The Quarry töq-3

by Johan Theorin

  ‘Could I possibly make a note of those?’

  ‘I’ll do you a photocopy,’ said the teacher.

  He handed the copy over to Per and asked, ‘Do you happen to know what became of Lisa? It looks as though this photo has been cut out of a magazine …’

  ‘Yes, it’s from a monthly magazine,’ said Per. ‘So I expect she was a model, a photographic model, for a little while.’

  ‘Well I never,’ said Karl Harju. ‘As a teacher I’m always interested to hear what becomes of our charges in later life.’

  Per went back to the woman in the school office and asked if he could borrow the local telephone directory. He found only one of the names of the four girls who had been friends at the school: there was an Ulrica Ternman in the area. The address was in Randhult, a village somewhere to the south of the town.

  He made a note of the number, went back to his car and called it on his mobile.

  ‘This is an answering machine,’ said a male voice. ‘You have reached Ulf, Hugo, Hanna and Ulrica. We’re not at home right now, but if you’d like to leave a—’

  Per was about to end the call when a woman’s voice broke in. ‘Hello?’

  Per leaned closer to the wheel. ‘Hello? Is that Ulrica Ternman?’

  ‘Yes, who’s calling?’

  ‘My name is Per Mörner. You don’t know me, but I’m looking for a woman called Lisa Wegner. I heard you were friends?’

  The woman was silent, as if it took time to call up the name from her memory.

  ‘Lisa? Yes, we were friends for a while when we were at school,’ she said eventually, ‘but we haven’t kept in touch. She lives abroad.’

  ‘And you don’t have her phone number?’

  ‘No, she became an au pair in Belgium or France, and married some guy down there, I think … but what do you want with her?’

  ‘I think she used to work for my father, Jerry Morner.’

  Silence once more.

  ‘What did you say his name was?’

  ‘Morner – Gerhard Morner, known as Jerry.’

  Ulrica Ternman lowered her voice. ‘You mean the man who published those … those magazines? He was your father?’

  ‘That’s right – Babylon and Gomorrah. Did you know him?’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘You did?’ Suddenly Per understood, or thought he did, and said quickly, ‘So you worked for Jerry too?’

  There was silence at the other end of the phone, followed by a click as the connection was broken.

  Per looked at his mobile. He waited fifteen seconds, then rang the number again.

  The woman answered after four rings. Per took command, like the experienced telephone interviewer he was. ‘Hi Ulrica, it’s Per Mörner again … I think we were cut off.’

  He thought he heard her sigh. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I just want to ask a few questions, then I’ll leave you in peace … Did you work for Jerry Morner?’

  Ulrica sighed again. ‘Just once,’ she said. ‘One weekend.’

  Per gripped the phone more tightly. ‘Ulrica, I’d really like to talk to you about all that.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because … my father is dead.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He died in a car accident. And … well, there were some things I never got to know about him, about what he did.’

  ‘Really? So you weren’t involved in any of that?’

  ‘No,’ said Per. ‘But others were. Other men.’

  ‘Yes, I know that,’ Ulrica Ternman said wearily. ‘But I don’t think there’s much I can tell you.’

  ‘Could we try?’

  She hesitated.

  ‘OK,’ she said eventually. ‘You can come here tomorrow evening, as long as it’s before seven.’

  ‘Excellent. I live on Öland … Where exactly is Randhult?’

  ‘Twenty-five kilometres south of Kalmar,’ she said. ‘It’s signposted, and I live in the only brick-built house, next to a barn.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Per had called in to see Nilla on his way back from Malmö that morning, but she had been asleep. He went again after his visit to the school.

  Marika wasn’t there, but Nilla was awake this time and on a drip, attached to the bed with a plastic tube going into her arm.

  ‘Hi Dad,’ she said quietly, but didn’t move.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m … not so bad.’

  ‘Are you in pain?’

  ‘No, not much.’

  ‘What is it, then? Are you feeling a bit lonely?’

  Nilla seemed to hesitate, then she nodded.

  Per thought about the horde of teenagers racing past him in the school corridor, and asked, ‘Would you like to see some of your friends?’

  Nilla didn’t say anything.

  ‘Some of your classmates, maybe? If you give them a call I could go and pick some of them up.’

  Nilla didn’t reply; she just smiled wearily and shook her head.

  She was much quieter than when he had seen her on Saturday. Today she was indicating how she felt only through her smiles, usually just that same tired smile. Per almost stopped breathing each time he saw it. No thirteen-year-old should look so devoid of happiness.

  ‘No,’ she said eventually, turning to face the wall. ‘I don’t want to see them.’

  ‘No?’ said Per.

  Nilla coughed and swallowed, then answered in a whisper, ‘I don’t want them to see me like this.’

  The silence in the room became unbearable, until eventually Per realized his daughter had started to cry. He sat down next to the bed and placed a hand on her back. ‘What’s wrong, Nilla? Tell me and we’ll fix it.’

  The tears flowed as she started to tell him.

  When he got home, Per put on his trainers and set off. He didn’t give a damn where he was going, he just had to get out. He ran with the wind in his face along by the quarry, beside the sea and then away from it, increasing his speed all the time until his lungs were bursting and his thighs were aching.

  He stopped on a rocky outcrop, gasping for breath and leaning forward into the wind. He wanted to throw up, but couldn’t.

  He kept on thinking about Nilla.

  The rest of the school year was a write-off, he had realized that several weeks ago. The spring term was lost, but she would be back at school in the autumn. Back with her classmates.

  She would be back.

  That was the only thought in Per’s head as he stood there. She would get better, she would come racing out of the classroom, out into the corridor with her friends. She would start playing basketball again and do her homework and go to school dances and organize parent-free parties.

  She would move up to the grammar school and sneak in too late while Per pretended to be asleep. She would travel in Europe and learn new languages.

  Nilla would go back to school, she would have a future. Her life existed only in the present right now, but soon she would get her future back. He would do anything to make sure that happened.

  Save the children, he thought, and set off again.

  He reached a moss-covered stone wall and followed it for a hundred metres or so before climbing over it. He was on the edge of the alvar. There was no water left out there now. The ground was dry and hard as he ran among the bushes.

  It was a while before he realized that he was being followed – a rustling sound made him stop and look back. He could clearly hear someone running behind him, at almost the same pace.

  Per stopped and held his breath; he thought about Markus Lukas, and crouched down. He was completely defenceless out here on the alvar – the axe and all his other weapons were back at the cottage.

  A figure eventually appeared among the juniper bushes and caught sight of him, but everything was fine – it was Vendela Larsson. She was just as puffed as he was, and stopped a few metres away to catch her breath.

  They looked at each other without speaking, both panting with exertio
n from their run. But Per saw a weariness that went beyond the purely physical when he met Vendela’s eyes.

  Eventually he straightened up and took a deep breath. ‘My father is dead,’ he said.

  Vendela placed her hand on his cheek. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  Per nodded. ‘And my daughter’s friend Emil is dead too.’

  Vendela said nothing; she left her hand where it was and looked inquiringly at Per. He went on: ‘He died on Sunday night. He picked up an infection in hospital, and he was too weak to fight it … Nilla was in love with him, she cried when she told me what had happened. She just cried and cried, and I didn’t know what to say.’

  Vendela moved closer, holding out her arms.

  Per didn’t want her to hug him, she was so skinny and there was no love left in the world.

  They stood motionless in the grass holding one another for several minutes. After a while Per could hear that they were breathing in time with one another. Long, deep breaths.

  Eventually she let go of him, then she took a step back and turned her head. She nodded over towards the labyrinth of rocks and bushes.

  ‘Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.’

  53

  Vendela had called Max’s mobile and the landline at their apartment in town a total of eight times on Monday evening, but he didn’t answer until the ninth call. By that stage she was no longer capable of keeping her voice steady; she shouted down the phone, right across the water: ‘Ally should be here, Max! Here on the island!’

  ‘But right now he’s here.’

  ‘He doesn’t feel well in town!’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Max. ‘In any case, he’s going to the vet first thing tomorrow morning; I’ve made an appointment. Then we can find out what’s wrong with him.’

  Vendela clutched the receiver tightly. ‘He’ll get well here. With me!’

  ‘That’s just your imagination.’

  Max sounded calm and collected, but Vendela got even more angry when she heard how much he was enjoying having the upper hand. She lowered her voice. ‘Bring him back here, Max. Come straight here after you’ve been to the vet.’

  ‘Of course, we’ll soon be back … And of course you can go off jogging in the meantime.’

  Vendela realized what he was implying, and sighed. ‘I’m on my own here, Max,’ she said quietly. ‘All the neighbours are away.’

  ‘So you’re keeping an eye on their comings and goings, then?’

  Vendela didn’t reply; this was pointless. ‘Bring Ally back tomorrow,’ she said, and hung up.

  She stood by the window, staring out at the empty landscape. Something was complaining and screaming out there, and at first Vendela thought it was a child, but then she saw a gull flying south along the coast.

  She was dizzy with rage and hunger, but she wouldn’t eat yet. She would go out instead.

  Quarter of an hour later, as she was setting off from the house, she noticed that Per Mörner’s car was parked outside his cottage.

  But she didn’t stop, she ran towards the alvar with the sun on her back and her eyes fixed on a point far ahead in the distance. She became a machine, lifting her legs and pumping her arms and moving across the ground. She didn’t achieve a sense of rhythm, but she ran fast.

  Eventually she noticed that she wasn’t alone. Another figure was moving through the bushes ahead of her.

  Per Mörner. He was wearing the same blue tracksuit top, but was running in shorts this sunny evening.

  Vendela increased her speed and gradually caught up with him. She didn’t call out, but he stopped and turned around when she was about fifty metres away.

  They stared at one another; by the time Vendela stopped she was completely out of breath and hadn’t the strength to speak, and Per also looked totally exhausted.

  It wasn’t until a few moments later, when she had her arms around him, that Vendela decided to take Per to the elf stone. When she got her breath back the first thing she said was, ‘Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.’

  And they set off again, running straight across the alvar. She could find her way between the bushes without even thinking about it now, and Per followed her. They ran in step and close together, as if they were helping one another.

  Vendela didn’t slow down until she saw the grove of juniper bushes. Per stopped and took deep breaths; he looked worn out.

  ‘It’s over here,’ she said, leading the way.

  They entered the dense ring of bushes, and Vendela saw the elf stone. As always, she speeded up as she approached it. For a brief moment she forgot that she wasn’t alone, but Per followed her right up to the block of stone.

  ‘A big stone,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, a big stone,’ said Vendela. ‘Have you never been here?’

  He shook his head. ‘But you have?’

  She placed her hands on the stone, running her fingers around the empty hollows. ‘Yes, many times. This is a very old place. I think people have been coming here through the ages to forget the rest of the world for a while.

  Per looked around. ‘It seems like a good place to do that.’

  ‘A good place? I don’t know … But time passes more slowly here. And you can sit here and pray.’

  ‘Pray?’

  Vendela nodded. ‘Pray for help and good health.’

  ‘God’s healing power, you mean?’ said Per.

  ‘Something like that.’

  She sat down on the grass with her back resting against the stone. Per hesitated, then sat down beside her.

  They rested for a while with their legs outstretched, watching as the setting sun stained the clouds dark red.

  ‘Have you told your husband you’re out here?’ Per asked.

  Vendela didn’t answer at first. How much should she tell him?

  ‘Max isn’t at home,’ she said eventually. ‘He’s taken our dog back to the city so the vet can check him over. And … we’ve had a row as well. I stood up to him, and he’s not used to that. He gets frustrated.’

  Per didn’t say anything.

  ‘But he’ll soon come bouncing back, like a rubber ball … Max needs me.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I help him with his books.’

  ‘How? You mean you …’

  ‘I make sure he finishes them.’

  Per looked at her. ‘Do you write his books?’

  ‘Sometimes.’ Vendela sighed. ‘We work together. But Max thinks it’s better and simpler if he’s the one in the limelight, with his name on the cover as the author.’

  ‘Better for him, anyway,’ said Per. ‘What do they call it when you lend your name to someone else who wants to remain anonymous?’

  ‘I don’t know … but then again, Max has nothing against being well known,’ said Vendela. ‘I prefer to remain invisible.’

  She had always found it difficult to talk about her husband; it felt like a betrayal, but she went on, ‘Max likes to be in the centre of things, and he has tremendous self-confidence. He’s written a cookery book this spring, in spite of the fact that he can hardly even boil water … I wish I had just a fraction of that confidence in myself.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I was in therapy for a while, seeing a psychologist. That’s how I met Max.’

  ‘He was your therapist?’

  Vendela nodded. ‘I fell in love with him and we got together, but he was given a warning by the psychology association. Therapists aren’t allowed to seduce their patients – it’s unethical.’ She added, ‘So Max got angry and decided to become a writer instead; he regarded it as his revenge on the association when his books became popular.’

  They sat in silence for a little while.

  ‘Why were you in therapy?’ asked Per.

  ‘I don’t know … So that I could move on from a difficult childhood, isn’t that usually the case?’

  ‘Did you have a difficult childhood?’

  ‘It wasn’t great. My mother died when I was very young, and m
y father was in a dream world most of the time … And I had a brother, an older brother called Jan-Erik. We lived in the same house, but he didn’t want to see me. His door was always closed. So I thought we had some kind of monster living upstairs.’

  ‘But you got to know him eventually?’

  ‘Yes, but he frightened me at first. He was mentally handicapped … retarded, as we said in those days. And he looked horrible.’

  ‘Horrible?’

  ‘Jan-Erik had allergies, just like me … but his were much worse. I think he had a mixture of different allergies, as well as asthma and sensitive skin. He had long nails that were hardly ever cut; they tore his skin when he scratched himself, and that led to infections.’

  ‘It sounds horrendous,’ said Per.

  ‘It was, but there was no attempt to help a person like that back in the fifties. They were just hidden away.’ She closed her eyes. ‘And then he was convicted of setting fire to our barn, and the authorities decided to send Jan-Erik to a mental hospital on the mainland … Which meant he would end up among psychopaths and those who’d committed sex crimes. It was out of the question.’

  ‘Out of the question?’

  ‘I helped him to run away.’

  She didn’t say any more. They sat in silence again.

  The setting sun had begun to nudge the trees over by the shore. Before long it would be pitch dark out here.

  Per was lost in his own thoughts. After a while he looked over at the red clouds and said, ‘There’s no love or consideration in this world, only egotism … He taught me that at an early age. But when I grew up I tried to prove to him that it wasn’t true.’

  Vendela turned to look at him. ‘Who are you talking about?’

  ‘My father.’

  Vendela reached out her hand and he took it. His hand was cold and almost as slender and bony as her own. ‘And now Jerry’s gone. And I’m frightened of what he’s left me.’

  ‘What has he left you?’ asked Vendela.

  ‘Bad memories. And a whole lot of problems.’

  They sat there by the stone, still holding hands. The sun had disappeared and the sky was growing dark, but they carried on talking. Eventually they got to their feet.

  They didn’t say much on the way home, but Vendela stopped outside Per’s cottage. She looked at him in the darkness. He opened his mouth, but didn’t seem to know what to say or do. And Vendela didn’t know either.