He wasn’t sure why. He was a police officer, he could walk straight in, exactly as he’d done only an hour or so ago.
The voices grew louder. Arne briefly considered leaving, but he’d promised Elita a lift, and the thought of having her in the police car with him was still far too tempting. He knocked, opened the door and went in.
Lasse was sitting at one side of the kitchen table in the middle of an arm-wrestling match with a young man in military uniform. There was an open moonshine container on the table, several coffee cups and a half-eaten cake.
Eva-Britt, Lola and Elita were so focused on the contest that they didn’t even notice Arne.
‘Come on, Leo!’ Elita shouted.
Eva-Britt’s son had always been a scaredy-cat, but he was all grown up now. He was taller and more broad-shouldered than Arne. There were medals on his tunic, and Arne noticed the green beret tucked under one epaulette. However, what bothered him was the way Elita was looking at Leo, as if the little soldier boy was the most fantastic thing she’d ever set eyes on.
The stupid idiot had obviously been persuaded to take on Lasse, and that could only end one way. Lasse’s arms were as thick as pythons, and as far as Arne knew, he’d never lost a match. So now it was the soldier boy’s turn to be humiliated. They’d only just started; their arms were still vertical, and the veins on the back of their hands were bulging with the effort.
Lasse had adopted his usual tactic. First of all he tired his opponent by simply keeping his hand still, then when he thought he’d played out the drama for long enough, he would slowly force down the other man’s hand one centimetre at a time, occasionally pausing just to show how superior he was.
Lasse grinned, but Leo didn’t seem worried. He was leaning across the table with his chest much closer to his hand than Lasse’s was. Nor did he appear to be trying as hard as he should be at this stage. Instead he slowly moved his upper body and his hand a fraction to the side.
The technique looked professional, as if Leo knew exactly what he was doing, which worried Arne. Fortunately Lasse stopped the movement, but his grin wasn’t quite so confident now.
Rites of Spring Page 8
