What she had liked and still appreciated was the straightforward approach to sorrow, to death. In the Moomin books it had been called Mårran, in the Bruno books it was the Waterman who posed a constant threat lurking in the river. He was death by drowning, he was the force that swept Bruno’s house away, the destroyer.
After she had read part of the book she started to cry. Because there would never be another book about Bruno the Beaver. Because he had died with his creator. Because the Waterman had finally got him.
She cried and couldn’t stop. Stroked the book and Bruno’s shiny fur and whispered, ‘Poor little Bruno…’
Koholma 17.00
Mahler drove through the seaside village, his car fully loaded, on his way home. The holiday season was over and there were few people in the cottages. By the weekend there would be even fewer.
The closest neighbour, Aronsson, was standing by the road watering his climbing plants. Mahler suppressed a grimace when Aronsson spotted him, waved him over. He couldn’t wilfully ignore him. So he stopped and rolled down the window. Aronsson came up to the car. He was in his seventies, thin and bony and with a denim fisherman’s hat on his head. It said Black & Decker.
‘Hello, Gustav. So you’re out here at last.’
‘Yes,’ Mahler said and pointed at the watering can in Aronsson’s hand. ‘Is that necessary do you think?’
Aronsson glanced at the sky where the clouds were piling up and shrugged. ‘It’s become a habit.’
Aronsson was protective of his creepers. Thick, luxuriant strands wound their way around the metal archway that framed the entrance to his property. A wrought iron sign at the top of the frame announced ‘THE PEACE GROVE.’ After his retirement, Aronsson had made his summer cottage into the tidiest Swedish paradise that could be imagined. There was currently water rationing but to judge from the greenery within the archway, Aronsson had paid no attention to that.
‘You know,’ Aronsson said. ‘I took some of your strawberries. I hope you don’t mind. The deer were after them.’
Mahler said, ‘No. It’s good they didn’t go to waste,’ even though he would rather the deer ate his strawberries than Aronsson.
Aronsson smacked his lips. ‘You got some nice berries. That was before the drought, of course. By the way, I read what you wrote. Do you really think that, or was it just for…well, you know.’
Mahler shook his head. ‘How do you mean?’
Aronsson immediately back-pedalled. ‘No, I just meant…that it was well-written. It’s been a while now, hasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
Mahler had been letting the engine idle. Now he turned his face back to the road to demonstrate that he needed to get going, but Aronsson took no notice.
‘And now you’re out here and you have your daughter with you.’
Mahler nodded. Aronsson had a frightening grasp of everything that went on. He remembered names, dates, events; kept track of what everyone in the vacation village was up to. If a Koholma newsletter ever started up, Aronsson would be a shoo-in for editor.
Aronsson looked in the direction of Mahler’s house; it lay beyond the bend and—thank God—could not be seen from here.
‘And the little one? Elias. Is he…?’
‘He’s with his father.’
‘I see. I see. That’s how it is. Back and forth. So it’s only you and the girl, then. That’s nice.’ Aronsson glanced into the back seat, which was filled with bags from the Flygfyren in Norrtälje. ‘Are you staying long?’
‘We’ll see. You know what, I have to…’
‘I understand.’ Aronsson jerked his head in the direction of the road behind them, adopting a pitying tone. ‘The Siwerts have cancer, did you hear that? Both of them. Got the diagnoses only a month apart. That’s how it is sometimes.’
‘Yes. I’ve got to…’ Mahler touched the accelerator even though he was idling and Aronsson took a step away from the car.
‘Of course,’ Aronsson said. ‘Home to the girl. Maybe I’ll look in on you one day.’
Mahler could not immediately think of a plausible reason to say no, so he nodded and drove home.
Aronsson. Somehow he had managed to forget that there were other people in the area. He had only seen the cottage, the forest, the sea. Not long noses that liked to poke in where they’d no business.
Who called the police as soon as an unknown car was parked a little too long in the area? Aronsson. Who had tipped off social security that Olle Stark, who was on disability, was working in the forest? No one knew. Everyone knew. Aronsson.
And what had he meant by that, do you really think that?
They would have to be careful. Damn it. Aronsson was a self-righteous old bugger; why couldn’t anyone get it together to burn his house down, preferably when he was asleep inside it?
Mahler clenched his teeth. As if they didn’t have enough problems.
He got out of the car and started to unload irritably. When a handle on one of the paper bags broke and a couple of kilos of fruit and vegetables tumbled out he just wanted to swear and kick it all to hell. He managed to control himself—because of Aronsson, which just made him even angrier.
He walked toward the house with the bag in his arms and could not help sneaking a glance over his shoulder, checked to make sure Aronsson was not peeking from up at the bend. He wasn’t.
Mahler put the bag down on the kitchen table and called out ‘Hello?’ When no one answered, he went into the bedroom.
Elias was lying as he had left him, but now his hands were up on his chest. Mahler swallowed. Would he ever get used to him looking like this?
Next to the bed, on the floor, was Anna. She was lying like a dead person, wide eyes staring at the ceiling.
‘Anna?’
Without lifting her head, she answered in a weak voice, ‘Yes?’
A baby bottle was lying beside Elias’ head. A little bit of liquid had spilled out onto the sheet. Mahler picked it up and placed it on the bedside table.
‘What is it?’
The feeling of irritation was still there. It had been a lesser form of hell to run around Norrtälje in the oppressive heat, dutifully fetching and carrying. He had hoped to come home to a little peace and quiet. But now there was something new. Anna did not answer. He wanted to poke at her with his foot, but restrained himself.
‘Come on, what is it?’
Anna’s eyes were swollen, red. Her voice was only a whisper through layers of old tears. ‘He’s alive…’
‘Yes. I know.’ Mahler picked up the baby bottle, shook it. There was a pinch of undissolved sugar at the bottom. ‘Have you given him this?’
Anna nodded mutely. ‘He drank.’
‘Yes, well, that’s wonderful.’
‘He sucked.’
‘Yes.’
Mahler knew he should be more enthusiastic about this news than he could manage; his head was a daze of sleep deprivation, exhaustion and heat.
‘Can you help me unload the rest?’
Anna lifted her head and looked at him. For a long time. Regarded him as if he were a creature from another planet that she was trying to understand. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and said, annoyed, ‘I have frozen food that will melt if we don’t…’
‘I’ll get it,’ Anna said and stood up. ‘I’ll unpack. The frozen stuff.’
There was something that needed to be said at this point. Something had gone wrong. He did not have the energy to think. When Anna went to the car he locked himself in his room and lay down on the bed. Distractedly he noted that the room had been cleaned while he was gone. Only the tangles of cobwebs in the cornices betrayed the fact that no one had lived here for a while. In a daze he heard Anna come in, the rustle of paper bags as she put things away in the kitchen.
The larger bag says it all…
He wasn’t sleeping, but his body sank slowly down to the point where he jerked, a click and he opened his eyes, feeling much more alert than he had all day. He lay in bed for a
while, enjoying the fact that he no longer felt as if he had sand under his eyelids. Then he got up and went out into the kitchen.
Anna was sitting at the kitchen table reading one of the books he had checked out of the library.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘What are you reading?’
Anna showed him the cover: Autism and Play, then returned to her reading.
He hesitated for an instant, then walked into the bedroom and stopped short. Elias was lying in bed with a baby bottle that he was holding by himself. Mahler blinked, walked closer.
It was probably only his imagination, sparked by the fact that Elias was doing something that any child could do, but he thought Elias’ face looked slightly…more healthy. Not as stiff and hard, not as old man-like. As if a smidgen of light and relief had spread across the dry skin.
The eyes were still closed and with the bottle in his mouth it looked more as if he was…savouring it. Mahler sank to his knees by the bed.
‘Elias?’
No answer, not a single movement that indicated that Elias saw or heard. But his lips were moving in a barely perceptible sucking motion and his throat was swallowing. Mahler reached out his hand and gently touched the curly hair. It was soft and smooth under his hand.
Anna had put the book down and was looking out the window on the wall of pine trees and the lone, tall ash tree where the sketch of a tree house—some planks and boards—was attached between the branches. She and Elias had started to build it last summer; Mahler was not one to climb up ladders.
Mahler stopped behind her and said, ‘Fantastic.’
‘What? The treehouse?’
‘No. The fact that he’s drinking. By himself.’
‘Yes.’
Mahler took a deep breath, and let it out again. Then said, ‘Forgive me.’
‘For what?’
‘Because I…I don’t know. For everything.’
Anna shook her head.
‘It is what it is.’
‘Yes. Would you like some whisky?’
‘Yes.’ Mahler poured a little in two glasses, then put them on the table. He raised his to Anna and said, ‘Truce? For now?’
‘Truce. For now.’
When they had each swallowed a sip, they sighed at the exact same time which made both of them smile. Anna told him how she had massaged Elias’ hands and fingers for a long time until they felt softer, how she had then put the bottle in his hands.
Mahler told her about Aronsson, that they had to be careful, and Anna made a terrible face, mimicking Aronsson’s inquisitorial expression.
Mahler picked up the book that Anna had been reading, asked, ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s good. But this whole…training routine that they describe, it’s for…’ Anna’s voice faltered, ‘for healthier children.’ She covered her face in her hands. ‘He’s in such a bad way.’ The air pushed out of her lungs in a convulsive exhalation.
Mahler stood up, came up next to her and held her shoulder and head against his stomach. She let him. He stroked her hair and whispered, ‘It will be fine…It will be fine…just look at what happened today.’ She pressed her head against him and he said, ‘We have to have hope.’
Anna nodded against his stomach.
‘I do. And that’s what’s so terribly fucking painful.’
Suddenly she jerked away, wiped her eyes and got up, said, ‘Come on.’
Mahler followed her into the bedroom. They sank down onto Elias’ bed next to each other. Anna said, ‘Hi sweetie. Now both of us are here.’ She turned to Mahler. ‘Dad. Look at his face. Tell me if I’m crazy.’
Mahler looked. Whatever it was he had seen when Elias was holding the bottle was gone. His face was closed, lifeless. His heart sank. Anna turned down the sheet. Mahler saw that she had dressed him in a pair of his old pyjamas that had been left at the cottage and that only reached to his knees.
Anna placed the index and middle fingers of one hand on Elias’ thigh. Then she started to walk her fingers up toward his belly while she sang:
A mouse is coming…it crawls and walks…
She walked her fingers across his hip.
It crawls and walks…and suddenly it says…
She poked Elias’ bellybutton.
PEEP!
And Mahler saw. Only a suggestion, like a faint twitch. But it was there. Elias smiled.
Täby Municipality 18.00
Hagar patted her right knee.
‘We’ll have rain, I think. I’ve felt it in this old knee all afternoon.’
Elvy leaned against the window and looked out. Yes. She didn’t need a psychic knee to know something was coming. The cloud masses were close enough to block the sun and turn the afternoon to evening. The air was loaded with static. To Elvy it could only mean one thing. She rinsed out the empty tea cups and said out loud, ‘We have to go out this evening.’
Hagar nodded in agreement. She was prepared. Over the telephone Elvy had told her to wear something decent, in case it turned out that they needed to get started on their task immediately.
The dark blue silk dress with tiny stars that Hagar had chosen was perhaps a little showy for Elvy’s taste, but Hagar had said it was a ‘momentous occasion’ and she could hardly argue with that.
Hagar had no doubts. When Elvy told her about the vision, she chuckled with delight and congratulated her. That Mary would show herself at the End of Days wasn’t unexpected; that it was be Elvy to whom she’d shown herself just meant Elvy was enormously lucky, but then people you’d never heard of won millions in the lottery, so…
Truth be told, Elvy was not completely pleased with how lightly Hagar was treating the whole thing. Putting on her party frock, then making this comparison with the lottery.
The encounter with Mary had been a profound shock for Elvy, probably the biggest thing that had ever happened to her. But Hagar only looked at the wound in her forehead, clapped her hands together and said, ‘How marvellous! How wonderful!’ Elvy nursed a suspicion that Hagar would have reacted similarly if she said she had been abducted by aliens. It was as if Hagar was overjoyed that something was happening, regardless of what it was.
Hagar had been married three times. Since her last husband, Rune, died ten years ago Hagar had done nothing but attend seminars and meetings. For the past three years she had had a relationship with a man her own age, but hadn’t moved in with him. They had simply had their little ‘tête-à-têtes’ as Hagar put it. She had ended it when the man started to get senile.
A flighty woman, then; completely different from Elvy. And still they were best friends. Why? Well, for starters she had the same sense of humour. That could get you a long way. And in addition she was educated and still lucid, which was not true of all of Elvy’s old friends. And even if they had different opinions most of the time, they understood each other.
But Elvy could not view this matter of Mary with the same levity as Hagar. Did not want to. This was serious. Hopefully Hagar would understand that.
Hagar rubbed her knee, making a face.
‘How should we start? You never become a prophet in your own country, you know. Maybe we’ll have to go somewhere else with our prophecies.’
Elvy sat down on the other side of the table, pinning Hagar with a look. Hagar’s gaze started to flit about. ‘What is it?’
‘Now Hagar, you have to understand…’ Elvy rapped her knuckles on the table for emphasis, ‘We are not starting a three-ring circus. You may think this is exciting, like winning the lottery or something. But if you want to be part of this you have to understand…’
Elvy brushed the band-aid on her forehead. The wound had started to itch. She went on, ‘what this is about. The Virgin Mary, Holy Mother of God, has personally told me that I should bring people to her. Do you understand what that entails?’
Hagar mumbled, ‘That they should believe.’
‘Precisely. We are not to get them to grow beards or give away their possessions or anything else. We must give the
m faith, through the power of our own convictions. And now I ask you, Hagar…’ Elvy was almost scaring herself with the tone of her own voice, but went on nevertheless, ‘do you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ?’
Hagar squirmed on the chair, looking shyly up at Elvy like a pupil reprimanded by the teacher and said, ‘You know I do.’
‘No!’ Elvy’s index finger shot up in the air. She always spoke more loudly when she was talking to Hagar, but now her voice rose even further. It was as if she was possessed. ‘No, Hagar! I ask you: do you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, God’s only son?’
‘Yes!’ Hagar made fists. ‘I believe in Jesus Christ, God’s only begotten son, who suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, who ascended into heaven and on the third day rose again, yes! I do!’
Whatever had come over Elvy receded. She smiled.
‘Good. Then you are accepted.’
Hagar slowly shook her head. ‘Goodness, Elvy. What is going on with you?’
Elvy had no answer.
The sky had grown darker, lying like a lid across the earth, when they ventured out. They both had their umbrellas. Hagar complained that it wasn’t just a twinge in her knee, it was really hurting. It was going to be one heck of a storm.
But there was no rain yet. The birds sat silent in the trees, the people were inside their houses, waiting. The air pressure made the blood rise to the head in an intoxicating rush. Elvy was happy. It would probably be this very night. Maybe she was only one of many who had been called. She would perform her allotted task.
They started next door at the Söderlunds’. Elvy knew that the man was a mid-level manager at Pharmacia, the woman a librarian who had taken early retirement. They had lived in the area for a long time but Elvy had never had close contact with them.
Handling the Undead Page 17
