‘Old-time church-goers. Righteous people in the good sense. A certain moral distaste for wasteful city lights, nightclubs, playgrounds of the rich.’
‘Sodom and Gomorrah!’ Lena said. ‘God, how Aunt Solveig used to go on about it! Do you remember?’ she asked Sune. ‘Loose money. Lust. Half-dressed women on the streets.’
Again she provoked his laughter. The rich rumble of a well-tuned cello. He was enjoying her now. She played up to it with a touch of ferocity in her voice. ‘What do you say we bus them in? Give them equal access. Like they do with school kids in America?’
Sune suggested they all go to the kitchen. There they made their own sandwiches and took them back to the little sitting-room with another bottle of champagne. Dan began to wonder when the other guests were going to appear.
He and Lena Sundman left after another hour or so. No one else showed up.
‘Do you think he invited anyone else?’ Lena asked.
‘I’m not even sure it really was his birthday.’
When she parked outside Dan’s house, she asked if she could use his bathroom. Beneath the hall light, her blonde hair was full and soft, as though just shampooed. She looked brazenly at an envelope from the tax people on the hall table and read off his name. ‘D. J. Byrne.’
‘DJ,’ she said, pronouncing it the English way.
‘Don’t.’
‘I said it with a capital J. Didn’t you hear?’
She gave a quick almost secret smile, a smile she seemed unaware of. The amusement, whatever its cause, lay all inside. He watched her pale blue eyes and felt a return of the peculiar dread he had felt before.
‘DeeJay,’ she said again. ‘I like it.’
He showed her the bathroom. When she came back down she looked at the double bed. It seemed to take up a lot of space.
‘This going to be it?’ she asked. ‘This where the huffing and puffing start?’
He didn’t answer. Her tone was joking but it was a game he didn’t want to play.
‘Well, DeeJay?’ She gave him a smile that was too brilliant by far to be uncomplicated.
‘You think I want to go to bed with you?’
The question came out harshly but he did nothing to excuse it. Her eyes opened a little. He realized that he had no idea of how she saw him. She studied his face as though to decode what he’d said.
‘Do women usually fall into the bed with you once they’re in the room?’ She was still examining him, her head a little cocked to one side.
‘You came in here to ask me an adolescent question like that?’
‘I came in so I could rebuff you. Nice word, rebuff. Aren’t you going to invite me to sit down? Now that I’m here?’
He wanted to tell her to leave but there was a fragility in her that he saw first now. Was she a little crazy? He didn’t think so, though her brazenness seemed overdone. And this hard-as-hammers attitude wasn’t coming naturally to her.
Sitting in the armchair opposite him her tone changed. She talked about the island when she’d been young, about her great aunt and uncle.
‘They were my real parents. The closest people to me after my father skipped out on my mother.’
At one point she asked him if he knew Anders Roos’s wife. He said yes and changed the subject but she came back to it.
‘What’s she like?’
‘Not at all like you,’ he said. The answer came unsought and he didn’t bother to stop it.
‘No, I wouldn’t have thought so,’ she told him calmly. ‘I get the impression he may not always be faithful.’
‘I don’t know anything about that.’
She shrugged and touched the corner of her mouth with her fingertip as though to remove something, maybe a crumb left from Sune’s sandwiches.
‘I hear Gabriel Rabban is working here? What does he do?’
‘Plastering, sanding, painting.’
She looked around the room again.
‘Upstairs,’ Dan said.
‘Do you think he has something incurable?’ she asked unexpectedly. ‘I mean Sune? I get that impression. What else would he have moved back out here for?’
‘The peace and quiet.’
She shook her head. Then she studied the tiled stove a moment. It was obvious he was blocking her lines of approach but that didn’t seem to bother her. Looking back at him she asked: ‘What were you two up to this evening?’
‘Up to? Nothing.’
‘When he rang he asked if I’d pick you up. He said you were the reserved kind and might not come otherwise. He even asked if I had a girlfriend I’d like to bring along for you.’
‘That has nothing to do with me.’
She stared at the window. Dan followed her eyes. There was nothing outside that he could see.
‘What is it?’ he asked her.
‘What?’
‘In the window?’
‘What about the window?’
‘You were staring at it.’
‘Just wondering. You going to repaint in here too?’
‘Yes.’
‘And put up curtains maybe?’
‘Maybe.’
‘You think we’ll all be able to handle the excitement? If and when you do?’
He put his hands on the armrests of the chair, preparing to rise and accompany her to the door.
‘I know it’s a lot to ask,’ she said, ‘but do you happen to have anything to eat? I drank too much champagne and I don’t want to drive back to Herräng in the dark with nothing but a couple of thin sandwiches in my stomach.’
Unenthusiastically he went to see what there was. They shared an omelette with reheated rice and a tin of artichokes. Drank water.
‘This kitchen’s really snug,’ she said. ‘With an iron stove and all. Just like Aunt Solveig had. I used to love her big old kitchen. It was the safest place I knew on earth. Have you been in it there? In Bromskär?’
‘No.’
She looked around the room again.
‘Of course, a coat of paint will do wonders here. Curtains would too. Can I come and have a look when it’s finished?’
He shrugged. What the hell was he to say? ‘If you want.’
‘An invitation like that,’ she said, ‘I can hardly wait.’
After she’d gone Dan took his sleeping pill and went to bed. Almost at once, or so it seemed, he began to dream of Madeleine Roos. She put his hand on her stomach, asking him to feel her baby move. ‘A live human being,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that extraordinary?’ Then the baby began to cry inside her, a heart-rending sound that came again and again, filling him with anguish though Madeleine didn’t seem to hear it. He woke and discovered that the phone was ringing.
‘Am I disturbing you?’ Lena Sundman asked. ‘Tell me if I am.’
‘Did you forget something here?’
‘I just wanted to talk. First I rang a counsellor. Then I rang you.’
Dan lay back in the bed, the receiver against his ear, relieved to have been woken from the anguish of the dream, glad to hear a human voice.
‘I found her in the yellow pages. SOS Salvation.’
‘What did she tell you?’
‘God is love. Love isn’t rational. She liked my voice. She said we should meet.’
‘What for?’
‘She’s a post-Lutheran Christian. She said post-Lutheran Christians are holy but unbound. Then she had to go. There was a call waiting on another line. So I rang you. Tell me I’m not bothering you.’
‘Now that I’m awake, you mean.’ The dream was gone, he still felt relieved.
‘I wanted to say I’m sorry about that Sunday. The walk. I should have said it while I was at your place tonight. I was in a rotten mood that day but that’s no excuse for being so rude.’
‘None of us was at our best.’
‘Don’t you ever get lonely out there? On your own?’
‘Do you? In Herräng?’
‘Comes and goes. Like a migraine or something.’
‘You�
�ll soon find friends.’
‘I’m not talking about friends. I mean has anyone told you this thing about the monk or whatever, China or someplace. You know. He builds a cell around himself. Brick by brick. Or stone. Even the roof. No door, no window. Sealed off. Inside he settles, ready to live his life and get it over with.’
‘I know.’
‘You’ve heard it?’
‘No.’
‘But you’ve read it somewhere.’
‘We all think about it.’
‘It pulls me down. Why the hell do people tell stories like that?’
Her voice had gone up. A note of anger or of anguish? He felt a need to reassure her. What came was banal, he realized that even as he said it.
‘You’ll get to know plenty of young people soon. You’ll go to parties, meet chaps your own age. Just give it a little time.’
‘Jesus! Parties are a pain in the ass. Everyone impatient to hear the sound of their own voice. Don’t laugh. I mean it.’
‘You’re in terrific humour.’
‘Even better than that Sunday, huh? How did you get to the stage you’re at? That’s what I’d like to know.’
‘Before I brick up the door?’
There was a silence. He was about to say goodbye when she asked, ‘Did you really think I was going to bed with you tonight?’
‘No.’
‘Then why did you say what you said when I hadn’t even brought up the subject?’
‘To stop the cocktail party chatter.’
‘DeeJay,’ she said. ‘You know, you’re getting there. Maybe we’ll have another lesson one of these days. If this woman priest doesn’t get me first.’
After that she hung up. Of course, by now they were more or less on speaking terms.
The following morning he went upstairs to see how Gabriel was managing. Gabriel had his music plugged in and at first didn’t hear him. He’d finished the smaller room. In the large room, which was Dan’s bedroom, the walls and ceiling were ready for the first coat of paint. Gabriel had taken down the bathroom door. It was laid on a trestle and he was honing the tenons of the top rail before fitting them into the styles. Dan moved into his line of sight.
‘Everything all right?’ He had to shout the words. After a fractional hesitation, Gabriel nodded. Dan waited, but Gabriel had already bent to the work he was doing, slipping the top rail snugly into place and tapping the styles to lock it. He glanced up again then, took out his earphones and held them in one hand as though about to say something. But he didn’t seem to know where to start. Instead he nodded, mumbled that everything was fine and put the earphones back in.
Dan went down and sat before the computer. The letters emerged, lay static on the screen. Dead words, dead phrases. Upstairs the tapping and sanding went on until there was silence. Footsteps crossed the floor, descended. The front door opened, closed. Dan went to the living-room window and watched Gabriel turn into the lane where the pick-up waited, looking neither left nor right. His dark face was set in its unchanging expression. Something radiated from his movements though, like heat from firebricks. Some repressed energy. Or aggression.
The day Gabriel Rabban was to finish Dan drove into Norrtälje to get cash to pay him. Norrtälje was crowded with shoppers and he was late leaving. By the time he got home Gabriel had gone. The brushes and rags were gone too. The last tin of paint, half finished, stood in the porch. He’d also dismantled the double bed and installed it upstairs in the bedroom. Dan decided to take his evening walk over to Bromskär to thank him and give him his money.
Dusk had begun to fall when he got there. There were no lights on in the house but through the window as he arrived Dan could see Gabriel. He was smoking and working on a bicycle that was turned upside down on the kitchen table. A girl sat watching. She looked over at the window and at once pulled at Gabriel’s arm. Gabriel’s head went up. Then suddenly he moved very fast. He pushed the girl towards the stairs, and, to Dan’s astonishment, picked a heavy hunting rifle from inside a cupboard as a woman appeared and crossed the kitchen to the door. In accented Swedish she called, ‘Who there?’
‘Dan Byrne. I have Gabriel’s money for him.’
A few seconds later the bolt shot back. The woman looked up at him.
‘This is what I owe Gabriel,’ he said, the notes in his hand. ‘I thought I’d drop around and give it to him.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Is good.’ She reached out and took the money. She looked young to be the grandaunt of a boy Gabriel’s age. Maybe in her mid-fifties, Dan thought. Her face was smooth, a few light wrinkles at her eyes, a hint of shallow lines across her forehead. She nodded but made no move to invite Dan in. Then, without another word, she closed the door. As he left he heard the bolt shoot home behind him.
On the way back the south wind carried the laughing shouts of young islanders from the football field. After the dark isolation of the farmhouse, their voices sounded warm, almost brotherly. Why Gabriel Rabban thought he might need a rifle when answering the door out here was beyond any guess Dan could make and he stopped thinking about it.
All next day warm air continued to blow from the south, bringing the worst rainstorm so far. The storm began with the wind bellowing through the chimney and shaking out the trees for hours in the evening. That night the downpour started. When Dan got up next morning the garden was flooded. Water flowed down the lane like a torrent.
By noon the clouds had thinned out. They passed over his head as he stood in the kitchen doorway, their ragged edges streaked with purple. Then suddenly it had all moved on – the clouds, the wind, the torrential rain. The air was still and light. The last patches of snow in the forest had been washed away. The magic of the Nordic spring filled the world around him.
He walked out into a final burst of sunlight and saw the colours in the field behind the house shift out of pastel into brilliance. The grass was sulphur green, the sky flamed in crimson. He told himself: nothing outside of you can hurt you. You say your heart aches? Too bad. It’s your own doing.
The next morning he decided to start spring cleaning. And to improve his eating habits. From now on he would draw up shopping lists, give priority to spring vegetables, fresh fruit, whole-wheat bread, hard cheeses. He would cook at least one proper meal a day.
And so his life went on until one early June evening Lena Sundman knocked on the door and asked if she could use his telephone. She also asked him if he believed in fate.
‘Well, the universe goes on and doesn’t seem to have any choice in the matter. Is that what you mean?’
‘Never mind. My car’s broken down again.’
‘Here?’ He felt slightly ashamed of the note of disbelief that had crept into his voice.
‘On the way back from Bromskär. It must be a sign.’
‘Of what?’
‘You’re having dinner?’
‘I’m about to.’
‘What is it? Smells delicious. Don’t let me interrupt. I just want to use your phone. I have to ring the garage again.’
When she’d explained to them where her car was she told Dan that judging by the smell he seemed to be a talented cook.
‘What is it?’ she asked again, walking into the kitchen, lifting the lid of the pot on the range.
‘Kalops,’ he told her.
‘God, I haven’t seen that since Aunt Solveig made it. Can I take a tiny taste?’
‘Help yourself.’
She flashed him her smile. ‘You’re sure you don’t mind? I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.’
‘So. Stay to dinner.’
She went upstairs to wash her hands. When she came down he asked her how she was going to get back to Herräng.
‘That is a question.’
‘I’ll ring for a taxi as soon as we’ve finished.’
‘Otherwise I’d have to spend the night.’
He poured her a glass of wine.
‘Don’t take it so nonchalantly, DeeJay. I might be hot stuff in
bed.’
‘How would you know?’
‘You see? You can do it when you want. How would I know? Am I fool enough to believe what men say to me? That’s what you mean, isn’t it? I’ll have to think about it.’
He asked her if she’d been to see the farmhouse when she was over at Bromskär.
‘From the outside. I knocked on the door but that poison pygmy wouldn’t let me in.’
‘You mean Gabriel’s grandaunt?’
‘Yeah. You’ve met her?’
‘Briefly.’
‘Did she talk about the place?’
‘No.’
‘What did she talk about?’
‘Nothing. I was there to pay Gabriel. I gave her the money and left.’
‘She didn’t invite you in either? That’s probably because she knows you and I talk. That woman truly hates me. If it weren’t for her I might be able to reach an agreement with the old man.’
‘Have you tried talking to him on his own?’
‘He has no own. She’s the one who runs things. Him and Gabriel and the girl included.’
During dinner she talked about life in Gothenburg. All Dan knew of the west of Sweden was from a distant summer holiday when Carlos was a baby. Smooth-rocked coasts and sudden North Sea storms, ships and shipyards. Lena Sundman had a different picture.
‘Drunken sailors,’ she said. ‘Unless you have money to go places, that’s all you’ll meet. They’re either maudlin or hard as all fuck. There’s no in between.’
‘You went there alone?’
‘Yeah. We lived in Kungsbacka. I ran away when I was fifteen.’
‘Didn’t you have to go to school?’
‘I was a few months short of my sixteenth birthday. After that as far as school was concerned I was free.’
‘But how did you manage?’
‘By learning to bruise egos quicker than a cook can crack eggs.’
‘At fifteen?’
‘The age of consent.’
She didn’t give any more details and Dan didn’t ask for them. After dinner, she insisted on washing up.
‘Leave it,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it later on.’
He went to the hall to ring for a taxi but they were both out, one on its way to Stockholm, the other in Norrtälje. When he came back Lena was at work in the kitchen.
In the Name of Love Page 10