‘I tried . . . couldn’t get . . . hold of . . .’ groaned Johanna, but couldn’t go on until the contraction diminished. Then she slowly hauled herself to her feet by holding on to the handle on the nearby wardrobe. She clutched at her stomach, staring panic-stricken at Bertil.
‘Don’t you think I’ve tried to phone them? Nobody is answering! How hard could it be to . . . Oh shit . . .’ Her curses were cut off by another contraction, and she dropped to her knees, breathing hard. ‘Drive me to . . . the hospital,’ she told Mellberg, pointing to a set of car keys lying on the bureau. He stared at them as if they might be transformed into a hissing snake at any moment, but then he saw his hand reach in slow motion for the keys. Without knowing how he did it, he found himself more or less carrying and dragging Johanna out to the car, and then shoving her on to the back seat. Ernst had to stay behind in the flat. Stomping down on the accelerator, Mellberg drove towards NÄL, the Norra Älvsborg County Hospital. He felt panic seize hold of him as Johanna started panting harder, and the drive from Vänersborg to Trollhättan seemed endless. But finally he was driving up to the entrance of the maternity ward, where he stopped and pulled Johanna out of the car. Her eyes were filled with terror as she followed him inside.
‘She’s going to have a baby,’ said Mellberg to the nurse behind the glass window. She glanced at Johanna, her expression showing that she thought his words were hardly necessary.
‘Come with me,’ she told them peremptorily, showing them to a nearby room.
‘I guess I’ll be . . . leaving now,’ said Mellberg nervously, when Johanna was told to start by taking off her trousers. But she grabbed his arm just as he was about to flee and hissed in a low voice as another contraction overtook her:
‘You’re not going . . . anywhere. I have no intention of . . . doing this . . . alone.’
‘But . . .’ Mellberg started to protest. Then he realized that he didn’t have the heart to leave her there all alone. With a sigh, he sank on to a chair and tried to look in a different direction as Johanna was examined.
‘Dilated seven centimetres,’ said the midwife, glancing at Mellberg, whom she assumed would want this information. He nodded, although he silently wondered what that could mean. Was it good? Bad? How many centimetres were required? And with growing amazement, he realized that he was bound to find out, along with a good deal of other facts, before this whole thing was over.
He took his mobile out of his pocket and again punched in Paula’s number. But he got only her voicemail. The same thing with Rita. What was wrong with them? Why didn’t they have their phones with them, since they knew that Johanna could give birth at any moment? Mellberg put his mobile back in his pocket and began pondering whether he could slip out unnoticed.
Two hours later, he was still there. They had been taken to a birthing room, and he was being kept firmly in place by Johanna, who had an iron grip on his hand. He couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. He had learned that those seven centimetres needed to be ten, but the last three seemed to be taking their time. Johanna was making good use of the nitrous oxide mask, and Mellberg almost wished he could try it himself.
‘I can’t take it any more,’ said Johanna, her eyes glazed from the gas. Her sweaty hair was plastered to her forehead, and Mellberg reached for a towel and wiped her brow.
‘Thanks,’ she said, looking at him with an expression that made him forget any thought of leaving.
Mellberg couldn’t help being fascinated by what was playing out right before his eyes. He had always known that giving birth was a painful process, but he had never witnessed what herculean efforts were required, and for the first time in his life, he felt a deep respect for the female sex. He could never have done it – that was one thing he knew for sure.
‘Try to . . . phone them again,’ said Johanna, breathing in nitrous oxide as the machine hooked up to her abdomen indicated that a major contraction was about to start.
Mellberg pulled loose his hand and again punched in the two numbers that he had been calling continuously the last few hours. Still nobody answered, and he sadly shook his head as he looked at Johanna.
‘Where the hell . . .’ she said, but then was overcome by the next contraction, and her words turned to moans.
‘Are you sure you don’t want that . . . pedisural, or whatever it was she asked you about?’ said Mellberg nervously, wiping more sweat from Johanna’s forehead.
‘No. I’m so close now . . . It might slow down . . . And by the way, it’s called an epidural.’ She began moaning again, arching her back.
The midwife came into the room to see how dilated Johanna was, and announced, ‘She’s all the way open now.’ She sounded pleased. ‘Do you hear that, Johanna? Good work. Ten centimetres. You’ll be able to push soon. You’re doing great. Your baby will be here very soon.’
Mellberg took Johanna’s hand and squeezed it. He had a strange feeling in his chest. The closest word he could find to describe it was ‘pride’. He was proud that the midwife had praised Johanna, that they had been working together, and that the baby would soon be here.
‘How long will the pushing take?’ he asked the midwife, and she patiently answered his question. No one had asked about his relationship to Johanna, so he assumed that they thought he was the father, albeit a rather old one. And he didn’t bother to disabuse them.
‘It varies,’ said the midwife, ‘but my guess is that we’ll have the baby here within half an hour.’ And she smiled encouragement at Johanna, who was resting for a few seconds between contractions. Then she contorted her face and tensed her body again.
‘It feels different now,’ she said between clenched teeth, reaching once more for the nitrous oxide.
‘It’s the bearing-down pains. Wait until you get a really strong one. I’ll help you. And when I tell you to push, draw up your knees and press your chin to your chest, and then bear down with all your might.’
Johanna nodded listlessly and squeezed Mellberg’s hand again. He squeezed back and then they both looked at the midwife, waiting tensely for further orders.
After a few seconds, Johanna began to pant. She cast an enquiring glance at the midwife.
‘Wait, wait, wait . . . not yet . . . wait until it’s really strong . . . Okay, NOW!’
Johanna did as she was told, pressing her chin to her chest, drawing up her knees, and then bearing down until she was bright red in the face and the pain subsided.
‘Good! Good job! You did great! Now let’s wait for the next one, and before you know it, it’ll be over.’
The midwife was right. Two contractions later, the baby slid out and was immediately placed on Johanna’s stomach. Mellberg stared with fascination. In theory, he knew how babies were born, but seeing it first-hand was . . . To think that a child actually came out, waving arms and legs and crying in protest, before starting to root around on Johanna’s breast.
‘Let’s help out your little boy. He’s trying to nurse,’ said the midwife kindly, helping Johanna so the infant found her breast and began to suckle.
‘Congratulations,’ said the midwife to both of them, and Mellberg felt himself beaming like the sun. He had never experienced anything like this before. He certainly hadn’t.
A short time later the baby was done nursing and the midwife cleaned him up and wrapped him in a blanket. Johanna sat up in bed with a pillow behind her back and looked at her son with adoring eyes. Then she glanced at Mellberg and said in a low voice:
‘Thank you. I could never have done it on my own.’
All Mellberg could manage was a nod. He felt a big lump in his throat that stopped him from speaking, and he kept on swallowing, trying to make it disappear.
‘Would you like to hold him?’ asked Johanna.
Again, Mellberg could only nod. Nervously he held out his arms, and Johanna carefully handed him her son, making sure that he supported the baby’s head properly. It was a strange feeling to hold that warm, new little body in his arms. He looked down a
t the tiny face and felt the lump in his throat getting bigger. And when he looked into the boy’s eyes, he knew one thing. From that moment forward, he was hopelessly, helplessly in love.
Chapter 48
Fjällbacka 1945
Hans smiled to himself. Maybe he shouldn’t be doing that, but he couldn’t help it. Of course it was going to be difficult for them in the beginning. There’d be people who would voice their opinions and no doubt there would be talk about sinning before God and other admonitions in that vein. But after the worst had passed, they would be able to build a life together. He and Elsy and their child. How could he feel anything but joy at the prospect?
Yet the smile on his lips faded as he thought about what lay ahead of him. It was not going to be an easy task. Part of him just wanted to forget all about what had happened in the past, stay here and pretend that he’d never had any other life. That part of him wanted to believe that he’d been born anew, like a blank slate, on the day when he stowed away on the boat belonging to Elsy’s father.
But the war was over now, and that changed everything. He couldn’t move forward until he had first gone back. It was mostly for his mother’s sake. He felt compelled to find out whether she was all right, and he wanted her to know that he was alive and had found a new home.
Hans reached for a suitcase and began packing enough clothes for a few days. A week at most. He had no intention of being gone any longer than that. He really didn’t want to be away from Elsy. She had become such a vital part of him that he couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from her. He just needed to make this trip, and then they would be together for ever. Every night they would go to bed together, and every morning they would wake up in each other’s arms, without shame and without having to keep their love a secret. He had meant what he’d said about applying to the authorities for permission to wed. Then they could marry before the child was born. He wondered whether it would be a boy or a girl. He smiled again as he stood there, folding up his belongings. A little girl with Elsy’s gentle smile. Or a little boy with his curly blond hair. It really didn’t matter. He would happily take whatever God chose to give them.
Something hard wrapped in a piece of cloth fell out when he took a shirt from a bureau drawer. It clanged as it struck the floor, and Hans quickly bent down to pick it up. He sank down on the bed as he studied the object in his hand. It was the Iron Cross that his father had received in recognition of his services during the first year of the war. Hans stared at it. He had stolen the medal from his father, brought it along as a reminder of what he had fled when he left Norway. It was also a form of insurance in case the Germans had caught him before he managed to escape to Sweden. He should have got rid of the medal long ago, he knew that. If anybody poked around in his belongings and found it, his secret might be revealed. But he needed it. He needed it as a reminder.
He had felt no regret at leaving his father behind. If Hans had had his way, he would never have anything more to do with that man. Reinhardt Wolf stood for all that was wrong with the human race, and Hans was ashamed that at one time in his life he had been too weak to confront his father. Memories raced through his mind. Cruel, ruthless images of deeds carried out by a person with whom he no longer had anything in common. A weak person, someone who had bowed to his father’s will but who in the end had succeeded in tearing himself away. Hans squeezed the medal so hard that the sharp edges cut into his hand. He wasn’t going back to see his father; presumably fate had finally caught up with him, and he had been given the punishment that he deserved. But Hans did need to see his mother. She didn’t deserve to suffer with all the worry that she must be feeling. She’d had no way of knowing whether her son was alive or dead. He wanted a chance to talk to her, show her that he was well, and tell her about Elsy and the baby. And in time he might even be able to persuade her to come to Sweden and live with them. He didn’t think Elsy would have any objections. One of the things he loved about her was that she had a good heart. He thought Elsy and his mother would get along fine.
Hans got up from the bed. After hesitating for a moment, he put the medal back in the drawer. It could stay there until he returned, as a reminder of the person he never wanted to be again. A reminder that he would never again be a weak and cowardly boy. Now, because of Elsy and the baby, it was time to be a man.
He closed the suitcase and looked around the room where he had experienced so much happiness during the past year. His train left in a couple of hours. There was just one more thing he needed to do before leaving. One person he had to talk to. He left the room and closed the door behind him. He had a sudden fateful premonition as he heard the door close. A feeling that something was not going to go well. Then he shook off the feeling and left. He’d be back again in a week.
Chapter 49
Erica had insisted on driving alone to Göteborg, even though Patrik had offered to go with her. This was something that she needed to do on her own.
She stood at the door for a moment, trying to make herself lift her hand to ring the bell. Finally she couldn’t put it off any longer.
Märta looked at Erica in surprise when she opened the door, but then stepped aside to let her come in.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ said Erica, feeling her throat go dry all of a sudden. ‘I should have phoned ahead, but . . .’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that.’ Märta smiled kindly. ‘At my age, I’m just grateful for some company, so this is very nice. Come in, come in.’
Erica followed her down the hall to the living room, where they both sat down. She wondered, panic-stricken, how to begin, but Märta spoke first.
‘Have you made any progress in the murder investigation?’ she asked. ‘I’m sorry that we couldn’t be of more help when you were here last time, but as I said, I really knew nothing about our finances.’
‘I know what the money was for. Or rather, who it was for,’ said Erica. Her heart was thumping in her chest.
Märta gave her a puzzled look but didn’t seem to know what she meant.
With her eyes fixed on the old woman, Erica said gently: ‘In November 1945, my mother gave birth to a son who was immediately put up for adoption. She gave birth at the home of her aunt, in Borlänge. I think the man who was murdered, Erik Frankel, made the payments to your husband on behalf of that child.’
It was utterly silent in the living room. Then Märta looked away. Erica saw that her hands were shaking.
‘I thought as much. But Wilhelm never said anything to me about it, and . . . well, part of me didn’t want to know. He has always been our son, mine and Wilhelm’s, and we never loved him any less just because I hadn’t given birth to him myself. We’d wanted a child for such a long time, tried for so long, and . . . well, Göran arrived like a gift from Heaven.’
‘Does he know that . . .?’
‘That he’s adopted? Yes, we’ve never hidden that fact from him. But to be honest, I don’t think he’s ever given it much thought. We were his parents, his family. We did talk about it on occasion, Wilhelm and I, about how we might feel if Göran wanted to find out more about his . . . biological parents. But we always told ourselves that we’d cross that bridge when we came to it. And Göran never seemed to want to find out about them, so we let it be.’
‘I like him,’ said Erica impulsively, trying to get used to the idea that the man she had met here last time was actually her brother. Hers and Anna’s, she corrected herself.
‘He liked you too,’ said Märta, her face lighting up. ‘And part of me reacted subconsciously to the fact that you do look a bit alike. There’s something about your eyes . . . I’m not really sure, but you have similar features.’
‘How do you think he would react if . . .’ Erica didn’t dare finish her question.
‘Considering how much he always talked about having siblings when he was a child, I think he would welcome a little sister with open arms.’ Märta smiled and seemed to have already recovered from the initial shock.
‘Two sisters,’ Erica said. ‘I have a younger sister named Anna.’
‘Two sisters,’ repeated Märta, shaking her head. ‘How about that? Life never ceases to amaze me. Even at my age.’ Then she turned serious. ‘Would you mind telling me something about your mother . . . his mother?’ She gave Erica a searching look.
‘I’d be happy to tell you about her,’ said Erica, and then she recounted the story about Elsy and how she came to give up her son for adoption. She talked for a long time, for more than an hour, trying to do justice to her mother and her situation as she talked to this woman who had loved and brought up the son that Elsy had been forced to give away.
When the front door opened and a cheerful voice called from the hall, they both jumped.
‘Hi, Mamma. Do you have visitors?’ Footsteps approached the living room.
Erica looked at Märta, who nodded to give her consent. The time for secrets was over.
Four hours had passed and Paula and Martin were starting to despair. They felt like a pair of moles, trapped in the pitch-dark, though their eyes had now grown sufficiently accustomed to the gloom that they were able to distinguish the contours of the room.
‘This really isn’t how I imagined things would go,’ said Paula, sighing. ‘Do you think they’ll send out a search party soon?’ she joked, although she couldn’t help sighing again.
Martin was busy rubbing his shoulder, which was throbbing after several attempts to break down the door. He was going to have some serious bruises to show for this.
‘He must be long gone by now,’ said Paula, feeling frustration well up inside her.
‘There’s a good chance you’re right,’ Martin agreed, which only made her feel even more frustrated.
‘He certainly has a lot of creepy souvenirs down here.’ Paula squinted, trying to make out the outlines of some of the things that filled the shelves in the basement room.
The Hidden Child Page 45
