Harbour

by John Ajvide Lindqvist

  Anna-Greta's long, grey hair had been arranged in a wave-like style that caught the pale light from the window, so that it poured down over her in cascades of silver. The white flowers on her beige dress reinforced the impression of a borrowed starlit glow that reached all the way up to her forehead. Her face had been skilfully made up to bring out the sparkle in her eyes.

  Next to her, two women of the same age sat fiddling with something on her dress. Anders looked quickly around the room. No Simon.

  'How do I look?' asked Anna-Greta.

  'Wonderful,' said Anders honestly. 'Has Simon been here?'

  'No.' The sparkle in Anna-Greta's eyes dulled a little. 'Hasn't he arrived?'

  Anders shook his head and Anna-Greta made a move to go out and check for herself, but one of the women held her back and said, 'Don't worry, he'll come. Now stand still.'

  Anna-Greta flung her arms wide in a helpless gesture as if to show that she was a captive. 'Go and wait with the others,' she said. 'I'm sure he'll be here.'

  Anders backed out of the room and left her in the hands of her guards. He had done what he could. It was no longer his problem. And yet he felt sorry for Anna-Greta. So pretty, so dressed up, so full of anticipation. His little grandma.

  Because he knew that Simon would not come. That somehow or other he had been captured by the forces that were on the move. End of story. Simon was gone, and Anders intended to catch the three o'clock boat back and put an end to all his sorrows.

  It was quarter to two when Anders walked up to the church and looked in through the open door. Some thirty people were seated in the pews. The guests who had come over on the tender had been supplemented by people from Nåten and those who had come in their own boats. Up by the altar the priest was adjusting a bunch of white roses in a vase.

  The slope drew Anders down to the churchyard, and he wandered among the gravestones. He stood for a long time in front of the family grave where both his father and his grandfather stood alone with their names beneath Torgny and Maja. Presumably Anna-Greta would make sure that his own name was added at the bottom of the column of lone men.

  And Simon? Where will Simon end up?

  At just after two, people started coming out of the church to see what was happening, or rather to see why nothing was happening. Anders carried on down to the water's edge to avoid being spoken to. He stopped in front of the huge anchor and read the plaque.

  IN MEMORY OF THOSE LOST AT SEA

  Anders ran his hand over the rusty cast iron, over the treated wood. It would be more fitting for him to be buried here, beneath the anchor, because he had been lost at sea and then wandered around pointlessly on dry land for a couple of years. He followed the chain that ran from the top of the anchor down into the ground.

  Where does that go?

  He saw the chain disappearing deep underground or out across the bottom of the sea; in his mind he hurled his body in the direction of the chain and followed it downwards...

  ...burrowing down into the slime on the seabed, down into the mud and the blue clay, down to the point where nothing can live, where there is complete silence...

  His thoughts were interrupted by shouts from the direction of the church. People were pointing out to sea, and when Anders turned around, his lips curved into a smile in spite of everything. A boat was heading towards them from out in the bay. A rickety fibreglass boat with a twenty-horsepower Evinrude engine. Simon's boat.

  The wedding guests poured down the slope like a flock of eager sheep and gathered on the shoreline as the boat approached. There were two people on board, and when the boat was about a hundred metres from land, Anders could see that it was Simon and Göran.

  Göran was driving, and Simon was sitting up in the prow with his hair blowing around his ears. People clapped and cheered.

  The magician's final entrance.

  The boat didn't head for the harbour, but made straight for the incline below the anchor. Göran put the engine into neutral and floated the last few metres into the shore. Simon climbed out, and the guests combined their efforts to haul the boat safely ashore.

  Simon's eyes sought out Anders and he started to say something, but the guests grabbed him by the arms and pulled him up towards the church, where Anna-Greta was now waiting for him, her arms folded across her chest. Without doubt the entrance was effective, but Anna-Greta could be forgiven for wishing that on this particular day there had been slightly less spectacle and slightly more solemnity.

  Anders followed a couple of steps behind and waited until everyone else had disappeared into the church before he walked in and took a seat at the back.

  Let love come

  The description of the wedding has been omitted.

  Strangely enough, descriptions of weddings aren't all that interesting. I mean, two people promising each other eternal commitment and fidelity before God really ought to be something enjoyable, but actually it isn't.

  It's like a horror story, but in reverse. When the monster shows its ugly mug at the end, it's always a disappointment. It can never match up to our expectations. It's the same with a wedding. The journey along the winding paths of love is spine tingling, the lead-up in some cases is a real battleground and the basic idea behind the whole thing is beautiful and mind blowing.

  But the ritual itself ?

  You would have to call in Marc Chagall, Wolfgang Amadeus

  Mozart and David Copperfield's tech team to do the idea justice. People would hover above the ground, there would be flashes of lightning, waterfalls and a symphony that would make the plaster fall off the walls and swirl in flakes around the conjoined couple like confetti spiralling up to the ceiling.

  Nothing like that occurred in the church at Nåten.

  Suffice to say that Simon and Anna-Greta exchanged vows, that some appropriate music was played on the organ, and that many people were moved. However, there was one beautiful thing that happened. Anna-Greta was a radiant bride, and Simon was rather a mess. Despite the fact that he had managed to get into his wedding outfit, it looked as if he had done so in rather a hurry. His tie was crooked, his socks didn't match his trousers and his hair was tousled.

  But let joy be unconfined nevertheless! Let love come! Let it be victorious!

  Let the couple walk out on to the church steps and let Anna-Greta's two friends, who know how these things should be done, shower them with confetti, and let us hear the choirs of angels in the background and see the cascades of eider feathers that have been collected from the islands for months, let them fall from the heavens like snowy apple blossom strewn from the hands of God the Father as he opens his warm embrace.

  Yes!

  Yes, yes, yes!

  And then let us go together to the community centre and help ourselves to the buffet. This day is not over yet. Not by a long way. Let us go.

  The water

  People spread themselves out around the tables and, to Anders' relief, Anna-Greta took him by the arm so that he ended up next to her, with no one on his other side. Opposite him sat Anna-Greta's two friends, and after Anna-Greta had introduced them as Gerda and Lisa, the two ladies concentrated on each other.

  The guests filled their plates and helped themselves to beer or soft drinks. It certainly wasn't a showy affair, and it was almost fortunate that Simon's entrance had made it something to remember.

  But Simon wasn't done yet.

  After Anders had congratulated his grandmother and told her once again how lovely she looked, he leaned over to pass on his good wishes to Simon too, but Simon was preoccupied with something going on inside himself. He was staring down at the table with concentration etched on his face, his lips moving slightly.

  Anders was about to say something to bring him back to reality when Simon suddenly got to his feet and tapped on his neighbour's bottle with a fork.

  'Dear friends!' he said. 'There are certain things that...' He stopped and looked at Anna-Greta, who was looking at him questioningly. He cleared his throat and t
ried again. 'First of all I would like to say how happy I am. That you have come here today, that I have been given.. .the blessing of marrying the most wonderful woman ever to have sat in a boat. Or not sat in a boat.'

  A few people laughed and scattered applause broke out. Anna- Greta lowered her eyes becomingly.

  'And there was another matter.. .and I don't know how to.. .there's something I have to tell you, and I don't really know...there are so many...'

  Simon looked around the room. There was total silence now. One person had their fork halfway to their mouth, and lowered it slowly as Simon groped for the right words.

  'What I wanted to say,' said Simon, 'is that since so many people from Domarci are gathered here together...and perhaps this isn't the most suitable occasion and I don't really know how to put it, but...'

  Simon stopped speaking again and Anders heard Gerda whisper to Lisa, 'Is he drunk?' Lisa nodded and clamped her lips together thinly as, under the table, Anna-Greta gave a hesitant tug at Simon's trouser leg in an attempt to get him to sit down.

  Simon made a decision and straightened up, speaking more clearly, 'There is no sensible way of putting this, so I'm just going to say it and you must take it as you wish.'

  Lisa and Gerda had leaned back in their seats, folded their arms, and were looking at Simon with distaste. Other guests were looking at each other and wondering what was to come. Eyebrows were raised when Simon seemed to be starting on a completely different tack.

  'The wells on Domarö,' he said. 'I know that several people have had problems with salt water getting in, that the drinking water is contaminated by the sea seeping in.'

  There were nods here and there. Even if it was impossible to understand why Simon had brought up this issue, at least what he said was a well-known fact. When Simon started to speak again, his eyes flickered over towards Anders from time to time.

  'We have also had a number of other problems recently. People suddenly being odd or even...wicked. People who don't seem to be themselves, if you see what I mean.'

  There were nods of agreement here and there. They could go along with that too. Before long he would probably mention that the cod had been fished out as well, another tedious but incontrovertible fact.

  'What I wanted to say,' said Simon, 'is that I've worked out that these two things are connected. This...illness or whatever we ought to call it, affects those who have salt water in their wells. So.. .those of you who have salt water in your well, don't drink it!'

  If Simon had hoped for gasps of amazement and recognition from his audience, he was disappointed. Most of them were looking at him with expressions ranging from scepticism to incomprehension. Simon flung his arms wide and raised his voice.

  'That's how the sea gets in! Don't you understand? They're in the sea and they...find their way in through the water in the wells. If we drink it they get inside us and we.. .change.'

  When Simon still didn't get the reaction he was looking for, he sighed and said in a more resigned tone of voice, 'I'm just asking you to believe what I say. Don't drink water that has become salty. Let's say it's poisonous, just for simplicity's sake. Don't drink it.'

  Simon slumped back down on his chair and there was a long silence. Gradually murmured conversations sprang up around the table. Anna-Greta leaned over to Simon and said something. Lisa and Gerda still had their arms folded, and looked as if they were waiting for the next instalment.

  And Anders...

  It was as if he had heard only snatches of a melody until now. Sometimes faintly, as if it was coming through the wall from another room. Sometimes louder but quickly fading, as if from a passing car with its stereo turned to full volume. Sometimes just a note or two in the soughing of the trees and the dripping of the water during the night.

  With Simon's words, the entire orchestra stepped forward out of the darkness and crashed into life, deafening him and silencing his whole body.

  The water. Of course. The drinking water.

  Despite the perception that Maja was running through his body, it had never occurred to him that that was actually the way it was. He had been going around knocking back wine from plastic bottles, sometimes several litres per day. Wine diluted with water from the tap. He had woken feeling thirsty and hungover, and had drunk lots and lots of water.

  And what really made him almost slide off his chair as he sank further and further into the music: Maja had not left him at all. He just hadn't been drinking water. During the whole of the previous day he had drunk only undiluted wine and wormwood concentrate. It was only when he got to Anna-Greta's house that he had taken in liquid in the form of water. And their water wasn't.. .infected.

  Anders felt a hand on his back and Simon leaned over him. 'Do you understand?' he whispered.

  Anders nodded vaguely as the music of all the connections continued to reverberate in his head. The eternal sea, always one and the same, that could work its way into every crack, could spread and extend but always returned to itself. One vast body with billions of limbs, from thundering waves to rivulets as thin as a spider's leg that found their way in, found their way through. The sea. And those who existed within it.

  Simon pulled at his arm and Anders got up and followed him as if he were in a trance.

  No one has such long fingers.

  In his mind's eye he could see the sea groping its way across the rocks on the islands, through fissures in the bedrock, down into the ground, into the wells, and it was like a mantra running through his head as Simon led him outside: No one has such long fingers. No one has such long fingers.

  'Anders, are you still with us?'

  Simon waved a hand in front of his eyes, and with an effort Anders managed to bring himself back, to discover that he was standing on the porch of the community centre. His right hand was resting on the cold iron railing; he gripped it tightly, holding himself firmly in place.

  'How did you work it out?' he asked.

  'When I was looking for water for Göran,' said Simon, 'and I felt all the brackish water coursing through the rock—'

  'Felt?'

  'Yes.' Simon pulled the matchbox out of his pocket and showed it to Anders, then put it away again. Anders nodded. He did actually remember that part of the story.

  And then I thought about what your water is like,' Simon went on, 'and above all what Elin's water was like. After the fire I was by her well, there was something that drew me to it, there was something there. I didn't pick up on it at the time, but I tasted the water and it was salty. More salty than yours. Since then that thought has been in the back of my mind and...today I caught sight of it.' Simon sighed and glanced at the closed door of the community centre. 'Although I don't really think I managed to convince anybody.'

  'Why were you so late?'

  Simon shrugged his shoulders. 'I had to check. Karl-Erik's well and the Bergwalls' well. It was the same there. Salt in the water. When they were sawing they probably had flasks of water with them, and drank as they worked. I think it reaches some kind of critical point and then.. .it breaks out. The other person.'

  Anders leaned on the railing and looked down towards the harbour. It was an hour until the next tender crossed the sea. Was permitted to cross the sea.

  No one has such long fingers. No one has such strong fingers.

  Unannounced, a memory popped into his head. He was perhaps ten years old when his father put out a hoop net for fun and caught one solitary eel. Anders had stood on the jetty watching his father trying to grab hold of the eel to get it out of the boat. It had been impossible.

  Eventually his father managed to push the eel into a plastic bag. It slithered out. He got the eel into the bag once again and held the top closed with both hands as he climbed out of the boat with great difficulty.

  When he got up on to the jetty he stopped and stared at the bag and laughed out loud. Despite the fact that his hands were strong and he was clutching the bag as tightly as he could, the eel had still managed to brace itself against the
bottom of the bag and was slowly and inexorably forcing its way past his clenched fists and out of the bag. It fell on to the jetty, hurled its body forward and slid into the water.

  'Well, there's a thing,' said his father with a kind of admiration in his voice. 'That one certainly wanted to live.'

  Afterwards they had laughed about it. His father so big and strong, the eel so small and tough. And yet the eel had won.