Harbour

by John Ajvide Lindqvist

  After two weeks Erik came home. He did little more than change his clothes and hand over a little money, and then he was off again. Anna-Greta didn't even manage to tell him she was expecting a child, the opportunity didn't arise. But it was true. She was twelve to fourteen weeks gone, according to the midwife.

  Anna-Greta stood with her hands resting on her stomach as she watched Erik climb into Björn's fishing boat. She waved with her whole arm, and got a raised hand in response. Erik was with the boys, and didn't want to embarrass himself. That was the last she saw of him.

  Ten days later she received a letter. Erik had been killed in an accident while carrying out his invaluable work for the defence of his country. The body arrived the following day, and Anna-Greta couldn't bring herself to look at it. A block of stone had come away from its mortar and fallen on Erik's head as he was plastering the walls on the inside of the defence post.

  'He's not exactly in peak condition, if you know what I mean,' said the lieutenant who accompanied the body.

  There was a funeral in Nåten and many expressions of commiseration and half-promises of help and support, but there was no widow's pension from the army, because technically Erik had not been a member of the armed services.

  Anna-Greta was nineteen years old, in the fourth month of her pregnancy and widowed. She lived in a draughty house in a place that was not her home, and she had no particular skills or expertise. It's hardly surprising that at first it was a bleak and difficult winter for her.

  Torgny and Maja had become as fond of her as if she had been their own daughter, and they helped out as best they could. Her father, too, did his best. But Anna-Greta didn't want to live on handouts. She wanted to be independent, for own sake and for her child's.

  On top of everything else, the winter was unusually cold. The army drove across the ice in all-terrain vehicles until the cold became so severe that the engines froze up and they went over to horses. The soldiers who were on leave had to walk across the ice from the islands out in the archipelago.

  One Saturday morning as Anna-Greta sat by her kitchen window, watching yet another lemming-like procession of frozen young men approaching the shore, she had an idea. There was a demand. She would meet it.

  Maja had several sacks of wool in the hayloft in the barn. It would never be used, and she was happy to pass it on to Anna-Greta, who carried the sacks down to the kitchen in the Shack, the only room she used because she wanted to save on wood. She set to work. In a week she had knitted eight pairs of gloves in felted wool, the warmest you could imagine.

  On Saturday morning, she positioned herself down by the jetty in Nåten and waited for the soldiers. The thermometer had read minus twenty-two that morning, and the cold hung in the air like a silent scream. She jumped up and down on the spot while she waited for the silent horde approaching from out in the bay.

  The men's faces were bright red and their bodies were like knots when they came ashore. She asked if their hands were cold. Only one of them managed a vaguely indecent comment in response, the others merely nodded silently.

  She showed them her wares.

  There was muttering among the group. The gloves certainly looked considerably more substantial than the pathetic pot-holders supplied by the army, but three kronor a pair? They were off into town to enjoy themselves, after all, the money was needed for other things. They would soon be sitting on a warm bus and thawing out as the memory of the cold melted away. Pleasure before usefulness, they agreed.

  The ice was broken by the lieutenant who had accompanied Erik's body a few months earlier. He dug out his purse and place three one- krona coins in Anna-Greta's hand. Then he pulled on the gloves to see how they felt.

  'Incredible,' he said after a while. 'It's as if they warm you up from the inside.' He turned to his men. 'We're on leave now and I'm not going to start issuing orders. But take my advice. Buy some gloves. You'll thank me later.'

  Whether it was because they were used to obeying, or because he'd managed to convince them, it didn't matter. Anna-Greta sold all her gloves. Despite their initial resistance, the men seemed very pleased with themselves as they tramped off towards the bus stop.

  The lieutenant lingered behind. He removed his right glove and extended his hand as if they were meeting for the first time. Anna- Greta took it.

  'My name is Folke.'

  'Anna-Greta. Still.'

  Folke looked down into the empty basket and pinched his nose. 'Have you considered socks? Pullovers, maybe?'

  'Is there a shortage of those?'

  'Well, not exactly. We do have them, but perhaps they weren't made for a winter like this, if you know what I mean.'

  'In that case, thank you for the tip.'

  Folke put his glove back on and saluted. When he had gone a few steps towards the bus stop he turned around and said, 'I'm on leave again in three weeks, anyway. If there's a pullover for sale, I'm...an interested party.

  'When Anna-Greta got back home, she tipped the coins out on to the table and counted them. Twenty-four kronor, earned in the very best way, through her own work and her own idea. When she tried to share the money with Maja, her mother-in-law wouldn't hear of it. However, she might be interested in coming in on the deal if demand grew too high.

  And it did. By the very next Saturday the word had spread about Anna-Greta's gloves, and she didn't have enough stock to satisfy everyone who wanted to buy for themselves, or for comrades who were still out on the islands. Maja took over the gloves while Anna- Greta concentrated on socks. And a pullover, of course.

  If someone's alert, it only takes a hint to sniff the possibility of love. And that's what happened. At least on Folke's part. Once he had his pullover, he wanted socks as well. But they must be striped, so she had to make a pair especially for him. And then he needed a hat, of course.

  Anna-Greta was bright enough to understand what was going on. Folke was kind and decent, and she did search her heart for signs of love, but found not a trace. There was nothing she could do about it. She played along as well as she could, but veered away from his tentative invitations.

  Spring came and her belly expanded. The demand for warm clothing ceased, and Anna-Greta had to look around for something else. One day in April, a month before her due date, her father hove to at the jetty in a fishing boat she hadn't seen before.

  After patting her stomach and inquiring after her health, he explained why he was really there. He had become acquainted with a Russian sea captain, and there was the chance of a good deal if he could just sail out to the three-mile limit and collect a load.

  'But it's a bit...difficult for me in these waters, as you're perhaps aware.'

  Oh yes, Anna-Greta knew. If a customs boat caught so much as a glimpse of her father, he would be searched immediately.

  'So I was thinking that maybe if you could go, that would reduce the risk significantly. And they don't know this boat.'

  Anna-Greta weighed up the pros and cons. It wasn't the risk of getting caught that bothered her as much as the purely moral step involved in moving over to criminal activity. On the other hand, there were already people who looked at her sideways because of her father. She might as well fulfil their expectations.

  'How much would I get?' she asked.

  Her father glanced at her protruding stomach and made an expansive gesture.

  'Let's say half of the profit. Seeing as it's you.'

  'Which is?'

  'Two thousand, more or less.'

  'Done.'

  The whole thing went without a hitch. Although the glory days of smuggling liquor were long gone, there was still the matter of rationing and housekeeping, and a thousand litres of Russian vodka could always find throats to slip down.

  The transportation was taken care of in the old way. The cases were loaded into a torpedo that was towed behind the boat. If customs turned up, you simply cut the rope and the cargo sank, taking with it a little floating buoy and a bag of salt heavy enough to keep the buoy sub
merged. After a few days the salt would dissolve and the buoy rose to the surface. Then all you had to do was salvage the cargo.

  Anna-Greta sat in the stern with the rudder in her hand, waving goodbye to the Russian captain. She turned her gaze to the prow, where her father was crouching, then lifted her eyes to the horizon. The child kicked in her stomach and a feeling of dizziness came over her. It felt a bit like fear, but when she thought about it she realised what it was: freedom.

  She gazed out at the archipelago far away in the distance, where the soldiers were keeping watch in their defence posts and people were getting on with this and that in their cottages. All those people, sitting still and keeping watch over what was theirs. She tightened her grip on the rudder and lifted her face to the wind.

  I am free. I can do anything.

  The child was born in the middle of April, a healthy boy she named Johan. In the summer, Anna-Greta invested a thousand kronor of the money she had earned in a fishing boat of her own.

  Ulla Billqvist was on the radio singing about the boys in blue, but the truth was the boys in blue were bored to death on their islands. The Russians hadn't so much as dipped a finger in Swedish territorial waters, and Sweden's defenders were sitting in their barracks playing cards, glowering at the gulls and being as bored as it is humanly possible to be.

  Anna-Greta had spoken to quite a lot of people, and had identified a need. During the winter it had been warmth that was lacking, during the summer it was some kind of diversion. Anna-Greta set to work.

  By various methods, some of them entirely legal, some slightly more shady, she bought herself a stock of things that can ease loneliness and dispel melancholy. Sweets, snuff, tobacco, magazines and easily digestible thrillers, along with a range of games and puzzles. She didn't dare take any alcohol, but she let the soldiers know that if they needed anything along those lines when they were on leave, it could be arranged.

  Then she travelled around between the islands on regular days, selling her wares. Business was good. Anna-Greta was not vain, but she was aware of the effect she had on the men. Some of them probably bought from her just so that they could spend a short while in her company, having a bit of a joke and perhaps brushing against her hand by mistake.

  She knew that, and to a certain extent she exploited it. But she declined all advances before they had even been formulated properly. She had her man, and his name was Johan. When she was out on her business trips he was with his grandparents, an arrangement that suited them all very well.

  During the winter she went back to her knitting, and the following summer she was back out in her boat once again.

  Anyway. What about those bottles of schnapps?

  That didn't happen until after the war, and it was connected to Folke. He wouldn't give up. She sometimes bumped into him on her trips around the islands; he had been promoted to the rank of captain, and she always took the time to chat for a while, but never did anything to raise his hopes.

  After the war, Folke left the army and went to work for the customs service. Within a couple of years he was the captain of one of the customs cruisers.

  Presumably with the aim of impressing Anna-Greta, he moored the cruiser at her jetty one day and strode up to her house in full uniform: epaulettes, peaked cap, the lot. He asked if she would like to accompany him on a little trip, he had to carry out an official check.

  Anna-Greta's father was visiting on that particular day, and there was an exchange of casual remarks with a caustic undertone between him and Folke. However, by that stage her father had given up his activities, and there was no real antagonism. Her father said he would be happy to look after Johan if Anna-Greta wanted to go out on a pleasure cruise with the enemy.

  The cruiser raced out to the three-mile limit. Like most men, Folke was under the mistaken impression that travelling at a high speed can make a woman's heart melt, and he pushed the cruiser to the limit, standing there on the bridge and pretending to be unmoved. Anna-Greta thought it was quite entertaining to travel so fast, but nothing more.

  The cargo boat just outside the limit was boarded with the usual polite exchanges. Anna-Greta thought it all looked somehow familiar. Everything became clear when the captain appeared. It was the same Russian captain who had sold vodka to her and her father several years earlier. He recognised her, too, but gave nothing away.

  Anna-Greta had a little money with her, and when Folke and his men went below to check the interior of the boat, she whispered to the captain, Tour cases.'

  The captain looked at her with a mixture of terror and delight. 'But where?'

  Anna-Greta pointed. Right at the back of the customs cruiser hung a covered lifeboat. 'There. Underneath the tarp.'

  The captain took the money and gave the order to his crew. Then he went below to make sure Folke and the others stayed there until the goods had been stowed.

  They found what they expected to find in the hold, but there wasn't much they could do about it as the boat was in international waters. They just wanted to check the amounts, and to see if there was any need for special vigilance.

  Anna-Greta had never seen the Russian captain smile, but he was certainly smiling as he waved goodbye to Anna-Greta and the customs boat. In fact, he was grinning from ear to ear.

  'He seems like quite a good bloke, in spite of everything,' said Folke.

  'He does,' replied Anna-Greta.

  When the cruiser hove to at Anna-Greta's jetty, she asked if she could perhaps invite the crew to her house for coffee and cake just to say thank you for the trip. They accepted with pleasure, and the men trooped up to the Shack.

  While they were playing with Johan, Anna-Greta took her father to one side and said there were a couple of things that needed to be collected from the lifeboat. Perhaps he could put them in the boat- house for the time being. Her father's jaw dropped and a fire ignited in his eyes. He said nothing, he merely nodded and went out.

  And then, of course, Anna-Greta was having some problems with the leaky woodshed at the front of the house. As her father disappeared around the corner, she took Folke and the others to the woodshed and listened to their advice on how she could reinforce the construction or how she might go about building a new one.

  After ten minutes her father was back, at which point she thanked the men for all their help and invited them to enjoy the promised coffee.

  When the cruiser was on its way and their visitors had been properly waved off, her father turned to Anna-Greta as she stood there holding Johan by the hand, and said, 'This is the best bloody thing ever.'

  'Not one word.'

  'No, no.'

  Within a month the whole archipelago knew the story of how Anna-Greta had smuggled schnapps on the customs boat. Her father had probably tried to keep his mouth shut, but it just couldn't be done; he was far too proud of his daughter and of the great story in which he had played his small part.

  Eventually the story must have reached Folke's ears as well, since he never came to call on Anna-Greta again. She told her father off for blabbing and thus destroying Folke's reputation, but what was done was done. Anna-Greta had never been one for regrets.

  Anyway, the schnapps was decanted into bottles and one of them eventually ended up in Evert Karlsson's cupboard, where it stands to this day.

  The magician

  Life could have been perfect for Simon at the beginning of the 1950s. He was in his early thirties, the time when we reap, if we are lucky, what we have sown during our youth. And he was reaping a rich harvest. Success after success.

  For a few years he and his wife Marita—under the name El

  Simon Simonita—had been among the most popular artists playing the summer shows in the big parks. For the last couple of summers they had even had to turn down some engagements to avoid double-bookings.

  This spring, Simon had found out that they could look forward to the most desirable booking of all for the autumn: the variety show at Stockholm's Chinese Theatre, for two weeks i
n October. This would in turn give them the opportunity to ask for higher fees in the parks. Having performed at the Chinese Theatre was a mark of honour in the profession.

  Their program wasn't actually anything special: a little mind- reading, some sleight of hand involving cards, a few tricks with cloths. An unusually quick substitution trunk, plus a version of sawing the lady in half, with the twist that Marita was divided into three sections rather than just two. An escapology feature. Nothing special.

  But they did have a particular style on stage. Simon's measured, concentrated movements and patter set against Marita's light, whirling steps created a kind of dance that it was difficult to take your eyes off. In addition, Simon was elegant and Marita—well, Marita had glamour.