Stallo

by Stefan Spjut

  ‘So you thought that was who the Vaikijaur man was looking for?’

  Barbro nodded.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘It must have been connected with Magnus Brodin, one way or another, don’t you think? Do you know how many children have disappeared without trace in Sweden in the past twenty-five years? Four,’ she said, holding up four fingers. ‘Johan Asplund in 1980, Amina Nyarko in ’97, and then only a month later Saranda Ademaj. That was down in Småland. And then in ’99, Henrik Jansson. But both Johan and Henrik were relatively big – eleven, twelve years old. The girls were six and eight. I have a feeling it might be something to do with them having family abroad. As I say, I’m only sure about the numbers from 1978 onwards, but I have discussed this with other people and no one remembers anything like this happening before. This kind of child abduction, the kind that remains unsolved, is exceptionally rare. So I don’t think it was a coincidence that he made a visit to Björkudden so soon after Magnus disappeared.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘No one knows what happened there after Esther contacted Sven at the newspaper. But something must have happened and you can presume the squirrel was involved in it because it was the squirrel that got John into trouble. But I don’t suppose we will ever know anything about that.’

  Gudrun nodded and helped herself to another slice of Swiss roll.

  ‘You do wonder if it was him,’ she reflected. ‘If he was the dwarf who was at Bauer’s house in 1918.’

  ‘Well, of course he was,’ Susso said.

  ‘If there’s one, there’s bound to be more,’ Gudrun said.

  ‘Barbro,’ said Susso, ‘did it never occur to you it could be him when you saw the picture of the Vaikijaur man in the newspaper? That it was the same dwarf Sven had told you about?’

  ‘Of course it did. But what was I supposed to do?’

  ‘Have you spoken to Magnus’s mother recently?’ asked Gudrun.

  ‘I have never spoken to her.’

  ‘Oh, haven’t you? I thought you had.’

  Barbro shook her head. She was holding the tiny handle of the gilt-edged porcelain cup in one hand and the saucer in the other.

  ‘Of course, there have been times when I thought I ought to,’ she said. ‘But I never got round to it. I wasn’t sure, you know.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Gudrun said.

  Barbro pursed her lips and lowered her head, and it was clear she did not want to talk any more about Mona Brodin.

  Unexpectedly Torbjörn stood up, staring intently at the squirrel.

  ‘You know something?’ he said hesitantly. ‘He wants to help us. With Mattias.’

  ‘With Mattias?’ Susso repeated. ‘How can he know who Mattias is?’

  She folded her arms across her chest.

  ‘His hearing is excellent,’ Barbro said. ‘I’m fairly convinced that he has been sitting in one of the trees outside, listening to everything we have been saying. He loves doing that. Listening to people in secret.’

  ‘Does he know where Mattias is?’ asked Susso, facing Barbro. Then she turned, directly facing the little animal. ‘Do you know?’ she asked it.

  The squirrel sat motionless, watching her closely with one eye. Its rodent mouth was open and there inside was the tiny tongue, twitching in the darkness behind its teeth.

  ‘Does he know?’ she asked Torbjörn. He thought for a while, then shook his head.

  ‘Well, does he know who has taken him, or what?’ interrupted Gudrun.

  Torbjörn shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  There was a grunt of agreement from Barbro. She was standing up, straightening the thick fabric of her skirt.

  ‘Sometimes he disappears, but he always comes back.’

  ‘So we just sit here and wait?’

  ‘You must take him with you.’

  ‘We have to take him?’ Susso said.

  She looked in astonishment at Barbro.

  ‘That’s the best thing to do.’

  ‘He’ll help us,’ Torbjörn said. ‘He told me he will.’

  ‘He said that?’ Susso asked, giving Torbjörn an angry look.

  ‘Well, not said exactly … I only know that’s what he wants. To help us.’

  Still with her arms folded Susso stared at the squirrel. It was standing up, practically on its toes. It stretched its body, thrust out its puny chest and lifted its nose as high as possible. The animal appeared to be trying to pick up a scent. The fur on its chest and stomach was white.

  ‘All right,’ Gudrun said. ‘But we can’t have it loose in the car. I had a kitten in the car once, when Cecilia was little. You never knew where it was. Sometimes it went under the pedals. It was absolutely lethal, not being able to press the brake pedal. Perhaps you’ve got a box we could put it in?’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to find something,’ Barbro replied.

  ‘Otherwise I can keep him,’ said Torbjörn. ‘Inside my jacket.’

  As soon as he reached out his hand the squirrel raced along his sleeve and up onto his shoulder, where it wrapped itself in its dark tail.

  ‘He won’t be any trouble,’ said Torbjörn, who had turned his head and pulled his shoulder forwards to be able to look at the squirrel. ‘So we won’t be needing a box.’

  Barbro walked over to the table beside the roller blind to pick up the briefcase.

  ‘Take this too,’ she said.

  Susso reached out her arm to take it.

  ‘But what about the pistol?’

  ‘That’s included.’

  Börje had left the kitchen and stamped up the stairs. Seved usually left the table at the same time as Börje, and Signe was probably wondering why he was still sitting there looking at her occasionally.

  ‘What is it?’ she said hoarsely, scratching at the neck of the outsize jumper where it was irritating her.

  Slowly Seved pushed his plate aside. Then he leaned forwards and looked at the boy, who was sitting with his head bowed, lost in his thoughts.

  ‘Mattias?’

  He did not react.

  ‘Mattias?’

  Then he looked up. Signe stared too, and Seved turned to face her.

  ‘And what are you called?’ he asked. ‘Really?’

  She could not answer. She looked terrified.

  ‘Don’t you know what you’re called?’

  ‘Amina, I think.’

  ‘Amina?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And your second name?’

  She did not know.

  ‘Do you know what else you’re called?’ he said, turning to look at the boy. ‘Apart from Mattias?’

  He did.

  ‘Mickelsson.’

  ‘So now we know. Mattias Mickelsson. And Amina …’

  ‘And Jim,’ said the boy.

  With his head still bowed he lifted up his cupped hands to show them the little being. He let it peep over the edge of the tablecloth. A wave of disgust swept through Seved when he saw the wrinkled face, no bigger than a thumbnail. The little creature stared straight back at him with its beady black eyes. It had been given a taste of the boy’s lingonberry jam and its lips were dark red. A couple of its whiskers were stuck together.

  ‘Do you want to go home, Mattias?’ asked Seved.

  He did.

  ‘Then give Jim to me.’

  The boy hesitated. He closed his hands around the thing as if to protect it. Then he slid his elbows across the table and handed the creature to Seved.

  ‘Why don’t we go there?’ Gudrun suggested. ‘To Magnus’s mother?’

  They were sitting in the car, Gudrun and Susso in the front and Torbjörn at the back, holding the squirrel. Susso had the briefcase on her lap. She was silent. The need to discuss everything that had happened, everything they had learned, was threatening to explode inside her, but as long as the squirrel was with them she preferred not to open her mouth. If everything really was true, it meant the animal could understand. She was also disturbed by the
intense affection Torbjörn had shown for the squirrel from the very beginning and which seemed to be growing by the minute.

  ‘Why should we do that?’ she said eventually.

  ‘It’s possible she knows something.’

  Gudrun squeezed the small leather key holder, and as she was considering her answer she zipped and unzipped it time and again.

  ‘Remember how obsessed your dad was with trying to work it out?’ she said. ‘How much time he spent looking for an explanation? And not only has this woman, Mona Brodin, seen the giant, he took her child as well. And that was over twenty years ago. So we can assume she has spent hours searching for answers.’

  ‘In that case she ought to have found my website,’ Susso said.

  Through the windscreen, streaked with dirty grey water, Gudrun looked at Valhallavägen and the cars moving past in a slow stream. Darkness was descending on the city. The street lights were glowing.

  ‘Perhaps it never occurred to her that trolls might be involved,’ she answered. ‘Generally speaking it’s not easy thinking along those lines.’

  Then she glanced at Torbjörn’s reflection in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Don’t you think so, Torbjörn?’

  She had said it loudly and not without a certain sharpness, with the intention of distracting his attention, which was entirely focused on the squirrel. But he appeared not to hear her. It was as if he was in another world.

  ‘So what else would she have been looking for?’ Susso said. ‘Giants?’

  She sounded sarcastic, she could tell, and she sighed.

  ‘Not giants as such,’ said Gudrun, ‘but a giant. An unusually large person, in other words. Just like the Vaikijaur man is an unusually small person.’

  After saying this she turned round and barked:

  ‘Torbjörn!’

  This time he looked up.

  ‘Where does she live then?’ he said quickly.

  ‘Who?’ asked Gudrun.

  ‘Magnus’s mum.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, resting her hands on the steering wheel. ‘We’ll just have to find out. Didn’t Barbro say she lived on one of the Mälaren islands? It can’t be far away.’

  ‘If she’s still there,’ Susso said, leaning back against the headrest.

  ‘Torbjörn,’ Gudrun said, ‘find the number.’

  ‘So we’re going to phone this time?’ asked Susso.

  ‘Yes, I think so. This is different.’

  ‘Three Mona Brodins,’ said Torbjörn after a while. ‘One in Askim, one in Sundbyberg and one in Svartsjö.’

  ‘Askim is to the south,’ Gudrun said. ‘Did you say Svartsjö?’

  ‘Svartsjö, yes. It’s got a Stockholm code.’

  ‘Then that’s probably the one.’

  ‘You can ring,’ Susso said.

  ‘It’s so close,’ Gudrun said, moving the gear lever to check it was in neutral. ‘We might as well go there.’

  Its eyes shone like small peppercorns and its mouth was wide open, giving the little face a nervously curious look. Did the creature know what to expect? Seved felt the occasional movement of the tail against his hand. It was like being stroked, and there was something almost beseeching about it.

  He tried to summon up the liberating feeling of disgust that had filled him when he had stamped that evil creature in the sleeping bag to death, but he did not succeed and for a few seconds he almost let the thing go. He opened his fingers slowly, thinking how tiny it looked. But then he checked himself and squeezed his hand shut again. The very fact that he felt that way could only mean that the thing had wormed its way into his consciousness to weaken him.

  Shocked by this realisation, Seved walked over to the sink. He had to do it straight away. He scraped out the strands of spaghetti forming a slippery border around the plughole, pushed in the plug and turned on the tap. While the sink was filling with water he glanced at the creature. It was looking in curiosity at the running water. He turned off the tap. It had to be done faster. If the being possessed even a fraction of the persuasive power the other one had shown, it would probably resist in a way he could never imagine. And the smallest ones could be dangerous if they were caught in a tight situation. On one occasion Ejvor had been almost blinded in one eye after sitting on a mouseshifter that was sleeping underneath a cushion on the sofa. Her sight returned after a week or so but she had blurred vision in that eye for the rest of her life.

  He considered hurling the thing onto the stone slab in front of the stove. It was so tempting that he actually walked over there and lifted his hand, but there was no certainty it would die or even be knocked unconscious, giving him the opportunity to stamp it to death. Especially if he missed the stone slab, which he might well do if he threw it as hard as he could.

  He had no idea how much the little thing suspected, so he dared not loosen his grip and change hands because then it might seize its chance and wriggle free. Neither did he want to squeeze it to death in his hand. That would be messy and take too long.

  It had to happen quickly. Without warning.

  He pushed a chair aside and crouched down beside the kitchen table, pretending to look for something on the floor. When the creature began to show an interest in what he was doing, he slammed its protruding head against the underside of the table with all his strength. A glass fell over and there was a clatter as the cutlery jumped on the plates.

  The little body seemed to crumple up in his hand. The blow had pushed it down and only a greyish-brown flap showed above his clenched fist. He saw no signs of life so he opened his hand a little. Immediately there was a jerking movement, and Seved wrapped his left hand around his right to tighten his hold.

  He had not hit it hard enough, but the thing had probably made itself smaller. It had turned into a forest mouse, and he stared it straight in the eyes.

  At least now they understood each other.

  There was no going back. If the mouse slipped out of his grasp, he would never catch it and it would be only a matter of time before Skabram came lumbering across the yard. There were plenty of places where the mouse could hide in the cracks between the skirting board and the cork flooring, and around the stove, so it was pointless shutting the door to the hall. But he did anyway.

  There was a knife in the sink, so he picked it up. It had a serrated edge and a black plastic handle. He was pretty sure the little being could no longer influence him. Generally forest shifters lost their persuasive powers when they shifted shape into animals. Still, he wanted it done as soon as possible.

  A high-pitched wail escaped from its mouth as Seved pressed the mouse’s head against the edge of the draining board, and one paw with outspread claws scratched desperately at the zinc surface. He raised the knife, but he could not use it. He could not bring himself to do it.

  The boiler room. He would have to go down to the boiler room. Why had he not thought of that earlier?

  His footsteps echoing with determination, Seved went into the hall and put on his boots. Then he ran outside and down the snow-covered concrete stairs to the cellar. When he pushed open the door he could hear the boiler burning at full force. Börje must have loaded more logs into it a short while ago. The ceiling was low, so he walked with his head bent towards the heat of the boiler.

  He opened the iron lid and raised his hand to drop the mouse into the fire. He was not entirely sure what happened next. He threw, he knew that, but somehow the mouse did not leave his hand. Instead it shot up his sleeve and from there jumped down to the floor. In his haste to get the killing over with as quickly as possible Seved had not bothered to close the cellar door behind him, and he watched as the little creature ran over the high threshold and was gone.

  Susso had pulled out the yellowing newspaper articles and spread them over the envelope to get them in order.

  Gudrun gave her a quick glance.

  ‘The fact that the squirrel exists and is sitting here in our car after all these years suggests that what Esther told
Sven was true. It doesn’t prove it but it suggests it. Doesn’t it? In which case there is no reason to doubt Magnus’s mother when she says a giant came out of the forest and took her child.’

  ‘I want to know what happened to the Vaikijaur man,’ Susso said. ‘I mean, that’s why we came down here. It was for Mattias’s sake. I don’t actually care about Magnus. That was twenty-five years ago.’

  ‘But it could be the same kidnapper.’

  Susso sighed and pulled off her hat.

  ‘Are you sure Dahllöf’s daughter doesn’t know something else? Something she’s not telling us?’

  ‘Pretty sure.’

  ‘But he can’t have just disappeared!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Susso thumped her thigh with the side of her hand.

  ‘Where did he go after he ran out onto Björkudden?’

  ‘I don’t know. But perhaps the squirrel does. Or Mona?’

  *

  They had driven out of the city. The sky had sunk lower and sleet was striking the windscreen. In the ditches framing the farmland, rushes had sprung up in tight clumps and Susso thought it was weird seeing rushes growing like that in the middle of a field. She looked down at the mosaic of newspaper articles on her lap but had little desire to read them, and soon her eyes returned to the window. A feeling of nausea was building up inside her.

  ‘Phone Cecilia again,’ Gudrun said, pressing one nostril closed with a knuckle and blowing air out of the other one.

  ‘I’m sure she’s all right,’ Susso said weakly.

  ‘But why doesn’t she answer then?’

  ‘There are probably lots of customers. Maybe she hasn’t got time.’

  ‘She always answers her mobile.’

  ‘Can you stop for a minute …’

  Gudrun glanced at her and then took a second look. Immediately she slowed down and swung into a lay-by.

  Susso gathered together the cuttings, pushed the envelope behind the briefcase, opened the door and climbed out. She filled her lungs with fresh, damp air. They had just driven across a bridge. There was open country on all sides and the pine forest was keeping its distance like a dark, watchful army. In the withered and flattened grass on the roadside lay a cracked hubcap, and an angelica plant looking like a charred spire had snared a plastic bag that was rustling in the wind.