by Stefan Spjut
He nodded.
‘Then we’ll see,’ Susso added.
Torbjörn continued:
‘I’m okay with the fact that the dwarf snatched Mattias, or that he’s mixed up in it. I accept that. And I’ve never suggested your granddad’s picture is a fake. But a squirrel that isn’t a squirrel?’
He shook his head.
Susso did not answer. In speechless confusion she had asked herself the same question, but she could not take it in and was probably too scared to follow that train of thought to its logical conclusion. She waited for Torbjörn to say something else but he had picked up his mobile, so she walked off.
Barbro and Gudrun stayed where they were by the window when Susso walked in.
The chestnut tree swayed and from time to time the wind took hold of the open window so that Barbro had to hold onto it. Susso crossed her arms and was about to sit on the edge of the bed when she changed her mind, twisted her body and ran her hand over the bedspread. There was a thin carpet of hair covering the rough weave, bunches of soft greyish-brown strands between three and four centimetres long. Susso picked up a tuft and rubbed it between her finger and thumb.
‘How long is he usually gone for?’ she asked, flicking the hair away and rubbing the palms of her hands together.
‘Not long,’ replied Barbro, stretching to look at the top of the tree outside the window. ‘He’ll be back soon.’
‘Can’t you entice him in somehow?’
‘There’s no need. He knows you are here.’
‘Does he?’ Susso said.
‘He’s never gone for long,’ Barbro repeated. ‘He usually stays in one of the trees outside here. Or somewhere in the park where there happens to be a lot of people. People interest him tremendously. Especially children. There is a little pond and a playground with swings over there,’ she said, pointing. ‘He usually hops around and lets the children chase him. He finds that funny. But of course now, in the winter, when the park is practically deserted, I suppose you could say he gets depressed, because he sits in the chestnut tree staring at nothing all day. He can sit motionless for hours, waiting.’
‘So he knows we’re here?’ Susso said, walking up to the window and looking out over the park, away to the playground that could be seen through the trees.
‘I’m convinced of it,’ Barbro said.
‘Perhaps that’s why he’s not coming, because he knows who we are?’
‘There is no point in trying to trick him,’ Barbro said, giving Susso a stern look. ‘If that is what you’re thinking.’
‘No, I only . . .’
Barbro stood up straight and said:
‘He’ll be here when he gets here.’
Torbjörn was out on the balcony, leaning over the railing. His shoulders were hunched and angular. There was the occasional clang as his knee or foot struck the metal. He had gone out to talk on his mobile. His tight-fitting jeans were creased in the crook of the knees and a corner of his T-shirt was visible below his black hooded sweatshirt.
In the sitting room Susso was looking at sturdy bookcases, varnished brown, that filled the walls all the way to the ceiling. She walked with her head tilted to one side, reading the spines.
She pulled out a book in German that had glossy prints folded between the pages, including a large map of Sweden. She had begun to open it out when there was a creak from the balcony door. She spun around and held up the book.
‘Look, it’s Nils Holgersson,’ she said. ‘In German.’
Torbjörn was standing stock still, and Susso looked from his transfixed expression to his arm, which he was holding out in front of him.
On it was a small bundle of grey fur with a pair of pointed ears.
Susso put the book back on the shelf behind her and stared.
The squirrel had wrapped its sinewy arms and legs around Torbjörn’s trembling lower arm and it was clinging on tightly, as if it feared someone would try to force it off. Its gleaming brown curved claws were digging into Torbjörn’s sweatshirt. Its eyes shone like small black beads and whiskers ten centimetres long sprouted from its nose. The teeth in the half-open mouth were like dark-yellow spokes.
‘Mum!’ she shouted. ‘Barbro!’
The two women came into the room.
Susso pointed.
‘It’s here!’ she called. ‘Over here!’
Without so much as a glance at the squirrel Barbro walked over to the balcony door and pulled it shut. Gudrun stood with her mouth open in amazement. One of her hands plucked at her scarf.
‘What’s it doing?’ she asked. ‘Why is it sitting there?’
Torbjörn shrugged his shoulders and gave a wary smile. He had been holding his arm outstretched as he walked in through the balcony doorway, as if to keep the little squirrel as far away from him as possible, but now his arm was bent to give him a closer look at the animal. At its fur, matted all over, and its long bushy tail, brown and streaked with black.
‘You wouldn’t believe how fast it moved,’ Torbjörn said.
‘What happened?’ asked Susso. ‘Did it come from the tree?’
He shook his head.
‘I don’t think so. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there he was on the balcony railing. He jumped onto me before I had time to react.’
By this time Susso and Gudrun had drawn closer, but Barbro kept her distance. She was gripping her elbows and her head was tilted to one side.
‘I was shit scared at first and tried to shake him off my arm. I thought it was going to bite me or something, but then it was . . . well, I don’t know how to explain it. It was like my fear disappeared, like I felt he wasn’t dangerous and that he didn’t want to hurt me.’
‘That’s what he does,’ Barbro said.
After bending forwards and listening to the animal’s breathing—a rapid hiss coming from the little triangular mouth—Susso straightened up and looked at her searchingly.
‘He plants thoughts in your head,’ the old woman said, tapping her fingers against her forehead. ‘It’s a kind of telepathy.’
Susso studied her to see if she was being serious. It was clear that she was.
‘You mean he can read people’s thoughts?’
Barbro shook her head.
‘No, I don’t mean that. I don’t really think he can do anything. He just pops up in your head, unexpectedly. And then you know exactly what he wants. It’s not even words, it’s only . . . thoughts. His thoughts. But you don’t feel they are not your thoughts.’
‘That sounds dangerous,’ Gudrun said.
‘But it isn’t,’ answered Barbro, shaking her head. ‘It’s not as if he can control you. He only wants to make you understand what he needs. He communicates with you. It’s not as if he makes you do what he wants, or anything like that.’
‘Are you completely sure about that?’ Gudrun asked.
Barbro approached Torbjörn. His arm had begun to ache so he was supporting his right elbow in his left hand. The squirrel was crouching down with its tail stretched behind it along the sleeve.
‘At the beginning he pestered me continually to let him out of the room,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t do that because I didn’t want him out here. I used to sit watching television, knowing what he wanted. It was just like having a cat scratching at a door when it wants to go out or come in. It took me a long time to realise that he was in fact trying to communicate with me. Not that he says very much. If he had been able to control me, naturally he would have made me let him out of the room, don’t you think?’
The squirrel had lifted its head a little and appeared to be listening attentively. The tassels on the tips of its ears stood erect and its whiskers were vibrating.
‘Does he understand what we are saying?’ Susso asked.
‘Oh yes,’ replied Barbro. ‘Every word. He understands Swedish.’
She reached out her hand, and the instant her fingers touched the straggly tail the squirrel rolled up into a dark knot.
‘He really is quite
fantastic,’ she said. ‘Don’t you agree?’
Torbjörn’s eyes glittered as he nodded. He moved his arm warily to get a closer look at the squirrel from the front, but every time he tried to make eye contact, it twisted its head away.
‘How do you know he understands?’ asked Susso, who had taken a step back and pushed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.
A smile spread across Barbro’s thin lips.
‘Ask him something,’ she said.
‘I . . .’ said Susso, then she fell silent and thought for a while before going on: ‘I can’t think of anything I want to ask.’
‘No?’ said Barbro.
Susso shook her head.
‘If I remember correctly, you came here with a particular purpose in mind.’
Susso did not know what to say, and that must have shown on her face because Barbro immediately continued:
‘You are here because of the boy, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
Gudrun wasted no time. She went out to the hall and returned with her handbag, taking out the rolled-up plastic folder with the printouts.
‘Do you know who this is?’ she asked, holding the photograph of the Vaikijaur man in front of the squirrel.
‘Mum,’ Susso said, but when she looked around she noticed Torbjörn and Barbro were not smiling at Gudrun’s question. They were watching the squirrel expectantly.
‘Do you?’ said Gudrun.
Whether the squirrel was looking at the photograph was impossible to say, but it raised itself up slightly and its grip on Torbjörn’s arm weakened. The dark eyes blinked and the upright ears slanted together, making it look as if the animal was wearing a tasselled hat.
‘No,’ Gudrun said, and slid the paper back into the plastic folder, which she then pushed into her bag. ‘Well, at least we asked.’
The little animal sat on the dining table, an oval slab of highly polished wood. Its head tested new angles ceaselessly, as if the room was undergoing change and was a constant source of amazement. The squirrel seemed unable to decide whether to stand on all fours with its legs wide apart, or to sit up, with its tail upright behind it. It gave an impression of indecisiveness. Without taking his eyes off the squirrel Torbjörn had lowered himself onto a chair that stood with its back to the wall. There was a worried look in his eyes, but something else as well. A kind of manic concentration. Susso looked at him closely. He was not behaving like himself, and that worried her.
Barbro had gone to the kitchen to make some fresh coffee, and when she returned she had a Swiss roll with her as well. She unwrapped the cellophane wrapping and told them to help themselves. Susso threw herself at the sugary cylinder and Gudrun also took a slice. As she ate she nodded towards the squirrel and said:
‘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 s
quirrel. ‘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.’
