Stallo

by Stefan Spjut

‘Are you mad!’ Gudrun exclaimed, quickly turning round.

  ‘I’m only going to look,’ he said, shutting the front door behind him.

  ‘We have to phone the police.’

  ‘Drop it.’

  ‘What if it had been a rapist! And now he’ll attack someone else instead because you’ve slipped out of his grasp.’

  Susso snorted.

  ‘Slipped out of his grasp?’ she said, bending over with an amused smile as she put the bag on the floor. She pushed away the dog, who was interested in the contents.

  ‘What if you read about it tomorrow? How would you feel then, if you hadn’t reported it?’

  Susso could only shake her head. Gudrun sank back down in the sofa and folded her arms.

  ‘You have a duty to phone the police.’

  ‘But what can they do, Mum? He didn’t actually do anything.’ Susso pulled off her hat and leaned back in the armchair.

  She rubbed her forehead.

  ‘Have you ever had migraine?’

  ‘Migraine?’

  Susso nodded.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Why, have you got a headache?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It’s …’

  The dog leapt up and trotted out to the hall, and immediately afterwards Roland came walking into the sitting room. His face was shiny and his glasses had steamed up, so he had pushed them down his nose.

  ‘Did you see anyone?’ Gudrun asked.

  He shook his head and sat down on the edge of the sofa.

  ‘I walked all around the park and up the road a bit, but there was nothing.’

  ‘It’s just me …’ Susso said, burying her head in her hands. ‘I expect I’m imagining things. It’s all this Mattias business, and the photo, and everything they wrote in the papers. It’s hard, that’s all. And now I think I’ve got a migraine as well.’

  ‘Migraine?’

  ‘Yes. Do you know what that feels like?’

  ‘Well, it’s probably like a really bad headache.’

  ‘There was a kind of screaming inside my head.’

  ‘You need a holiday,’ Roland said. ‘I can hear that all right.’

  ‘I could borrow your snowmobile,’ Susso said.

  ‘You need to get further away than that if it’s going to do you any good.’

  ‘It’s better than nothing. Can I? We thought of taking a ride.’

  ‘What do you mean, we? Gudrun asked.

  ‘Me and Torbjörn.’

  There was a sharp intake of breath from Gudrun.

  ‘Are you two getting back together?’

  Susso had no intention of answering that question. She turned to Roland.

  ‘May I?’

  He sat thinking about it for a long time – either that or he was taking his time answering just for the pleasure of it. He pulled a tissue from his jacket pocket and examined it, before pressing it to his nose and moustache. He sniffed and said she could take the old Lynx. If she was careful with it.

  ‘Torbjörn will be doing the driving, I expect, and he was practically born on a snowmobile.’

  Roland pushed the tissue back into his pocket.

  ‘Hasn’t he got one of his own then?’

  She realised the trap too late.

  ‘Yes, two. But they’re out of action.’

  ‘That sounds very reassuring,’ Gudrun murmured.

  ‘That’s always the way with snowmobiles,’ said Roland. He grunted. ‘You spend as much time fixing them as driving them. But take the old Lynx. I’ve got it up at the cabin. We were also thinking of going for a ride tomorrow, so we can meet up there. It’s in Holmajärvi, on the Kiruna side.’

  First there was barking. Then beams of light.

  The camper van came driving up between the spruce trees. It was beige with a horizontal brown border halfway up and gathered grey curtains hanging in the windows. The wheels looked disproportionately small and the hexagonal hub caps were dark with rust. A shiny steel ladder climbed up the rear of the vehicle all the way to the roof, where there was a skylight.

  Seved sat at the kitchen table and watched Lennart step out and make his way towards the house. He had an unusual gait. For every step he took it looked as if he would fall forwards, as if he was about to lose his balance, but he regained it each time at the last minute. He was holding the bag-covered hand against his stomach.

  He appeared not to notice Seved but walked, panting, directly to the sink, where he turned on the tap, bent his head down and took a long, noisy drink. Then he turned round, wiping his jaws.

  ‘I’m so damned thirsty.’

  He took a glass from a cupboard and filled it with water, swallowing it down in one gulp. Then he opened the fridge and lifted out a bottle of cola, which he slammed on the table, only now looking at Seved. While he drank glass after glass he asked where Jirvin was.

  ‘He’s in the barn,’ Seved said.

  Lennart coughed up some phlegm, which he swallowed down with the cola, never taking his eyes off Seved.

  ‘He is?’

  ‘Yes. I think so, at least. I haven’t seen him.’

  Too late Seved realised he had just made a confession. Lennart had told them to keep an eye on Jirvin, and he could honestly say he had failed to do that.

  In fact, he’d been avoiding him. He had taken food out once a day – cooked macaroni with smoked reindeer heart and slices of cured pork, because Torsten had said he liked that – but he had left the bucket inside the door and not so much as glanced into the gloomy interior. The fact that the bucket had been empty every time he collected it was no proof. No doubt there were eyes peering through the gap in the curtains upstairs in Hybblet, watching him walk up and down with the bucket, and it wasn’t hard to work out what it contained.

  But Lennart did not lecture him.

  He merely looked down at the glass.

  ‘And the boy? How is he getting on?’

  ‘He doesn’t say much.’

  ‘But he plays?’

  ‘He plays. Mostly the video game. He likes that.’

  ‘He has to get out as well. It’s important he goes outside.’

  Seved nodded.

  ‘It was absolutely necessary,’ said Lennart. ‘What we did. It was the only thing we could do. And he’ll be fine here, with you.’

  After he had said this he put his hand inside his jacket, coughed and brought out his wallet.

  ‘So, payment.’

  Seved accepted the notes. He sat holding them for a moment before rolling them up and stuffing them into his pocket.

  ‘That feels good, doesn’t it? Having some money?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Fetch the boy now,’ Lennart said. ‘I’ve got to have a word with him.’

  Seved walked down to the cellar, and when he returned with the boy Lennart was sitting on a chair holding the hare in his arms, slowly stroking its fur.

  ‘I was at the county court today,’ he said, not looking up from the hare. ‘Do you know what the county court is?’

  The boy shook his head.

  ‘Well, they’re the ones who decide. About children and things. And they said Börje can look after you. That means you are going to live here from now on. Börje is your daddy now. They’ve also changed your name. Your new name is Bengt.’

  It was a while before the boy could get any words out.

  ‘I don’t want a new name,’ he said. ‘I want to go home.’

  He was almost shouting. The hare’s ears twitched.

  ‘Your parents don’t want you any more,’ Lennart said calmly.

  ‘Yes, they do!’

  ‘I know it’s hard to understand. It’s not really that they don’t want you … have you heard your parents talk about any problems lately?’

  The boy did not know.

  ‘But they have been arguing, haven’t they?’

  They had.

  ‘And what have they been arguing about?’

  ‘Money.’

  ‘Exactly. Your parents can’t af
ford to look after you. They know Börje will take good care of you and bring you up well. And you can have all the toys you want.’

  ‘I want to talk to them.’

  ‘I know,’ said Lennart, nodding. ‘I know. I thought you could talk to them too, and say goodbye properly, but it’s been so hard for them financially that they’ve had to move, and now they live in a flat somewhere in another town, and I don’t know how to get hold of them. But don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll phone as soon as they’ve got themselves sorted out.’

  The sky was layered. Dark blue highest up, then greenish-yellow, and below that a pink strip where the moon floated like a pale marble. The sun was still below the horizon, hesitating, but soon a sparkling shimmer would cover the fields of snow surrounding the flat white lakes to the south of the city.

  When they had driven through Ön, the residential area that lay in the shadow of the ore mountain and had been abandoned since the seventies, there had been a lot of activity. It was a shanty town of snowmobile garages, and now, after midwinter, when there were a few moments of sunlight in the middle of the day, everyone wanted to be out. It must be something biological, thought Susso. Like insects swarming.

  She was sitting very still with her hands clasped between her knees, her eyes fixed on the ridge of snow lining the road as it rushed past the car window. It had become very warm in the car and she should have taken off her jacket a long time ago, but now she didn’t feel like moving a millimetre. She had not yet told Torbjörn how scared she had been the previous evening. After sleeping on it and going over those seconds of being followed, she felt like an idiot. She had overreacted and felt almost sorry for the man who had been walking behind her.

  Torbjörn had peeled off the upper part of his snowmobile overall. The sleeves of his thermal vest underneath had a pattern of broken stripes and had seen better days. The blue synthetic fabric was knobbly and smelled of smoke and old sweat. He was wearing a plastic watch outside his sleeve on his left wrist. He had owned that watch for as long as she could remember, at least since secondary school. There was so much about him that was familiar. Unchanged. But even though he was the same old Torbjörn, she could not reach him, however hard she tried. He had always looked shy, but these days she could only occasionally catch his eye.

  It was light by the time they reached Holmajärvi’s northern shore, and they could see far out over the ice. Susso pointed at Gudrun, who was standing with a snow shovel in her hands outside a log cabin with snow piled up to the windowsills. A second later Roland came walking out of the cabin. He was looking very satisfied with himself, holding a packet of raisins in his fist and chewing.

  The doors of the shed used as a garage were open and the snowmobiles had been brought out. One was a heavy Lynx with a wide track and a black aluminium chassis, tinted extra-high windscreen and wing mirrors. Behind the dual saddle was a back support with a grey, mottled reindeer skin hanging over it. The second snowmobile was also a Lynx, but an older model with taped handlebar grips.

  Susso hoisted her backpack onto her shoulder, took out the helmets and shut the car door by pushing it with her foot. Torbjörn lifted a plastic container of petrol out of the boot and carried it at arm’s length to keep his ski overall from getting dirty. He greeted Roland and Gudrun with a brief nod of his head and walked once round the snowmobiles, scrutinising them with eyes like slits. Roland leaned against the veranda railing, watching him. From below the sides of his cap his hair protruded like small upturned wings, and the tip of his nose was comically red. He said it was a ninety-seven and that he had extended the track for better performance.

  Torbjörn leaned forwards.

  ‘This can’t be the original belt?’

  ‘No, I’ve fitted a wider one. I didn’t think it cleared the snow very well.’

  Roland was surprisingly pleasant, explaining that the little kitty cat had a full tank and was ready to ride. He started his snowmobile, put on his helmet and glasses, then stood with his padded leather gloves on the handlebars.

  ‘What have you got yourself?’ he shouted above the rattle of the engine.

  ‘A fifty-nine,’ Torbjörn answered, fastening his overalls at the neck. ‘And an old Polaris.’

  ‘Polaris,’ snorted Roland, as he turned the machine around slowly to allow Gudrun to climb on and sit down. ‘They’re like reindeer. They head for roads at the first sign of snow.’

  Then he revved the engine, making Gudrun throw her arms around his waist, and let out a muffled shout from inside his helmet. Not until they had ridden out onto the ice did Roland sit down. In a flurry of fine snow they raced off across the lake towards the far side and the dark jagged silhouette of the pine forest against the sky.

  *

  Grains of snow flying in the raw air struck her ski glasses. They did not touch her, but even so it made her frown. If she turned her head, her helmet hit Torbjörn’s shoulder, and occasionally there was the sound of plastic colliding with plastic, so she tried to sit still. She huddled down and looked at the trees, at the firs in their patchy overcoats of snow, crowded together. The lines of willowy birches with frost-covered branches. The hissing white clouds around the skis as they ran over the ridged trail.

  They were not going fast. He’s afraid of damaging the snowmobile tread on a rock or something, she thought. He had always been a careful person. Considerate. Wanting to do things properly.

  There was a load of logs on the back, held together with a strap. They planned to find a place to sit for a while and make a fire.

  *

  They had been travelling for less than a kilometre when they caught sight of a wide trail leading steeply upwards among the trees. Torbjörn’s helmet turned sideways, he pointed and Susso nodded.

  *

  Torbjörn stood holding a load of logs while Susso kicked the snow aside, revealing moss and low, shrubby bushes.

  ‘That’s enough,’ he said, taking a step forwards to show that he wanted to put down the load he was carrying.

  They had found a small plateau where the wind had made soft drifts of snow, revealing the ground in places. Spruce saplings and willow twigs peeked through. Stunted, knotty birches bowed down around them. Hanging from the lean branches were mourning veils of lichen, and the icy crust of the birch bark glistened in the rays of the sun, which was already on its way down.

  Torbjörn poured the petrol, a yellow stream that splashed against the logs.

  Then he threw on a lighted match. Squinting, he stood for a while watching the flames before going back with the petrol can and attaching it to the rear of the snowmobile. While he was there he kicked the footplates a few times to get rid of the clumps of ice that had collected there.

  He took a thermos from the backpack. He twisted off the lid, which split into two mugs, one of steel and one of black plastic.

  ‘Steel or plastic?’ he said, but when there was no immediate reply he poured coffee into the steel mug and handed it to her.

  She put her lips to the coffee but thought it was too hot, so she put the mug down in the snow.

  Torbjörn sat leaning forwards and stared down at the reflective mirror of coffee in his mug, thinking. He had sucked in his lips until his mouth was a thin straight line, and she could see he was about to say something that was important to him. But instead he stretched his neck and wrinkled his eyebrows. Something behind Susso had attracted his attention.

  ‘What is it?’ she said, turning round. He had raised himself up, straining his head to see.

  ‘What could that be? Is it a … bat?’

  ‘What?’ she said, smiling in disbelief.

  At first she thought it was a small bird that had become caught up in the birch behind her, unable to get free. But then she saw its snout and the dog-like face. The domed folded ears. Its mouth was wide open and it seemed to be screaming at the top of its lungs in anguish. One of its wings was closed and the other unfolded, the thin skin a pale grey and criss-crossed with veins like cracks. The claws
on its hind feet gripped the delicate frosty sprigs. It looked unnatural. As if it wanted to sit in the tree but was unable to.

  Susso’s eyebrows rose in astonished arcs. She had never been this close to a bat before. And in winter?

  Slowly Torbjörn took a step through the smoke that was coiling sluggishly over the ground. He had taken out his mobile and was directing it at the bat.

  ‘It must have woken up,’ she said. ‘From its hibernation or something …’

  He nodded and crept closer, but clearly he overstepped some invisible boundary because abruptly the birch twitched and the bat flew off, a grey rag that fled into the shelter of the trees and was gone.

  ‘I wonder if it will be all right?’ he said, sitting down by the fire and putting his mobile back into the pocket on his trouser leg.

  Susso was quietly watching the flames crackling upwards. Her face had become so hot it hurt and she straightened up and moved back a step. But the pain did not go away. She rubbed her forehead, which had filled with the same piercing noise that she had heard in the park. She was about to say something about her headache when there was a crack from the bottom of the slope.

  Then she froze.

  In among the trees stood a man, watching them. His eyes were staring through the gap between his hat and the woollen scarf he had wrapped around his face up to the bridge of his nose. An axe head glinted down by his knees.

  A second later another man appeared diagonally behind the first. He was heavier and struggling to walk. Against his chest he held a moose-hunting rifle with a telescopic sight. The shoulder strap hung in an arc of shiny leather. He was wearing a thigh-length woollen jacket in black and grey check, and a cap that shaded his flabby, almost spherical face, with its pink cheeks and patches of stubble. He was peering at them with his deep-set eyes. Both pockets on the legs of his baggy, faded combat trousers were open. It was impossible to tell his age. He could have been twenty or forty.

  No one said a word. All that could be heard was the sound of the fire gently crackling. The fat man lifted the rifle, grinned, and glanced at the older man, who had taken a step forwards. The snow had fastened in chunks among the laces of his heavy boots. The axe he was carrying was one used for splitting logs. He raised it slightly, seeming to weigh it in his hand.