Harbour

by John Ajvide Lindqvist

  No one has such long, such strong fingers.

  And yet it is still possible to slither through. If you just want to live enough.

  Come in

  At half-past six the tender moored at the jetty on Domarö, and a man who no longer wanted to die left the group of cheerful people getting off. He ran to the west. When he drew level with the ramblers' hostel he had to slow down, since a renewed desire to live does not bring with it new lungs.

  Anders jogged to the point where the track divided in two. He was forced to walk the last stretch because his windpipe was whistling and he felt as if he was breathing through a straw. He passed the straight pine tree, pulled open the door of the Shack and went straight into the kitchen without taking off his shoes. He leaned over the sink, turned on the tap and drank like a man who has walked across the desert. He panted, breathed in deeply, drank again. Straightened up, panted, drank again.

  He drank until his stomach was distended and the cold water was threatening to come back up through his throat. Then he lay down on the floor. When he rocked from side to side he could hear the water lapping in his stomach.

  Come in. I will carry you.

  He closed his eyes and listened, checked what he was feeling.

  He had promised Simon and Anna-Greta that he would go back up to Anna-Greta's house as soon as he had done what he had to do at home. But still he lay there on the floor, waiting as the water in his stomach gradually ceased to be a cold, separate clump, as its temperature rose to body heat and became a part of him.

  Are you there?

  There was no answer, and doubt sank its claws into him. What if Simon had been wrong? What if Simon had been right, but it still didn't mean that Maja was on his side? The snowsuit. How had Henrik and Björn actually got hold of the snowsuit?

  This was the last chance. He was balancing on the edge of a precipice, and only a touch as light as a feather, the right touch, could save him. If it didn't come, there was nothing but the downward plunge and the darkness.

  Come. Touch me.

  Inside his body was a hollow space that was much bigger than his body. A summer breeze off the sea wafted through the room, bringing with it a single fluffy dandelion seed that floated around on the air currents until it finally landed on the inside of his skin. It tickled and settled down. That was what it felt like. So faint. But he knew.

  You are here.

  After that first, microscopic touch it grew stronger. What the water had carried with it spread through his blood, into his muscles, and the tickle became a soft caress and a greater presence, as if the downy seed really had brought with it other seeds that had now taken root in his flesh, causing small dandelions to bloom. He couldn't see them, but beneath the horizon they lit up his world, and his eyes filled with tears.

  Hello, sweetheart. I'm sorry I.. .forgive me. For everything.

  He looked in cupboards and drawers and got out every bottle he could find, then filled them from the kitchen tap. He ended up with about ten litres of water in large and small bottles, which he stuffed into two carrier bags. He found room for the bottle of wormwood too.

  Finally he fetched some Bamse comics from the bedroom and slipped the photographs from Gåvasten into his pocket. Then he left the house. Before he even got to Anna-Greta's house he fished out one of the bottles and took a couple of swigs.

  The newlyweds were sitting in the kitchen, and had changed into their everyday clothes. Everything was as usual, and everything was different. New bonds had been formed without anything changing on the surface. When Simon caught sight of the carrier bags, he asked, 'Is that...water?'

  'Yes.'

  'Can I have a look at one of the bottles?'

  Anders dug out one of the bottles and placed it on the table in front of Simon. It was an old plastic bottle; the label had fallen off, and the slightly cloudy water was clearly visible through the plastic. All three of them gathered around the bottle as if it were a relic, a sacred object.

  There was nothing special to see, Anders had already established that when he was filling the bottles. The water in the Shack had always been cloudy because of methane gas or chemical deposits, it had always had that misty, slightly ghostly appearance; it needed to stand in an open container for a while before it cleared.

  Simon pulled a glass towards him, looked at Anders and asked, 'May I...?'

  A pang of...a protective instinct ran through Anders, but before he could open his mouth Anna-Greta had said what he was about to say, 'You're not going to drink that?'

  'I've drunk it before,' said Simon. 'But this time I was only intending to pour it out. Is that OK?'

  Anders nodded, finding the situation slightly absurd. Simon was asking for permission to pour water out of a bottle. But it wasn't absurd. Not anymore.

  Anders felt uncomfortable as Simon unscrewed the cap and poured the water. Maja was in that water, and Simon knew that, which was why he had asked for permission. It was like handling someone's ashes. The relatives must be consulted.

  She isn't dead. She isn't gone. She...

  Anders suddenly thought of something Simon had told him a long time ago, or was it just a few days ago? Time had lost its meaning as days and nights, hope and powerlessness slipped in and out of each other in strange ways.

  He was about to ask, but Simon's experiment caught his attention. Simon had picked up the matchbox and tipped the insect into his left hand. He now moved his right hand towards the glass, glanced at Anders, then dipped his index and middle finger in the water. Closed his eyes.

  There wasn't a sound in the kitchen as Simon waited. Thirty seconds passed. Then Simon removed his fingers from the glass and shook his head.

  'No,' he said. 'There is something there. Particularly now that I know. But it's too faint.'

  For a moment Simon didn't know what to do with his wet fingers. He was about to dry them on his trousers purely as a reflex action, but stopped himself and allowed them to dry on their own. Anders raised the glass to his lips and drank the water.

  'Do you really think that's a good idea?' asked Anna-Greta.

  'Grandma,' said Anders. 'You have no idea how good it is.'

  It couldn't be helped, all that drinking had made him desperate for a pee. Presumably all the fluid that left his body, tears, sweat, urine, somehow made what was in the water.. .evaporate from him, but there it was. He would just have to drink some more afterwards.

  On the way to the toilet he passed the closed door to the hidey- hole, and through the wall he waved goodbye to the shotgun inside. He made a mental note to take out the cartridge when he had the opportunity, so that nobody would come to grief.

  He emptied his bladder while contemplating the framed picture above the toilet. A classic motif: a little girl with a basket over her arm is walking along a narrow footbridge across a ravine. Beside her hovers an angel with great big wings and outstretched arms, as if to catch the girl if she should fall. The girl is completely oblivious to both the danger and the presence of the angel, she is simply the roses in her cheeks and the sunshine in her eyes.

  That's what it's like,

  thought Anders, that's exactly what it's like.

  He had no idea what he meant, what this particular picture had to do with his story, but one thing he did know: the great stories were true, the timeless pictures portraying need, beauty, danger and grace were meaningful.

  Everything is possible.

  When he got back to the kitchen Anna-Greta was busy lighting a fire. Simon was still staring at the bottle as if he were gazing into a crystal ball, where a glimpse of something might appear at any moment. Anders sat down opposite him.

  'Simon,' he said. 'What happened with Holger's wife? With Sigrid?'

  Simon looked up from the bottle. 'I know,' he said. 'I've been thinking about that too.'

  'What have you come up with?'

  'Don't you remember what happened?'

  Anders grabbed the bottle and drank deeply. 'No,' he said. 'There's so m
uch that I.. .a lot of things have just disappeared. Those first days here on the island are very...foggy.' Anders smiled and had another drink. 'And I probably haven't.. .been myself, not really. If you know what I mean.'

  'How does it feel now?'

  Anders ran his hand over his chest. 'It feels...warm. And less lonely. What about Sigrid?'

  Anna-Greta placed a steaming pot of coffee on the table and sat down between them.

  'I have to say one thing,' she said, looking from Anders to Simon, then back at Anders. 'Bearing in mind what we know and what has happened, this might sound.. .harsh. But what I want to say is.. .don't try to do anything. Don't try to...challenge the sea. It's dangerous. It could go wrong. It could go very, very badly wrong. Much worse than we can imagine.'

  'What do you mean?' asked Simon.

  'I just mean that...it's bigger than us. Infinitely bigger. It can crush us. Just like that. It's happened before. And this is not just about us. Other people live here too.'

  Anders thought about what Anna-Greta had said, and it certainly made sense, but there was one thing he didn't understand.

  'Why are you saying this now?' he asked.

  Anna-Greta's hand was unsteady as she poured coffee into her saucer and reached for a sugar lump. 'I thought it might be appropriate,' she said. 'To remind you.' She pushed the sugar lump into her mouth and slurped a little of the boiling-hot coffee.

  'Sigrid hadn't been in the water for very long when I found her,' said Simon. 'Just a few hours. Despite the fact that it was a year since she disappeared.'

  'But she was dead, wasn't she?' said Anders.

  'Oh yes,' said Simon. 'Then she was dead.'

  Anna-Greta held the coffee pot out to Anders, and he waved it away impatiently. She put it back on the tablemat, ran her hand over her forehead and closed her eyes.

  'What are you saying?' said Anders. 'I thought she'd...been dead for a year, but only in the water for a few hours. That was the odd thing about it.'

  'No,' said Simon. 'She'd been gone for a year. But she'd died from drowning just a few hours before I found her.'

  Anders looked at his grandmother, who was still sitting with her eyes closed as if in pain, a deep furrow of anxiety between her eyebrows. He shook his head violently and said, 'So where was she, then? All that time?'

  'I don't know,' said Simon. 'But she was somewhere.'

  Anders sat motionless as goose bumps covered his entire body. He twitched. Stared straight ahead. Saw the picture. Twitched again.

  'And that's where Maja is now,' he whispered. 'Without her snowsuit.'

  Nobody said anything for a long time. Anna-Greta pushed away her saucer and looked anywhere but at Anders. Simon sat there fiddling with his matchbox. Outside and around them the sea breathed, apparently asleep. Anders sat still, twitching from time to time as yet another horrible picture pierced his breast like a cold blade.

  Something inside him had known this. Perhaps he had actually remembered what had happened with Sigrid, somewhere right at the back of his mind. Or perhaps he simply knew. That a part of Maja existed inside him, and another part existed...somewhere else. Somewhere where she couldn't reach him and he couldn't reach her.

  Anna-Greta broke the silence. She turned to Anders and said, 'When your great-grandfather was little, there was a man in the western part of the village who lost his wife to the sea. He would never talk about how it had happened. But he never stopped searching for her.'

  Anna-Greta pointed to the east.

  'Do you know about the wreck? On the rocks on Ledinge? There were bits left when I was young, but it's all gone now. That was his boat. I don't know what he did to.. .annoy it. But at any rate his boat was found there eventually. Way inland, up on a hill. Smashed to pieces.'

  'Sorry,' said Simon. 'Did you say he was from the western part of the village?'

  'Yes,' said Anna-Greta. 'That's what I'm getting at. His house and all the houses around it.. .disappeared. A storm came from the west. And as you know perfectly well: storms don't come from the west, from the mainland. It's not possible. But this one did. It came in the night, blew up to hurricane force in a moment. Eight houses were... smashed to kindling. Five people died. Three of them were children who didn't get away in time.'

  She uttered the last sentences with her gaze firmly fixed on Anders. 'Plus the man who set out in the first place. The one who started it all.' When Anders didn't say anything she added, 'And you know what happened to Domarö even further back in the past. We told you that yesterday.'

  Anders grabbed the bottle and took another couple of swigs. He didn't respond. Anna-Greta's face was distorted into an expression somewhere between sympathy and rage—more of a grimace, really.

  'I understand how you feel,' she said. 'Or at least.. .1 can guess. But it's dangerous. Not only for you. For everyone who lives here.' She reached across the table and placed her hand on the back of Anders' hand, which was ice cold. 'I know this sounds terrible, but.. .1 saw you standing looking at the anchor yesterday. In Nåten. There are many people who have drowned, who have disappeared.. .naturally, if I can put it like that. Maja could have been one of them. You could look at it like that. And forgive me for saying this, but...you have to look at like that. For your own sake. And everyone else's.'

  The handover (we are secret)

  Anders was sitting on the edge of the bed in the guest room. Among all the pictures that had flashed through his mind during the course of the evening, there was one that wouldn't go away, that left him no peace.

  She hasn't got her snowsuit.

  He had brought it up from the kitchen and hung it carefully over the back of the wooden chair by the window. Now he had it in his arms as he rocked back and forth.

  She'll he freezing, wherever she is.

  If he could only dress her in her snowsuit, if he could only do that. He caressed the slightly worn fabric, the patch with Bamse and the jars of honey.

  Simon and Anna-Greta had gone to bed an hour ago. Anders had offered to sleep on the sofa downstairs if they.. .wanted to be alone on their wedding night, if they didn't want anyone nearby. The offer had been met with an assurance that it was absolutely fine to have someone nearby, that as far as the wedding night was concerned, this was a night like any other. A quiet night.

  Anders hugged the snowsuit, torn between two worlds. A normal world, where his daughter had drowned two years ago and become one of those lost at sea, a world where you could talk about sleeping on the sofa and receive an indulgent reply, where people got married and put on a buffet.

  And then there was the other world. The one where Domarö lay in the arms of dark forces that held the island in an iron grip. Where you had to watch every step and be prepared to be torn away from relationships at any moment. So that not everything will disappear.

  Bamse, Bamse, Bamse...

  That was probably why Maja had always liked the stories about Bamse so much. There were problems, there were baddies and there were those who were stupid. But it was never really dangerous. There was never any real doubt about how you ought to behave. Everybody knew. Even Croesus Vole. He was a baddie because he was a baddie, not because he was splintered and anxious.

  And Bamse. Always on the side of good. Protector of the weak, unfailingly honest.

  But he really loves fighting...

  Anders snorted. Bamse was much more interesting in Maja's version. A bear who means well, but can't help getting into a fight as soon as he gets the chance.

  Just like Maja.

  Yes, perhaps. Perhaps it was because she broke the songs that she broke things as well. They had to become splintered, to become like her. But more interesting.

  Anders took out one of the Bamse comics he had brought with him and found that the story was ridiculously appropriate for what was going on. Little Leap wins a holiday in a ski resort. The hotel turns out to be haunted. The ghost seems to be after Little Leap, but Shellman understands, as always.

  He builds a machine that m
akes a Little Leap costume drop down over the invisible ghost. The ghost sees himself in the mirror and stops being horrible. He wasn't after Little Leap at all. He just wanted i be like him.

  Anders felt something switch off inside his head while he w.is reading the story; he came back to himself only when he put the comic down.

  I am the costume. The apparition.

  He wanted to sleep. He wanted Maja to take over and give him some kind of guidance. Before he undressed he placed the chair next to the bed. On the chair he placed a pen and an open notepad. Then he drank three gulps of water, got undressed, climbed into bed and snapped his eyes shut.