The Forbidden Place

by Susanne Jansson

The walls were covered in paintings and posters advertising exhibitions and lectures. One corner was full of half-finished sculptures in twisted positions, waiting for someone to have mercy on them.

  Ellen’s curly hair was in a big bun on top of her head, and her eyes were circled by a thin stripe of black eyeliner.

  “Hi there,” Maya greeted Ellen and her colleague.

  “Hi, Maya.”

  Ellen finished her conversation and turned to Maya.

  “Should we head over right away? I’m hungry.”

  “Yes, Vanja and the others are already at the bistro.”

  The path through the old industrial area ran from the gravel entry where the workers had once passed through the gates up to the factories with a chimney pointing at the sky. Here and there small groups of people stood, chatting in various languages; the colorful lanterns in the café’s outdoor seating area swayed lazily in the autumn breeze. The notes of a bossa nova floated from an open window.

  “I heard you were up at the mire again,” Ellen said.

  “Yes, I know rumors have been going around the school. Actually, I’m the one who found the body.”

  “Are you serious?” Ellen stopped and stared at Maya. “Jesus, that’s creepy. What do they know about it? Or are you bound by confidentiality?”

  “Yeah, there’s not much I can tell you. On the other hand, there’s also not much I know.”

  “Naturally, like I said, our students are feeling pretty spooked. All kinds of rumors are running rampant.”

  “Understandable,” said Maya.

  Once a month there was a concert in the bistro, and as always it was a full house. Lots of people came from Åmål, Säffle, Mellerud and other nearby towns.

  Maya and Ellen took a seat at a table already occupied by Vanja and one of her friends. Daniel Lemma would take the stage in an hour.

  Maya and Ellen each ordered a glass of red wine and a sourdough pizza with pesto and prosciutto. The others had eaten already and ordered espresso and cognac instead.

  “We’re talking about the place where we ended up,” Vanja said.

  “The place?” Maya asked.

  “This place. Fengerskog.”

  “Well, don’t blame me,” Maya said. “It’s all Ellen’s fault. I just do as she says, and she said move here.”

  “Things are definitely a little unsettled at the moment,” Ellen said, “but it’s not because there’s anything wrong with Fengerskog.”

  “That wasn’t exactly what we were talking about,” Vanja said. “We were talking about the school, this arts-and-crafts stuff we can’t quite put our finger on. We don’t understand what the movement is all about.”

  “Oh, that. It just wants to have a good time,” Ellen said. “It’s satisfied with itself in a way we can never allow real art to be.”

  “Real art?” Vanja’s friend asked, her forehead creased.

  “Yes, exactly,” Ellen said. “Real art doesn’t quite mesh with this cozy organic lifestyle concept you find all over Fengerskog. It doesn’t thrive when placed side by side with the broader, more accessible handicraft movement that makes regular people feel arty, even though they’re not.”

  Ellen smiled, revealing her dimples.

  “It could have been a big mistake to try to make them coexist in such a small area,” she went on, “but for some reason it works in Fengerskog. In my opinion. At first I was a little nervous when we opened the school here. I thought we might lose our soul and our direction.”

  Maya took a sip of wine and considered her friend for a long moment, an amused smile on her lips.

  “Just so I’ve understood you correctly,” she said. “Real art, that’s what you and your school represent, I assume?”

  Ellen gave her a meaningful look. “What kind of a question is that? Of course it is. And so do you!”

  All four of them laughed.

  “If I can share what I think,” Vanja said, “all the different kinds of art are necessary. Or, more accurately, there is space for everything.”

  “I agree. Everything except elitism,” Maya said.

  Ellen gave a loud laugh and raised her glass. “Hypocrites. I know you agree with me. Cheers.”

  “Hello there!” Oskar had approached their table. He rested his hand on Maya’s shoulder and bent down so she could hear him over the loud restaurant. She placed her hand over his.

  “Come and sit down,” she said, making room.

  He squeezed in next to her. They hadn’t seen each other for a while and she felt the sudden urge to kiss him. He looked so… open somehow. So new. So unspoiled and vulnerable.

  “It’s my birthday today,” he said. “Next round’s on me.”

  This was met by loud protests.

  “Not on your life,” Maya said; she beckoned a waiter and ordered five tequilas.

  “How old are you?” she asked.

  “Twenty-seven,” Oskar said.

  Maya sighed lightly, bent toward him, and placed her lips near his ear. “Then you’re too young for me.”

  His gaze faltered, as if her forwardness had almost knocked him off balance. Then he shook his head slightly and moved his leg a little closer to hers until they were touching.

  At that instant, Maya’s phone rang.

  It was Leif. He sounded eager in his own low-key way.

  “Maya, I was thinking about those pictures you showed me.”

  “Oh, right,” she said. She stood up and moved to a corner where she could talk undisturbed.

  “I’d like to take a closer look at them,” he said.

  “Yes, I was thinking the same thing. I can send them to you, but I’m not at home just now so it’ll have to be later tonight.”

  “That’s fine. Just do it as soon as you can.”

  “Listen,” she said, “I happened to run into Nathalie today. Have you spoken to her yet?”

  “No, I haven’t got that far,” Leif sighed.

  “She had some remarkable things to say. You and I really need to talk about her, and you need to talk to her.”

  “Sure, let’s meet up tomorrow. I’m heading up to Quagmire Manor in the morning, and I can pick you up on my way.”

  “Good. I’ll get back to you about the pictures soon.”

  “Great.”

  “Who was that?” Ellen asked curiously when Maya returned to the table.

  “Nothing special, but I’m sorry—I have to head home now,” she said. “Hope you all have a nice evening.”

  She turned to Oskar. “And you—have a terrific birthday.”

  Then she took her jacket and moved through the crowd and out of the bistro as the band came onstage and the intro of “Haze” filled the room.

  It had become a routine. Nathalie arrived at the hospital and spoke to Johannes’s mother for a while before relieving her with a promise to call if anything happened.

  Nothing ever happened.

  Johannes’s condition was perfectly stable but unchanged. Sometimes she tried to imagine what it would be like when he woke up. It was impossible. What would they say to each other? Who would they be?

  She leaned back in her chair and looked at Johannes, who was still on his back with his eyes closed, tubes and wires everywhere. Then she leaned forward and began to speak in a voice that was almost a whisper, the way she had grown used to doing although she doubted the nurse across the room had any interest in listening.

  “I thought I would tell you about the first thing that happened that summer,” she began. “We basically only hung out with each other, me and Julia. I think the reason I wanted to spend so much time with her was really her big sister… Tracy. Just that. Just her name. I was so jealous.”

  She had slept over at Julia’s, as she sometimes did at weekends, and she woke up very early on Sunday morning. Maybe it was because she needed to use the bathroom, or maybe there was some other reason she got out of bed and walked downstairs so quietly that no one heard.

  Maybe she hoped the door next to the bathroom, t
he one to Tracy’s room, would be ajar as it sometimes was in the summer, so that her spying could occur more naturally.

  Tracy was seventeen and had had several boyfriends who often slept over. She was on the Pill and partied at weekends—at the park in the summer and at the disco in Vikenborg in the winter. This was a world Nathalie was moving toward, but it was still foreign to her.

  Tracy was the poster child for that world; she hinted at lands yet undiscovered. She was perfect. She had wavy, medium-brown hair, a year-round tan, pretty makeup, brilliant blue eyes and jeans that were ripped in exactly the right way. She was cool. Unattainable, and gifted besides. She wrote poems about love and sex and liquor and cigarettes; Nathalie and Julia read them in secret. They seemed sad somehow, although Nathalie didn’t understand much about them. Tracy almost never smiled. It was like she was above that sort of thing.

  Nathalie and Julia themselves completely lacked any of this mystique. They had known each other since first year, and now they were on their way to becoming perfectly average teenagers. It was clear that they would never, ever come even close to being like Tracy.

  One time Nathalie found herself witness to a fight between Tracy and her mother, Yvonne. She had been sitting on the stairs to wait for Julia and caught a glimpse of the ongoing conflict in the kitchen.

  “You are not to go there again, do you hear me?” Yvonne hissed, her voice sharp.

  “You can’t stop me,” Tracy said with the same explosive rage.

  “Oh yes I can.”

  At first there was silence, but then Tracy’s tone changed and grew gentle and pleading.

  “Please, Mum, I really want to go.”

  There was another silence as Yvonne tried to orient herself. Then an embrace, as they came to a compromise they could both accept—a compromise that meant the finale of the short play: a fleeting, highly concentrated drama about teenage conflicts, stormy feelings and power.

  That Sunday morning, Nathalie approached the bathroom. Tracy’s door was slightly open, as she’d hoped. A narrow crack. The pale morning light forced its way through the blinds and settled on the floor in waves. She had little trouble catching a glimpse of Tracy’s bare, brown back through the narrow crack. White lines where her bikini top had been. They were both asleep in there, half tangled in each other. Almost naked.

  Something sucked at her. From underneath. From inside.

  The desire to be like Tracy. Her life would never be complete if she didn’t reach that goal.

  She never told Julia how much she admired her sister. Maybe it was understood that everyone felt that way. It was self-evident. On the other hand, they often talked about how Tracy had sex in her room sometimes, and a thought like that led to endless ruminations on how they could catch a glimpse or hear some of this activity. On a few occasions they had sneaked down at night and pressed their ears to the door, but with no results.

  That morning, Julia woke up early as well. She came down the stairs silently and stood beside Nathalie. They didn’t speak; they just stood at the little gap.

  Then the bodies began to move and all the naked skin disappeared under the covers; instead came sounds, heavy breathing that turned into something else. Soft at first, then hard.

  Then silence. Muffled laughter.

  Was this something she would eventually take part in? She looked at Julia. It felt absolutely unreal. It couldn’t be possible.

  Yet they went back to Julia’s room that morning and lay down close to each other. They ran their hands over one another’s bodies. Their skin, the smells. They swore never to tell anyone else about any of it.

  After a short walk around the area, Maya and Leif entered the doors to Quagmire Manor. The chandeliers cast a glimmering sheen over the soft, dark red carpets, over the easy chairs and the sofas across the salon.

  “Does she know we’re coming?” Maya asked.

  “Yes.”

  They walked around to have a look. The restaurant was to the left and the salon to the right; the rooms were divided by a wide foyer with large arches in either direction. On the far side of the salon was a fireplace, and in front of it, four easy chairs and a table full of books and magazines.

  They approached the bulletin board and read a sheet of paper tacked to it.

  Create the life you’ve always wished for

  Do you want to live a truer life? Do you want to get that job you’ve always desired, be cured of an illness, or find your dream partner? Or do you simply want that gorgeous sports car so you can enjoy the jealous glances of your neighbor? Whatever you want, it can become reality. You are in charge! Your thoughts can make it happen! Nothing, and we mean NOTHING, is impossible. MatrixMind will teach you how to use quantum physics and the miracle of the law of attraction in your everyday existence to create the life YOU want.

  Please contact Agneta von Sporre—yoga instructor, personal development coach and certified instructor in applied quantum physics.

  (Price: 1,200 kronor per hour for personal counseling and a customized strategic action plan.)

  They exchanged glances. Maya raised her eyebrows and put her hand to her mouth to hide a laugh. Leif’s eyes narrowed.

  “It’s not even funny, damn it.” He bent down to her. “Everywhere you go nowadays there’s a new-age fool bringing out quantum physics like fucking ketchup and squirting it all over their favorite spiritual movement. Believing you can change the physical world with your thoughts. What utter drivel. It’s madness.”

  Maya looked around and whispered with a smile, “Although now that you mention it, you’re no better than Lady Agneta von Certified Flimmity-Flammity. When you claim that something you know nothing about is made-up craziness, you’re playing on the same field as she is. You’re opponents on the same team.” Maya winked. “Just so you know.”

  He turned to her. “The same team? What do you mean by that?”

  “Rhetoric, Leif. You need to think about your rhetoric. Just like Lady Quantum-Sporre. She and her ilk wallow in assumptions; they roll around in cheap turns of phrase. You do exactly the same thing.”

  “I’m sorry, but what am I supposed to say?”

  “A more proper way to express yourself, or at least a way to position yourself in this matter, would be something along the lines of Given my limited knowledge, and considering what we know today about how the universe works, I judge the power of thought to be bullshit.”

  She sauntered away from him, then turned around.

  “There could actually be a kernel of truth where you least expect one, or want to see one, so it would be stupid to throw the baby out with the bathwater, so to speak.”

  “A kernel of truth…” He rolled his eyes and looked at her, sighing. “Maya, you’re just the same; I can barely tell you’ve been in New York for so long… but everyone knows the whole concept is total crap.”

  Maya watched as a tall woman approached and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Your rhetoric, Leif.”

  “Are you Leif Berggren? With the police?” the woman asked.

  “I certainly am,” Leif said, putting out his hand.

  “Agneta von Sporre,” Agneta said, her upper body canting downward as she greeted him. Then she turned to Maya and repeated the same solemn greeting. “Agneta.”

  “Maya.”

  “And you are?” Agneta asked.

  “A photographer. I know the area. I’ve been showing Leif around a little bit.”

  “Okay. And I see you’re looking at my course.” She turned to the bulletin board. “That’s my little enterprise on the side, you could say.”

  She looked at them with an expression Maya suspected was meant to signal sincerity.

  “You know, now that I think about it,” Agneta went on, “maybe it could be useful for the police!” She closed her eyes. “It’s coming to me now, how you could learn to… sort of picture yourselves solving all the crimes. And then the powers of the universe come in and”—she waved one hand around in front of her—“it must be so. That
’s called the law of attraction. It’s a power of nature. Pure science.”

  Leif cleared his throat. “We came here to talk to you and possibly your employees,” he said gruffly, as if he were calling on every ounce of self-control he had. “And we also wanted to take a look around the manor.”

  “Oh, it’s so lovely here,” said Agneta. “We have two large conference rooms and we can offer—”

  “Thanks,” Leif interrupted, “but I was also wondering whether any of your guests happen to be in.”

  Agneta knitted her brow.

  “Not at the moment, I’m afraid. It’s possible that the girl down in the cottage is home.”

  “We’ve already been in contact with her,” Leif said.

  “Oh? Well then! Why don’t we head to the office to talk.”

  “There, there, take a deep breath,” Maya said, placing her hand on Leif’s back as they reached the car park. “Are you sure you don’t want to create the life you’ve always wished for, Leif?”

  “Don’t think so,” he said.

  “No, at least not with her help, maybe,” Maya said, looking down at Nathalie’s cottage. “It looks dark down there.”

  “Maybe she’s at the hospital,” said Leif.

  “Yes,” said Maya. “So, have you been reading up on her?”

  “Yes, I checked her out. I have to say, I was surprised that it’s her. I suppose we’ll have to be a little cautious with her.”

  “What do you think about what she told me?” Maya asked.

  “Which part?”

  “Don’t you listen?” She sighed. “About all the rumors. How people just disappear here in Mossmarken. Without a trace?”

  Leif shot her a skeptical glance. “Those rumors have always been around.”

  “But there was some man called—”

  “Göran Dahlberg!” Leif chuckled. “Yes, I know of him.”

  “Nathalie said he tried to get you to listen.”

  “Yes, he certainly did,” Leif sighed. “And we did listen; we checked up on his information. We know the schoolboy was here when he went missing, but aside from him, only one of the missing people can be said with certainty to have been in Mossmarken around the time of their disappearance.”