Depths

by Mankell Henning

  There is no normality, he thought. She'll discover the abyss inside me if I do not leave the island. Her abyss is hers, mine is mine. I'm too close to her.

  Later that night he returned to the hollow in the rocks.

  He could smell that she had been vomiting. He left her there.

  CHAPTER 142

  The next day it was drizzling and blowing a gale from the east.

  When he woke up she was sitting outside the door like a wet, shivering dog.

  'I'm not taking a dead woman with me to America,' he said. 'Go inside, take your wet clothes off and get warm. Otherwise you'll be ill. The baby will die.'

  She did as he said. He went down to the inlet and sat down on a broken corf.

  Why would he not tell her the truth, that he could not come back and fetch her?

  He knew the answer. He had killed his wife, and he had killed his daughter. He had been caught by the nets he had set out. He was being pulled down, just as her husband had been when he got caught in a herring net.

  He went back to the cottage and stole a look through the window. She was sitting in front of the fire, wrapped up in a blanket, with her head turned away. Just like Kristina Tacker, he thought. Two women who turn their faces away from me.

  Later that day he started to prepare for his departure. He talked to her, convinced her that she would not have long to wait. He would soon be leaving, but he would soon be back.

  They continued fishing together, sleeping together, and he tried to look her in the eye all the time.

  After a week he was convinced. She believed he would be coming back.

  He could leave the island.

  CHAPTER 143

  It was 7 June, at the crack of dawn.

  They were sailing northwards, with Harstena and the seal rocks to starboard, and were making good progress towards the skerries where they would turn westward towards the Slätbaken approach. He was sitting by the mast, in charge of the sail. They did not speak much, nor did they pass any other boats.

  Late in the afternoon the wind died down. They found themselves drifting and they still had not reached the Slätbaken approach. They could see a warship passing by on the horizon, and shortly afterwards another one. He could see through the telescope that they were gunboats, but they were too far away to be identified. They steered to the nearest skerry, beached the dinghy, lit a fire and ate the potatoes and cold fish she had brought with her in a basket. She also had a jug of water.

  The summer's night was light. A few stars twinkled in the sky. Despite everything he felt quite close to the woman he would soon abandon. She was by his side, despite his efforts to build a wall of inaccessibility around himself.

  She had lain down, using the basket lid as a pillow.

  'Is it true?' she asked suddenly. 'The stars, the winter darkness and the light summer nights – is it true that they will never end? Or will they cease to exist? You must know, because you can measure depths and see distances that nobody else can see.'

  'Nobody can know that,' he said. 'You can only believe.'

  'What do you believe?'

  'That you can go mad if you look too far out into space.'

  She thought over his reply.

  'My husband,' she said eventually. 'He used to dream about that. He would get restless when it started getting dark in the autumn. Strangely scared. He had to go outside at night, I had to go out with him and hold him tight. He could never explain it. He started to stammer as autumn set in. He never stammered at other times, but then, as it grew dark and the eels started to run, he would stare up at the stars and begin to stammer. He could not understand it, he said. It was beyond comprehension. There was a sailor on Haskö who got drunk and claimed that nothing came to an end, not the sky, not the stars, nothing. Everything just kept on going for ever.'

  'Nobody can know that,' he said again. 'You are alone with the stars even if you see them together with somebody else.'

  'Can you see your daughter up there? And your wife?'

  'I can see them. But I don't want to talk about them.'

  She said no more. Soon it will all be over, he thought.

  The fire died out.

  * * *

  At daybreak they continued towards Slätbaken and the approach to the Göta Canal. They had a following wind, sailed through the sound at Stegeborg and had fresh winds when they came to Slätbaken itself.

  Small boats were queuing up at the first set of locks at the entrance to the canal. They headed for the mouth of the river and rowed to the quays in the centre of Söderköping.

  Their leave-taking was perfunctory. Her last impression had to be that he was telling the truth, that he really would complete his mission and hand the results over to his superiors in Stockholm. Then he would return to fetch her from Halsskär.

  They moored at the quay next to the Brunns Hotel. It was low water. He clambered on to the quay. She stayed in the boat.

  'Go home now,' he said. 'Sail carefully. I'll soon be there.'

  He waved to her. She waved back and smiled.

  He hoped she believed him. To be on the safe side he did not turn round.

  CHAPTER 144

  Two days later Tobiasson-Svartman was back in Stockholm. He went straight home from the station.

  Kristina Tacker was surprised but delighted to see him. On the hall table was a message from Skeppsholmen, requesting him to report as soon as possible.

  It was drizzling the following morning. As he crossed the bridge to Skeppsholmen he noticed a familiar face. Captain Rake looked thinner, and his face was very pale. Tobiasson-Svartman could see that something was troubling him, perhaps he had some crisis in his life.

  'I've seen the new chart for the navigable channel at Sandsänkan,' Rake said. 'I hear that we'll be able to start using it soon.'

  'It won't save as much time as I'd hoped,' said Tobiasson-Svartman. 'A ship progressing at full speed, let's say twenty knots, will save fifty minutes. I'd hoped for something better than that. But the seabed didn't behave itself as I would have liked.'

  'So the seabed is a bit like people.'

  "There'll be less of a risk of being hit by torpedoes and mines, of course. And the new channel ought to be able to cope with the considerable increase in draught that we can expect new naval vessels to have.'

  Tobiasson-Svartman shook hands and made to continue on his way to Naval Headquarters. But Rake held on to his hand.

  'I never cease to be surprised about how my memory works,' Rake said. 'I've seen an endless procession of bosuns and officers passing through my life, but even so, the most graphic memory is that of Bosun Rudin.'

  'The man who died while he was being operated on for his appendix?'

  'An insignificant spider in the massive web. But for some reason I can't shake him off. I wonder why.'

  Rake let go of his hand and saluted.

  'I talk too much,' he said. 'But at least I don't ask what you are doing now, because I take it for granted that whatever you're up to, it's secret.'

  Tobiasson-Svartman watched Rake walking over the bridge. He was hunched, his long overcoat flapping around his legs.

  CHAPTER 145

  He was ushered in without delay.

  To his surprise there were only two people waiting for him. One was Vice Admiral H:son-Lydenfeldt, the other a civil servant with a pale complexion and big bags under his eyes.

  As he sat down in the chair provided for him, he felt a nagging pain in his stomach.

  The vice admiral eyed him up and down.

  'Are you aware of why you are here, Commander Svartman?'

  'No, but I do know that I must ask for an extension of my unpaid leave.'

  'Why?'

  'I'm not restored to health.'

  The vice admiral pointed impatiently at a file in front of him on the desk.

  'Restored from what? The only reason you have given is exhaustion. Who the hell isn't exhausted? We're all exhausted. The world is exhausted. Our highly esteemed Naval M
inister Boström sometimes nods off during our meetings. Not because he's bored, but because he's exhausted, he claims.'

  Tobiasson-Svartman was about to justify his claim to be exhausted but the vice admiral held up his hand.

  'You have been summoned here for a different reason. It has been reported that while you have been on leave you have undertaken journeys, and you have been seen in the Östergötland archipelago. We've received reports from people wondering if you are a spy working for Germany or Russia. And there are other relevant circumstances. Not least the fact that you claimed to have found errors in the charts you have produced yourself. It has become clear that you were lying. We haven't been able to throw full light on that one yet, but it is obvious that you have been making strange and clearly unjustified assertions and acting in highly questionable ways. What do you have to say to that?'

  Tobiasson-Svartman was struck dumb. He had no idea how to answer. He felt himself blushing. The vice admiral had more to say:

  'I don't think you are so damned stupid as to be a spy. But you have betrayed our confidence in you and caused a lot of trouble. You have proved to be unreliable. As nothing harmful has ensued, and as you are basically a competent hydrographic engineer, one of the best we have ever had, all we ask is that you resign your commission. If you refuse, we shall dismiss you and the reasons will be dishonourable. If you resign voluntarily, we shall give you the best possible reference that the circumstances allow. Is that clear?'

  The civil servant with the big bags under his eyes leaned over the table. His teeth were yellow, his moustache dirty.

  'I represent the minister with responsibility for the navy,' he said in a voice that suggested he enjoyed torturing others. 'The minister is in full agreement with what the vice admiral has just said.'

  H:son-Lydenfeldt slammed both hands down on to the desk.

  'You have twenty-four hours in which to make up your mind. You might think that this is an unnecessarily dramatic reaction from His Majesty's armed forces, but in present circumstances the Swedish Navy cannot tolerate the slightest stain on its reputation. I believe you understand that.'

  He took out his pocket watch.

  'You will report here tomorrow at 10 a.m.'

  The meeting was over.

  When Tobiasson-Svartman left the room he was forced to lean against the corridor wall, so as not to fall.

  CHAPTER 146

  He paused on the steps outside Naval Headquarters. He watched some sparrows pecking away on one of the gravel paths. Then he continued. But stopped when he came to the bridge. He was still in shock. But he was thinking clearly now.

  He was convinced. There was only one possible explanation. Sub-Lieutenant Welander had returned from the dead. Or at least from the demi-monde he had occupied while slowly recovering from the tribulations he had suffered as he wriggled out of the grip of strong drink.

  He could see it all in his mind's eye.

  Welander had not been cashiered but allowed to return to duty. Before that he had been reprimanded for the inadequate soundings he had made in the area surrounding the Sandsänkan lighthouse.

  Needless to say, Welander had not understood what his accusers were talking about, and maintained that he had carried out his duties impeccably until the moment when everything fell to pieces. He had demanded to be confronted with the soundings Tobiasson-Svartman had attributed to him.

  The truth had emerged. Welander had not in fact made any errors.

  Tobiasson-Svartman started to walk over the bridge. Every step he took made him more certain that the bridge was like thin ice that could give way at any moment.

  CHAPTER 147

  That evening he sat in the warm room and told Kristina Tacker about his next mission. It put his mind at rest, describing an expedition that would never take place and which no superior officer had ordered him to undertake.

  It was not the lies themselves that calmed him down. It was the impassive way his wife took in what he had to say. Thanks to her everything became real.

  Her questions were always the same. Where would he be going? How long would he be away? Was there any danger involved?

  'It doesn't have to be risky just because it's secret,' he said.

  Without having prepared anything in advance he started to talk about lighthouse beams. The light projected from remote rocks or lightships in order to help ships stay on course. He talked about the beauty of the transit lines, the interplay between the red, green and white lights. He invented a mission he had never had and would never be given.

  'I shall be measuring the distance from which the beams of various lighthouses can be seen in different weather conditions,' he said. 'I shall be investigating the possibility of creating an extra line of defence round our country by misleading the enemy with beams of differing strengths.'

  Then he stopped. 'I've already said too much,' he said.

  'I've already forgotten everything you said,' she replied.

  He thought he detected a hint of alarm in her voice, barely noticeable, but there even so. Measuring lighthouse beams. Perhaps he had gone too far? Did she not believe him? Was there, for the first time, a vague suspicion in her mind?

  She looked down and stroked her stomach. 'When will you be leaving?'

  'Nothing is fixed yet, but a decision could be made at short notice.'

  'I want you to be here when the baby comes.'

  'Obviously, I hope the expedition will be over by then. Or that it hasn't even started. But I shall protest strongly if they want me to leave just when you are due to give birth.'

  He stood up and went out on to the balcony.

  He wondered where Sub-Lieutenant Welander lived.

  CHAPTER 148

  Two days later he had discovered that Welander lived on Kungsholmen.

  When he called in at Skeppsholmen to submit his resignation he took the opportunity of visiting the personnel department. They informed him that at the moment Welander was not on board any navy ship.

  His first new mission was to spend all his time outside the building where Welander had a flat.

  It was four days before Welander appeared. He emerged from the front door with a woman and a girl aged about fourteen. Tobiasson-Svartman remembered vaguely that the family included a daughter and three sons. He followed them down Hantvarkergatan. When they came to Kungsholms Torg they went into a shop selling ladies' wear, and when they came out again both the wife and the daughter were carrying parcels.

  Sooner or later Welander would be on his own. He would confront him. He observed Welander's face from a safe distance. The paleness and bloated features had gone. Welander really seemed to have overcome his addiction.

  His wife was small and thin. She kept looking at her husband with a loving smile.

  CHAPTER 149

  Days passed. He waited, displaying the patience of a predator. The opportunity came one evening when he had been observing Welander for a week. The hydrographic engineer came out on his own. It was raining, and he set off towards the centre of town. He was walking fast, his gaze directed at the pavement ahead of him. Then he turned off on to a path running alongside the water in Riddarfjärden. The path appeared to be deserted.