Thin Ice

by Mikael Engström

His skin crawled. He felt sick, wanted to throw up. His stomach was in knots as if someone was rotating an ice drill in there. He felt tablet-poisoned. How could the brothers be able to empty their potties if they were lying dead in their houses?

  Mik leapt up so fast the chair tipped over. Rushed down the stairs and past Lena, who was washing up.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she shouted, but he was already outside.

  He ran and slid down the road and raced in to Bengt, who looked up from his crossword, bewildered.

  ‘Have you taken any of those tablets? I think you got Bertil’s. I think you’re going to die.’

  ‘Ugh, those pills. I don’t take them anyway. I throw them away. Do you know a reptile with thirteen letters? The first letter is N and the fifth from the end is O.’

  ‘Nile crocodile.’

  ‘Good. That makes six down cryptography. Secret writing. You’re a devil at crosswords. Have you been taking lessons or something?’

  Mik looked at the tablet dispenser on the draining board. It was blue. He felt totally confused.

  ‘Should you have the blue box? Have you got the right one?’

  ‘Oh, yes. But don’t tell Lena I don’t take the pills. She’ll only start to get awkward.’

  THE CAT FACTORY

  Mik woke in the middle of the night. It was the song that had woken him. Long, drawn-out notes. The sound rose and fell. A beautiful song, but sad. It went quiet for a moment but then it started up again. Faint, melodious sounds rose up, only to die down.

  Where was it coming from? He looked out of the window. Yes, it was coming from Lake Selet. The lake formed by the river in the middle of the valley between the mountains.

  Last night steam had been rising from the water, but there was none tonight. The song came from the lake. Mournful tones. Whales? It sounded like the whale song at the museum. Could there be a lone lost whale in the lake? The sound was magical and the whole snowscape out there was like a fairy tale. All the small houses lay in the tranquil, blue light of the night. And far, far away in the distance rose the high black mountain. The mountain of primeval mountains, beyond the river of primeval rivers.

  The hawk owl landed in the tall birch tree.

  Could there really be a whale in Lake Selet? How had it got there? In Loch Ness in Scotland there was a sea monster from prehistoric times. Did that mean there could also be a whale here? An ancient whale from prehistoric times.

  The light went on in Bengt’s kitchen. He came out onto the steps and emptied his potty on the pile of snow. The hawk owl flew away. Bengt remained standing there for a while, looking down over the lake, then went in and switched off the light.

  They were doing maths in school. The teacher corrected Mik’s homework.

  ‘Traffic jam?’ she said. ‘What kind of an answer is that?’

  ‘Well, it depends on the traffic how far Sven goes in his car. It might be in the middle of rush hour with queues and red lights, so he wouldn’t get anywhere even if he had a thousand litres in his tank.’

  ‘But there wasn’t a traffic jam,’ said his teacher. ‘The car uses zero point seventy-six litres every ten kilometres, so all you have to do is multiply that by the number of litres in the tank.’

  ‘I know,’ said Mik.

  ‘Well, then, why have you written traffic jam?’

  ‘I was trying to be funny.’

  ‘In maths you don’t have to be funny, and we don’t have rush hour up here. It’s sixty kilometres to the nearest traffic lights.’

  During the lunch break Mik sat on his own on the climbing frame. It was the middle of the day but the sun was low and pale in the sky. There were hardly any days here at all. The sun only said a quick hello over the mountain tops and then it was gone again. The cold was like your actual North Pole. Minus twenty-two degrees. If it was this cold back home they didn’t have to go outside at break time. If it was this cold at home they didn’t even have to go to school.

  A girl came up and stood in front of him, staring. She was wearing an ugly fur hat that looked like a dead beaver. Mik glared back. He didn’t know her name.

  ‘I’ve never seen traffic lights,’ she said.

  Mik didn’t answer.

  She took a step forward.

  ‘I’ve never been on an escalator. Is it fun?’

  ‘Like being in a lift, more or less.’

  ‘I’ve never been in a lift,’ she said and ran off to her friends.

  Mik looked around for Pi and saw her in her bulky red jacket, telling Oskar and Filip something. He wanted her to see him. Pi was obviously saying something funny. She waved her arms about and everyone laughed.

  Mik took out his mobile and made an important call to Peter Hirvell, asking him how he prepared for his underwater record. Peter Hirvell said something amusing and Mik laughed so that the whole playground heard. Filip, Pi and Oskar walked over. Mik ended his phone call.

  ‘Bye then. Call you later.’

  ‘What a massive old mobile you’ve got,’ said Filip and took out his. It had a radio, MP3 player, camera and everything.

  Pi and Oskar showed them their mobiles. They also had a camera and MP3 player but no radio.

  ‘Mine’s a video camera too,’ said Filip. ‘Can I see yours?’

  He took Mik’s phone and cradled it in his hand as if it weighed ten kilos. He pressed a few buttons and looked at the display.

  ‘It doesn’t work.’

  ‘Battery’s dead,’ said Mik.

  ‘Mine lasts a hundred hours, at least.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Pi. ‘It doesn’t matter what kind of mobile you have.’

  ‘Yes it does,’ said Filip. ‘Look, I’ve got a torch, too.’

  ‘Mine’s got a bigger colour display,’ said Oskar.

  ‘You can’t get it wet, though,’ said Filip. ‘Mine’s waterproof.’

  ‘Mine won’t break if you drop it from high up,’ said Oskar and dropped it onto the frozen ground.

  The battery popped out and the display cracked. Oskar was very, very upset. He managed to slot the battery back in. Half the coloured screen was black.

  ‘Genius,’ said Filip.

  Pi sprinkled some snow on Mik’s hat and smiled.

  ‘You coming to Konsum to buy some sweets?’

  Filip protested. ‘Oh, why does Traffic Jam have to come?’

  ‘Because he’s funny,’ said Pi.

  ‘I haven’t got any money,’ said Mik.

  ‘I have,’ said Pi and brought out a thick wad of notes and some coins from her pocket. It was a surprisingly large amount.

  ‘Shall we buy him some?’ said Oskar.

  ‘Yes, let’s do that.’

  In the square between Konsum and ICA a few men were putting up a big Christmas tree.

  ‘I’m going to ask for a new mobile for Christmas,’ said Oskar.

  ‘That’s nothing,’ said Filip. ‘I’m getting a snowmobile.’

  They went into Konsum. Oskar gave Mik a shove.

  ‘And what do you want?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t know? Haven’t you written a list?’

  ‘No, but last Christmas I got a hockey stick and … a puck.’

  ‘A puck!’

  Oskar fell about laughing.

  ‘You’re hilarious.’

  They lined up in front of the sweet containers, each holding a bag. Mik put a few sweets in the bottom of his, some marshmallow bananas, sour fruits and chocolates. He looked at Pi who had scooped her bag full.

  ‘Puck,’ said Filip. ‘Hockey stick and puck? You’ve got to write a list.’

  Mik looked down into his bag and wondered if he dared take any more.

  ‘A Christmas present list,’ said Oskar. ‘With the best things at the top. At the bottom you throw in some boring things, like a warm jacket or something.’

  ‘I’m not putting anything boring on my list,’ said Filip.

  ‘Who do I give the list to?’ said Mik.

&nbs
p; ‘Are you being funny or are you just thick?’ said Filip.

  ‘I never usually write a list,’ said Mik.

  ‘Yeah, and that’s why you got a puck … for your hockey stick.’

  Pi took Mik’s bag from him and peered into it. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Some marshmallow bananas and …’

  She gave him back the bag.

  ‘Fill it to the top. I’m paying.’

  On their way out they stood in the warm blast of air between the doors and looked at the notice board. Mik ate his marshmallow bananas and read the cards about logs for sale. He read about studded tyres for an old Saab, a lost sledge and a meeting in the community centre to discuss the wolf situation. And all those lost cats. Something that wasn’t there last time Mik looked at the notice board was the card about the fishing conservation organisation holding its annual meeting. Everyone was invited for coffee and saffron buns.

  ‘I can’t see any change,’ said Oskar.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mik. ‘Saffron buns.’

  ‘What are you talking about, saffron buns?’

  Mik pointed.

  ‘There, at the fishing meeting. Everyone gets buns.’

  ‘We don’t care about buns,’ said Oskar. ‘We’ve got other things to –’

  Filip shook his head and pulled a face at Oskar.

  ‘Oh, nothing.’

  ‘What?’ said Mik.

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ said Filip.

  Pi laid her hand on Mik’s head.

  ‘He can be in on it.’

  ‘No way,’ said Filip. ‘There’ll be less each if we have to share. And he won’t be able to keep his mouth shut. Why does he –’

  ‘Because I want him to,’ said Pi. ‘Mik won’t say anything. He’s okay.’

  Filip stared moodily at Mik who had his mouth full of marshmallow bananas and didn’t have a clue what they were talking about.

  The disused furniture factory was a large brick building beside the river. The windows were covered with pieces of wood, nailed into place. Oskar and Filip opened a metal hatch beside the factory chimney. Pi grabbed hold of Mik, twisted him round to face her and held him by his ears, staring deep into his eyes.

  ‘You must promise on your life not to say a thing.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mik.

  ‘On your life.’

  ‘I promise on my life not say anything.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘What am I promising not to say?’

  They crawled into the hatch and along a narrow shaft and came out inside the factory. Pi switched on the lights. The fluorescent tubes on the ceiling hummed and flickered. All around stood carpentry benches, planes, drills and saws. The floor was covered in wood shavings. On a table was a coffee cup with the dried remains of coffee inside. A newspaper lay open. It looked just as if the workers had gone for a break and would soon be back.

  ‘My dad worked here,’ said Oskar. ‘But they make furniture cheaper in China.’

  Mik smelled something strong and pungent. The whole factory stank of cat piss, and he saw a cat sitting on a shelf, washing itself. Further away on a workbench another cat was lying down, sleeping. Fat and white. Suddenly there were two, rubbing themselves against his legs. There were cats everywhere. It was a cat factory.

  ‘We have a business idea,’ said Pi, picking up the white cat. ‘We look after the cats until the reward is right.’

  ‘Business idea?’ said Mik.

  ‘Yeah, don’t you get it?’ said Filip. ‘These cats have run away. The owners want them back, but it’ll cost them.’

  ‘Course I get it,’ said Mik.

  ‘They’re all right here,’ said Pi. ‘The heating’s on low so the machinery won’t be damaged.’

  ‘The machines are going to China,’ said Oskar.

  ‘And they get cooked fish every day,’ said Pi. ‘Synchro-Bertil gives us all the small pike.’

  Oskar found Greta’s cat, a tabby with white paws. He stroked it and said, ‘You’ve been missing long enough. Your owner thinks you’re worth three hundred kronor. You’re a real goldmine.’

  Pi pointed at another cat with grey, matted fur.

  ‘It’s called Nisse and has been here for ages. He’s bad business. It’s Crow-Lasse’s cat. He hasn’t even put a card on the notice board. But we have learned a few things. It’s important to know who the owner is before the cat goes missing. Old ladies and families with little children are best. Old men are useless. They’re not bothered about their cats. They shouldn’t be allowed to have cats.’

  Mik picked up a black cat with yellow eyes.

  ‘We should never have taken that one,’ said Filip.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s Maria’s cat and she’s …’

  Filip went silent. No one said anything. Mik looked questioningly at the others.

  ‘What’s that about Maria? Who’s she?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Pi.

  The black cat purred.

  Greta lived in a yellow house a stone’s throw from the church. Pi carried the cat in her arms. They stood outside on the road and looked towards the house. Filip and Oskar practised their story. How, where and when they had found the cat.

  ‘In the forest,’ said Filip.

  ‘That’s no good,’ said Pi.

  ‘In the forest, caught in a fox trap,’ said Oskar.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Pi. ‘But not good. Too complicated.’

  ‘In a tree,’ said Mik. ‘It was sitting high up in a tree and couldn’t get down. Meowed and cried.’

  ‘What?’ said Oskar. ‘You mean it’s supposed to have been sitting up in a tree for two weeks?’

  ‘How do I know when it climbed up?’ said Mik.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Pi. ‘In a tree. We don’t know what it did before that. Maybe it climbed up there a few hours before we found it.’

  ‘Yes, but where was it before that?’ said Filip.

  ‘How are we supposed to know that?’ said Pi. ‘We’ve only just found it, and that’s all we’ve got to say. It’ll only get complicated otherwise.’

  Greta, an overweight woman with bright red cheeks, was so happy to see her cat again that her eyes filled with tears. She cradled the cat in her arms, rocking it like a child.

  ‘Come in, come in. Let me give you something to drink and some cinnamon buns. Sit down and I’ll lay the table.’

  She let the cat down, clapped her hands and began busying herself in the kitchen. The cat was given food and a saucer of cream. Buns and cakes appeared on the table.

  ‘How clever you are,’ said Greta. ‘You found her last summer too. Where did you find her?’

  ‘At the top of a tree,’ said Pi. ‘Mik had to climb up and get her.’

  ‘In a tree?’ said Greta, astonished.

  ‘She was probably lost in the forest before that,’ said Filip.

  ‘Shut in a fox trap,’ said Oskar.

  ‘What?’

  Pi glared at Oskar.

  ‘We found her in a tree; we don’t know about anything else. She might have been shut in or lost or anything.’

  ‘What would I do without you?’ said Greta and bent down to stroke the cat. ‘It’s Christmas soon and it would have been so empty without her.’

  ‘The money,’ said Pi.

  ‘Oh yes. The reward.’

  Greta pulled open a drawer, lifted up a book and took out three one-hundred-kronor notes from underneath.

  They took a short cut through the graveyard towards the school.

  ‘You nicked the cats,’ said Mik.

  ‘We’re making people happy,’ said Oskar. ‘We’re doing something good. They would never have been this happy if the cat hadn’t got lost and then found again.’

  ‘How are we going to share the money?’ said Filip sulkily, wiping his nose on his sleeve. ‘There are three one-hundred-kronor notes and now there’s four of us. That’s three divided by four. It’s far too complicated.’

  ‘I don’t n
eed to get any money,’ said Mik.

  THE WELL OF STARS

  Lena threw a few old encyclopaedias into the stove, solid bricks with leather covers.

  ‘How was school today, then?’

  ‘Cool,’ said Mik.

  ‘What shall I make for dinner?’ said Lena. ‘We’ve got sausages. Shall I cook some macaroni?’

  ‘No, I’m full up,’ said Mik, looking down at his last marshmallow banana, which was twisted and grubby in his fingers. ‘We found Greta’s cat today.’

  ‘That’s good. I expect that made her happy.’

  ‘Yes, it was sitting up in a tree and I was the one who had to climb up and get it. No one else dared.’

  ‘How clever! You can do another good deed. I’ve collected Bengt’s new reading glasses. Will you run over with them?’

  Mik didn’t knock; he simply opened the door and stepped right in. It felt like breaking and entering. Bengt stood with a fork in one hand, frying bacon. The smell filled the whole kitchen.

  ‘Hello. I’ve got your glasses.’

  ‘Put them on the table. Want some bacon?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  Bengt ate straight from the frying pan with the fork.

  ‘Do you know how to fish?’ he said, a hot piece of bacon sticking out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Have you ever fished for pike?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ve caught thousands. Konsum Lasse and I export to France. There’s a place that appreciates pike. Fine food. No one eats pike here any more.’ Bengt chewed his bacon.

  ‘Are they big, pike?’

  The frying pan was empty. Bengt put it in the sink.

  ‘Do you want to come fishing with me and help check the lines?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Come down at six o’clock tomorrow morning. Wrap up well.’

  Mik turned in the doorway and said, ‘There’s a whale in the lake.’

  ‘What?’ said Bengt, looking doubtful.

  ‘I heard it sing.’

  ‘That was the ice you heard. The ice sings when it’s settling. It’s the pressure.’

  ‘Whales sing too.’

  At precisely six o’clock next morning Bengt stood with his sledge, waiting for Mik. On the handle hung a bucket of roach and in the pike box lay a large axe.

  ‘Sit in the box and I’ll get going.’