In the Name of Love

by Smith, Patrick

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  They were back in the house, waiting for the coffee to percolate, when Anders said, with grave concern in his voice, that there was something else troubling him. That something else turned out to be Lena Sundman.

  ‘Dan, I don’t want to interfere and believe me I understand why you wanted to go to Paris, but Lena hasn’t been well since she came back. Nothing went… wrong between you two while you were there, did it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you haven’t seen her since she came back?’

  ‘Anders, what are all these questions about?’

  ‘I think she’s heading for a breakdown, and Madde thinks the same. We met her at a friend’s place last week and she was very strange. This business of the farm out here – she’s convinced she’s being cheated out of it, cheated by that Iraqi family that’s moved in. But she trusts you, Dan, don’t you see that? You’re like a father figure for her.’

  ‘Surely some lawyer can clear up that farm business?’

  ‘The trouble is these Iraqis are in possession and how do you get them out? Madde feels really sorry for her. She had a raw deal as a child, you know. She adored her father. He was the one who used to bring her here when she was small. Did you know that?’

  ‘I know her father was brought up by the couple who owned the farm.’

  ‘But this family that’s moved in and refuses to get out? You know them?’

  ‘They were employed there, they took care of the old woman and ran the place for her.’

  ‘So they’ve talked to you about it?’

  Dan waited before answering.

  ‘They’re refugees,’ he said. ‘They haven’t done anything wrong. As I understand it, it’s a purely legal question.’

  ‘The boy I saw when I was driving in. He was getting into a pick-up some woman was driving. A foreign-looking boy. He’s from the family who are trying to take over the farm?’

  ‘I’ve been told it was left to them.’

  ‘Does he declare his income from you?’

  ‘Anders, what the hell sort of a question is that?’

  ‘It may be an important one. Lena suspects her old aunt never even thought of things like that, she just gave them some cash now and then.’

  ‘Lena’s going to bring that up? It’s clutching at straws.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Someone suggested she look into it, some lawyer. He says that if they cheat in one way it may show they were willing to cheat in others.’

  ‘She has a lawyer working for her now?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s as formal as that. She’s talked to one. Chatted maybe.’

  ‘Look, they’re an ordinary decent family who’ve been through a hell most of us can’t even imagine. They’ve lost everything. And now they’re out here on this island where no one speaks their language, no one shares their history. I mean if they were European it’d be different, but they’re not. They’re like extra-terrestrials, dropped out of the sky.’

  Anders regarded him. Dan could see that he was thinking over how to phrase what came next.

  ‘Listen, Dan. I mean this as a compliment. One of the nicest things about you is the way you never mistrust anyone. Madeleine said exactly the same thing once and believe me she’s an excellent judge. I don’t mean to say that you’re gull­ible, but maybe you don’t question people’s motives enough.’

  The earnest way he said this, Anders of all people, so surprised Dan that he didn’t even think of laughing.

  ‘You don’t see how these people are using you, do you? What do we really know about why they fled from Iraq? Plenty of others are staying. Why should just they come here? And now they’ve fled again, according to what Lena’s told Madde, this time from their own community in Malmö. A community they have everything in common with, people who come from the same Iraqi region, with the same background, the same language, the same customs. They even have their own church there, the Chaldean Church, with their own priests, their own ceremonies. Why would they suddenly leave that and come here?’

  ‘I think they want their granddaughter to grow up somewhere peaceful. Away from all talk of violence, of revenge.’

  ‘Of course,’ Anders said, ‘that’s what they say. But is it the truth? Maybe there’s more to it than meets the eye. Lena’s been down in Malmö trying to find people who knew them and she couldn’t find a single one. Dan, I think she’s a little upset at the thought that you’ve taken these people’s side. That’s all I wanted to say. Lena gives the impression of being a confident young woman, but it’s a bit overdone, isn’t it? Acting brassy is something she doesn’t need – not with her looks, her intelligence. Maybe it’s a sign of insecurity, an insecurity she’s had since her pretty awful childhood.’

  He was in his stride now and, even though Dan caught some of Lena’s arguments in what he said, it was Anders’s voice, his depth of concern, that dominated.

  ‘She told Madde that although she was only fifteen when she left home her mother didn’t bother to report her missing. The only refuge she’s ever found was with that old couple out here, her father’s uncle and aunt. They treated her like their own grandchild. And she loved them. The old woman wrote to her wherever she was. Then those Arabs moved in and changed things.’

  ‘I really don’t—’

  ‘These people may not be what you think they are, Dan. Just remember that. They have another culture, other ways of getting what they want. Lena was kind to them the first summer she met them here and all the time they were manoeuvring to get her out.’

  ‘Anders, I don’t know what happened and really it’s none of my business, but they don’t seem to be the manipula­tive kind.’

  ‘They come from a different world, that’s why you don’t see what they’re doing. Lena’s told Madde the whole story. That nephew or whatever he is tried to rape her as soon as he arrived from France. But they saw to it that Lena got the blame.’

  ‘I don’t know, I haven’t heard anything about it, but Lena’s lost an inheritance that had been promised to her and she’s sore as hell about it. I understand that. But if there’s a will it’s difficult to see what can be done.’

  Anders had raised his coffee mug, about to drink from it, but his hand stopped in mid-air as he looked across the table.

  ‘You have to search beyond appearances, Dan. Sure, these people’s story would wring anyone’s heart. But Lena’s point is how convenient it is that they were driven out by Muslims. Everyone’s against the Muslims, they’re painted in the papers as violent, merciless, savage.’

  ‘But these people are here, they—’

  ‘Dan, don’t forget that Lena is here too. She’s had years of living without a foothold in society. She can’t be forced back to posing nude for second-rate photographers in Gothenburg. Or playing come-hither hostess to businessmen at shoddy exhibitions. It’d kill her, Dan. That farm means everything to her now, it’s her birthright that’s been taken from her. Ask Madde if you don’t believe me. Give Madde a ring and ask her. She’ll tell you exactly the same thing.’

  To cover his dismay, Dan shrugged. It wasn’t a gesture that came naturally to him and he felt ill at ease as Anders held out his hands, his eyes on Dan’s, as if to say, Why can’t you understand? But it was Anders who didn’t understand. He knew nothing of what the Selavas family had done to help the old woman keep her farm.

  ‘I know someone who works on the Migration Board,’ Anders went on, ‘and you should hear some of the tales these people tell. They’ll come with photocopies of exactly the same biographical documents with only the names changed. And you hear the same story a dozen times a month. Down to the kind of clothes the killers were wearing when they attacked the neighbours or the cousins or whatever. I feel sorry for some of these people, the ones with genuinely tragic cases. They need all the help we can give them. But lying is second nature to many of them. It can’t be right that a young Swedish woman like Lena, who is just as penniless as they are, should be cheat
ed out of her inheritance because of a hard-luck story no one can verify.’

  Dan knew it was pointless going on and he sought for some way to put an end to the conversation.

  ‘I agree Lena had a tough childhood,’ he said, repeating Sune Isaksson’s argument, ‘but she’s out of it now. She’s got a future to look forward to with her looks and personality and good friends like you and Madde, friends who will help her. She has everything she needs to create a new life in a city like Stockholm. But the Selavas…’

  Anders said nothing more. Dan went with him to his car, promising he’d keep an eye open for a suitable property. Back in the kitchen it struck him that Anders couldn’t have made a more impassioned plea for Lena if she had been his own daughter. Had Kajsa brought out the fatherly instinct in him? Now Madde was somehow involved as well, and that was a plus. Madde wouldn’t hesitate to give Lena the support she needed if she risked falling into the hands of the wrong sort of businessman.

  The next day, with the Anders talk fresh in his mind, he ran into Nahrin and Jamala in the forest. Nahrin whirled around, startled at the sound of his approach. Jamala, who had heard nothing, seemed glad to see him. She made a sign, pointing with her thumb and forefinger to her eyes, then her nose and then her mouth. They were looking for something that smelled and was good to eat. ‘Wild spices,’ Dan said. Her grandmother laughed with delight. ‘You learn!’ she told him. Despite the difference in their ages, she and Jamala had the same quick manner, the same wide-apart eyes. The love between them was almost tangible.

  Jamala signalled that Dan should come back with them to the farmhouse.

  ‘She has surprise,’ Nahrin said, ‘something she want to show.’

  When he asked what it was and Nahrin had translated Jamala looked at him with reproach. She made a rapid series of gestures.

  ‘A surprise,’ Nahrin explained, ‘must be surprise. If no what is it?’

  All the way back Jamala teased him about it through Nahrin, laughing and telling him to guess, which he did over and over again so that she could triumphantly indicate, ‘No! Wrong again!’ It struck him that she probably knew very few people, if any, outside her family here. He and Sune were probably unique, locals who had befriended them. But whose fault was it if there weren’t more? The Selavas kept very much to themselves. For the most part, local people seemed well-disposed towards them, but still they kept apart.

  Before he could think any more about this they had reached the farmhouse. Once inside, Jamala took him by the hand and led him to a storeroom behind the kitchen. Tiny pups, wild with curiosity, tumbled about their shoes as soon as they entered. Jamala gestured to their mother, a spotted mongrel and, taking a notebook with a pencil from her pinafore pocket, she wrote Kejk. Dan looked at the honey-coloured dots, big as cherries, on the dog’s fur and read phonetically: ‘Cake?’ Hearing him, the dog happily thumped her tail on the fresh straw that had been laid to cover the floor.

  Me not give pupps, Jamala wrote in approximately spelt Swedish. Ever. The choppy gestures of her small hands as she emphasized this made Dan laugh. Emphatically she wrote and underlined, Ever!

  The pups stumbled about them in the semi-dark. One of them, digging its claws into Dan’s skin through his trousers, tried to climb his leg. He picked it up and put it on his shoulder, where it started to lick his jaw.

  Cake and all the other pups followed them as they paraded into the kitchen where Dan saw Nahrin’s face soften with amusement.

  Using string and a piece of cloth she made a ball and showed Jamala how the pups could play with it. After that she went back to cutting leeks at the table, stopping to watch the antics Jamala led Dan into. More than once he noticed her face bright with laughter at what she could only think of as his inanity.

  Later, as he was leaving, Nahrin showed him her kitchen garden. Neat rows of vegetables, then strawberry beds and, closest to the kitchen door, her pride: an area entirely given over to herbs. Some Dan recognized: thyme and dill, parsley, basil, coriander, mint, rosemary. But many others he didn’t. He understood now where the fresh unfamiliar smell of Nahrin’s kitchen came from.

  ‘Look,’ Nahrin said, showing him a little earthenware pot. ‘Now we plant what we find today.’ She showed him some of the wild vanilla grass they had collected. ‘This Jamala’s first garden. She and I, we make food and put wild herbs in. You come to eat, you see!’

  Within a week of his visit Anders rang to say that the last of their belongings had been moved to Stockholm now. The house had been sold. The boat was tied up in the marina near the Furusund landing stage.

  ‘As soon as Kajsa’s a little bigger let’s all go sailing. I promise not to bring someone for you – at least not without asking your permission first. I should never have arranged that walk. It was Madde’s idea really. She said you couldn’t go on living alone out there. I know it’s not much use inviting you to dinner in Stockholm but as soon as we’ve found a house on the island you’ll have to come – and often. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of anything?’

  ‘Not yet. I know someone here who’ll tell me the moment anything comes up.’

  Anders said he was going into partnership with Lennart Widström to open an art gallery in the Old Town, one that would specialize in the Nordic Light school of Scandinavian paintings from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. They’d also act as brokers.

  Art broking was something Dan associated with New York, London, Tokyo, places with rich people more interested in investment than art. Anders said that Madeleine’s father knew the right people, people who had famous Swedish and Danish and Norwegian artists on their walls and needed money but didn’t want to broadcast the fact.

  ‘There’s a lot of discreet business to be done. Lennart will organize the international side. We’re moving ahead.’

  ‘How are Madeleine and Kajsa?’

  ‘Great! Really great. You must come to town if only to see them. We even have a guest room. Come and stay for a weekend.’

  Madeleine, he said, had already enrolled to finish her Master’s at Stockholm University. She’d be starting after Christmas. Their original plan had been to share care of Kajsa but now he could see they were going to need a nanny while Madeleine was at seminars and conferences.

  ‘Of course,’ he said to Dan, ‘when things get going I’ll put aside time for Kajsa every week. I still want to share caring for her with Madde.’

  Dan didn’t bother telling him it didn’t work that way. You couldn’t book a slot like you did with a barber. Anders was on his way into a new and exciting world. The nanny wouldn’t suffer much encroachment on her routines.

  ‘Dan,’ Anders was saying, ‘I know this isn’t your kind of thing but a friend of Lennart’s is giving a dinner party this weekend to let people know about the upcoming gallery. Lena’s been invited but she doesn’t want to come. I think she’s pretty low at the moment out there with that aunt of hers and nothing to do. This is a lot to ask but would you consider coming and giving her a lift?’

  ‘Anders, I wouldn’t know how to behave at a dinner party any longer. All that’s in the past.’

  ‘That’s what Madde said you’d say. But do you think for Lena’s sake you could do it? I wouldn’t ask if there were anyone else. Madde and Kajsa are with her mother in the country. Her mother’s very ill and Madde doesn’t want to leave her alone. We’re worried about Lena. Madde thinks she badly needs our help before things go too far.’

  ‘I don’t even know Lennart Widström, let alone his friend.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. Lennart remembers you. And the hostess told Madde we could invite some friends of our own. Since Madde’s in the country the invitations are up to me. If you could bring Lena it would really do her a world of good.’

  Dan thought he was probably right. He remembered Lena’s kindness to him when he’d rung her doorbell without warning in Stockholm one evening. He told Anders okay, he’d give her a ring and see.

  ‘Dan, I already have.
I took the liberty. She said okay, if you were going she’d go with you.’

  When Dan rang Lena to arrange to pick her up, she said, ‘The old banger’s been fixed again – the absolutely last time. She’ll make it as far as your place but the motorway’s out of the question.’

  ‘You’re sure you want to go?’

  ‘Of course I am!’ Her voice was too cheerful. He could tell she was faking it.

  ‘Or are you doing it because Anders told you I needed to get out and meet people?’

  There was a brief silence. ‘What does it matter,’ she said. ‘We both need to do something. And Anders badly wants to help. He’s really concerned about you.’

  ‘Okay. How about coming out here early and we can go for a walk first, maybe have a picnic lunch?’

  ‘I’d have to change after.’

  ‘I promise not to look.’

  ‘One o’clock all right?’

  By now his life was going quietly by again, but he still hadn’t got a grip on it. His son was on the other side of the ocean. They rang each other every fortnight or so, but Carlos had a busy life of his own now, staying with Zoë’s family in New York while he prepared for the bar exam. Dan’s friends in Stockholm left him in the peace he had sought. He spent his evenings watching the autumn light give the fields a patina as though of carbonate on old copper and turn the forest boulders a dusty pink. Illusions, of course, but did that make them any less beautiful? Maybe this was enough, the summer splendour and winter bleakness of the island, the knowledge that its people were well-intentioned towards him, a foreigner they knew nothing about except that his wife had died and was buried here. His home was comfortable, his neighbours respected him, his work was going well. Not many people were as lucky.