Thin Ice

by Mikael Engström

  ‘I can’t believe that,’ she said, looking at him in the rear-view mirror.

  Her shoulder bag lay on the back seat next to Mik.

  ‘The food’s disgusting,’ said Mik, noticing the bag was open. ‘I have to clean up dog shit.’

  ‘Well, of course you have to help out there. It’s fun looking after animals.’

  ‘I don’t like animals.’

  ‘This is the best family. You’ll get used to it. Everything will be fine.’

  ‘No,’ said Mik, sliding his hand over the seat and into her bag.

  ‘You’ve got to understand, this is the best thing for you.’

  His hand searched and felt. A bunch of keys, a mobile, a box of tablets, throat sweets, maybe. Glasses case. Purse.

  Mik arrived back in time for breakfast. Parrot Earrings was in a hurry and left immediately.

  He was given cornflakes and milk. Rickard pulled out a chair. He sat opposite Mik, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his knuckles. He was wearing a sleeveless top and his biceps bulged. Mik looked down into his bowl of cereal.

  ‘Jasack died last night. His heart. He didn’t get his heart medication, did he?’

  ‘I forgot,’ said Mik.

  ‘And now he’s dead.’

  Rickard was silent for a while and looked seriously at Mik. A hard, blue gaze. The spoon shook; milk slopped out.

  ‘He’s going to lie on the hill beyond the stables. The highest one, with the tall juniper bush. You’ll find the spade in the tool-shed, and I want you to dig a proper grave. At least a metre deep.’

  Steel hit stone. The spade shuddered in his hands and there was a smell of burning. The sun beat down from a cloud-free sky. It was as hot as the desert. The punishment, thought Mik. The prisoner is digging his own grave and will be made to stand on the edge and be shot. A neat descent into the grave. But someone else would have to put the earth back in the hole. A blindfold for the eyes and a last cigarette.

  For three days he had been working on it. It was unbelievably stony. Jasack would have time to rot before it was finished. Stones and more stones. His body ached. Blisters came up on his hands and burst. Mik took a break, drank water from a plastic bottle and stared up at the sun. The light shimmered through the water. He stood in the grave and the vultures circled overhead, waiting for death. Glided with wings outstretched.

  Mik took off his T-shirt, tied it round his head and carried on digging. The sweat ran. The spade came up against a large rock. He kneeled down and worked it free with his hands until his nails split. It was to be a neat grave, with nice, straight sides. And deep, so the dog wouldn’t be able to climb back into this world again.

  A shadow fell across him.

  ‘Hello, down there in the grave.’

  It was Niklas standing up there, outlined in the sunlight, his rifle in his hand.

  ‘Have a look at this weird old bird I’ve shot. Fat and ugly.’

  Niklas held it up by the legs so that the wings hung straight out, making it look like an upside-down cross.

  ‘It was sitting in the top of a tree. It died immediately. A perfect shot.’

  He threw it down in the grave at Mik’s feet. It had a large head and yellow eyes. Its body was brown with black and white stripes across the chest. It was a hawk owl. Mik threw down the spade, climbed up out of the grave and ran towards the forest.

  The rails shone in the sunshine and the air quivered over the tracks. He was out of breath and his heart pounded.

  There was 425 kronor in Parrot Earrings’ purse. He took out the money and threw the purse far away into the forest.

  The bus stopped at the little square. The brakes hissed and the doors opened. Mik was the only passenger to get off. He had no luggage.

  ‘Nothing?’ said the driver, who had already climbed out and opened the door of the luggage hatch.

  ‘No, nothing,’ said Mik and looked around. ‘But is this really Selet?’

  The birch trees were green; there was grass and flower borders. It was all so unfamiliar.

  ‘You’ve come to the right place. Isn’t anyone coming to meet you?’

  ‘I’ll be okay.’

  The driver climbed back into the bus, closed the doors and drove away.

  The Konsum sign had gone but the word Konsum could still be made out in ghostly writing on the outside wall. A car drove past; a lawnmower started up.

  Mik looked around, anxious that someone might be following him. That they were on his trail. Bloodhounds. Tengil’s men. But there was no one to be seen.

  He passed the school and came onto the bridge. The river glittered in the sun. The water ran freely and fish splashed on the surface. Far below in the river-bend someone was fishing and caught something. A wriggling fish flew through the air.

  ‘WOOF!’

  Gustavsson’s dog stood in front of him. Growled, the hair on its back standing on end. Mik stared it straight in the eyes and said, ‘Quiet.’

  The dog was absolutely stunned.

  ‘Sit.’

  It sat.

  Lena’s house stood wrapped in leafy green trees and the gravel path up to the front steps was lined with flower-beds. The grass was long and growing wild. He walked straight in. Lena was sitting at the kitchen table, sorting tablets for the Selström brothers’ tablet boxes. She looked up.

  ‘Mik?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But …?’

  And then she smiled and held out her arms.

  He started to cry. His whole body shook. He rushed up to her and she hugged him tightly. Everything went warm and his body relaxed and softened, as if his skeleton had dissolved.

  ‘Goodness, how dirty you are.’

  ‘I’ve come from the grave.’

  PART 5

  THE RAFT

  A HERO

  Lena laid the table for breakfast. Mik ate cheese roll after cheese roll, dipped in his hot chocolate until the cheese melted into strings. Suddenly Pi was standing in the kitchen. She smiled.

  She had changed. Something was missing. The blue birthmark on her cheek had gone. Instead only a red patch could be seen on her suntanned face.

  ‘The mark’s gone,’ said Mik.

  ‘Looks good, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know. It looks empty.’

  Pi laughed, sat down and helped herself to a cheese roll.

  ‘How did you know I was here?’ said Mik.

  ‘Everyone knows you’re here. I saw you yesterday on the bridge. I waved, but you didn’t wave back.’

  ‘Was that you, fishing?’

  ‘Yep. Do you want to go to the lake for a swim?’

  Mik nodded with his mouth full and hot chocolate running down his chin. But then he remembered.

  ‘Swimming shorts?’

  Lena made a pair. She cut the legs off the dirty, ripped jeans. Took the scissors and chopped them off just above the knee. She would organise new clothes for him during the day.

  Lake Selet didn’t have a real beach, not a nice one with sand gently sloping into the lake. The forest hugged the lakeside, leaning over water that was black and that got suddenly very deep. The shoreline sloped steeply, covered in roots and rocks from landslides.

  Pi changed under her towel using a complicated arm and leg routine to wriggle into her swimming costume so that Mik would not get even the tiniest glimpse of her naked body.

  ‘You’ve just got to dive from the edge,’ said Pi.

  ‘Oh,’ said Mik and took off his shoes and top. He looked at her and she looked at him. She smiled and struggled, bent over on one leg under her towel.

  ‘Are you going to stay here now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Pi and dropped the towel to the ground.

  ‘Lots of ants here,’ said Mik. ‘And mosquitoes.’

  ‘Jump in, then.’

  ‘No, I’ll wait a bit.’

  A long, thick tree trunk floated past, a short way from land.

  ‘Oh, w
e’ve got to have that,’ said Pi.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That log. Come on.’

  She dived in neatly and effortlessly. No big splash, just a little gurgle. She was sucked under the surface and glided a long way below the water before surfacing. She shook her head and water flew from her hair in the sunshine. With a few rapid strokes she reached the log and hung her arms over it.

  ‘Come on, Mik. I can’t bring it in on my own. Jump in.’

  Ants crawled over his feet and he lifted them up and down on the spot.

  ‘Wimp. It’s not cold. You get used to it.’

  Pi clambered onto the log and performed a little balancing act, standing on it and waving her arms around. She fell in with a splash. She snorted and laughed.

  ‘Help me. It’s not cold. The log’s important.’

  Mik scattered a few ants into the water. They floated.

  ‘We’ve got to get it up on land.’

  Pi climbed up again and balanced. The log rolled, her legs crossed and she fell in. Splash.

  ‘How deep is it?’

  ‘A few metres. Five, maybe. I’ve never been down to the bottom. Oskar has.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Mik jumped in. He thrashed about, tried a crawl stroke, started to twist and turn and sank. It got rapidly darker and colder. His eyes ached, the pressure increased and then he heard the note getting louder, heard the whale song. It was inside his head. It was his own note in his ear, made louder by the pressure. Did he have a whale in his head? Was that possible?

  Pi came swimming down to him, getting lighter and lighter. Her face was up against his, her hair billowing. It floated about down there in a golden curtain of sun-rays. His lungs started to go into a cramp but he didn’t panic. It was beautiful.

  Pi shook her head, pulled a silly face and wrapped her arms around him. They floated up to the surface.

  Mik had swallowed water and his forehead pounded. Pi laid her towel across his shoulders.

  ‘You can’t swim. Why didn’t you say so? Why did you jump in?’

  ‘I didn’t want to look retarded and stupid.’

  ‘So you jumped in instead. And that’s not the slightest bit retarded and stupid? Five metres deep. What did you expect, a miracle?’

  Filip and Oskar came running between the trees down to the beach. Oskar bombarded Mik with questions. Had he moved here? Was he going to live here now? Where had he been?

  Mik told them the truth. He was on the run from the Tormentors.

  Oskar was impressed and asked, ‘Did you dig an escape tunnel?’

  ‘No, I was only locked in at night.’

  Filip looked dubious and stood unnecessarily close to Pi.

  ‘It’s not that hard to escape,’ he said sullenly. ‘Anyone can do it.’

  ‘The log!’ shouted Pi. ‘It’s drifting away. We’ve got to get it in.’

  Pi, Oskar and Filip dived in and rapidly swam out to begin the laborious task of barging the log to the shore. Pi was in charge, and the log moved slowly towards land. Mik felt absolutely useless and sat on the edge of the lake, flicking ants into the water.

  Oskar and Filip wondered why he didn’t help with the log instead of sitting there among the ants.

  ‘He can’t swim,’ said Pi.

  Pi, Oskar and Filip had collected about ten large logs throughout the summer. They lay tied together on the lake shore to stop them drifting away. Some floated high in the water; others floated lower.

  Pi had collected lengths of rope in different colours and thicknesses which were used to tie the logs together. They had to be bound tightly. It was going to be a raft.

  ‘It’s going to be a big one,’ said Oskar. He was trying to tie a knot but it kept coming undone.

  Pi was in charge of the work. She and Mik worked on top of the raft, lashing the logs together. Oskar and Filip had the job of diving down and passing the rope under the logs, and their heads popped up and down like fishing floats with a fish on the end. Mik grabbed the ropes handed to him by the divers and Pi tied all the knots.

  As soon as Oskar came up out of the water, his mouth started working. Mik could see him talking even under the water, although only bubbles came out. He wanted to know everything about running away and what it was like. Whether it was cool or scary and if there was anything you had to think about when you ran away. Was there a manual? Handy tips and advice?

  ‘First you have to know where you’re going,’ said Mik.

  ‘But you’re running away from something, aren’t you?’ said Oskar.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Mik. ‘But if you don’t know where you’re going it gets confusing very quickly.’

  ‘What’s the most important thing?’

  ‘Food, water and money. Otherwise you’d easily give up.’

  ‘Did you have that?’ asked Filip, who had started to weaken.

  ‘No, not the first time.’

  ‘You’ve run away more than once?’

  ‘Yes, but then the police caught me.’

  ‘Is that true?’ said Filip. ‘The police?’

  Mik felt himself swell with pride. Even moody Filip was impressed. It was an unfamiliar feeling. Just like having a little glowing jewel in your chest.

  He told them about everything that had happened to him. Killer dogs and dog turds. How he had been taken by the police but had been allowed to keep the chocolate wafer biscuits and the Coke. And how he had buried a massive great dog.

  Mik was a hero, no doubt about it. That’s what they thought, all three of them.

  Pi often brushed against him while they were binding one log to the next. Their hands met when they tightened and fastened the ropes.

  Filip and Oskar continually popped up out of the water with more questions. Some things they wanted to hear a second time. Over and over again he had to tell them how he cleaned up the dog mess and threw up in his porridge. And what about that thing with the chocolate wafers and the Coke? Amazing that he had been allowed to keep something he had stolen.

  Not one of them doubted what he said was true. Filip was a bit sceptical about some of the details. Pi didn’t ask very much. She listened, mainly, and prodded him along a little.

  ‘Did you go in a police car?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘With a flashing blue light and a siren?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Handcuffs, then?’

  ‘No, the police were nice.’

  Mik told them about spying on a naked girl.

  Oskar and Filip stopped working and dangled in the water, their arms crossed on top of the raft.

  He showed them the whip marks, which were still visible as blue lines.

  ‘Shi-i-it,’ said Oskar. ‘Did you see everything? Did you see her bush?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Pi didn’t like that.

  ‘Just drop it, would you? Get back to your diving. That’s enough. We’ve heard it all. Pull the rope, and then we need another one at the back. Dive now.’

  But they didn’t dive. They hung onto the raft and wanted to hear more.

  ‘Her breasts,’ said Oskar. ‘Were they like –?’

  Pi flicked a piece of blue rope in the air. Oskar cried out in pain. It had hit him across the neck. She was pleased with her aim.

  ‘You’ve already heard what happened.’

  ‘Okay, okay, calm down,’ said Filip. ‘But how deep did you dig the dog grave?’

  ‘Two metres. At least,’ said Mik.

  ‘You’re a hero,’ said Oskar and rubbed his neck where a vivid red mark was appearing.

  ‘But I can’t swim,’ said Mik.

  ‘No, but you’re going to learn,’ said Pi.

  The swimming lessons started on dry land. Mik had to lie down on his stomach and make swimming strokes in thin air. Pine needles, twigs and cones dug into his skin. Pi showed him what to do and corrected his mistakes.

  ‘You mustn’t forget the leg movements just because you’re moving your arms, and vice versa,’ she said.
r />   It was difficult. When he concentrated on the leg movements, he forgot his arms. And huge ants crawled all over him.

  Filip and Oskar helped with the lesson. Mik laughed as he lay on the ground, flinging his arms about. Oskar leapt around, clowning. Filip showed off, saying he could do all the swimming strokes. Pi stood there, pointing and in charge. It was fun and released something in his body. He became calm and still. He had come home.

  The swimming on dry land became better and better. Good, wide swimming strokes. Soon only the fine-tuning remained.

  ‘You’re a swimming expert,’ said Oskar.

  ‘Hmm. On land,’ said Filip.

  Pi told him to jump in and swim along the edge of the water. Mik jumped in, flailed about and sank.

  Pi dragged him out and said, ‘We need rope. Get some from the raft.’

  Filip fetched some rope, which they tied around Mik’s waist, and they guided him along the edge, pulling him up when he sank, which he did as soon as they let the line go slack.

  ‘Slow, steady strokes,’ said Pi. ‘Wide, slow strokes.’

  But Mik didn’t hear. He had sunk. They lifted him up and held the rope taut.

  ‘Come on,’ yelled Filip. ‘Don’t sink.’

  ‘Look. A metre, at least,’ said Oskar.

  Mik sank. He was utterly exhausted. They pulled him up. He coughed and spluttered and was freezing cold.

  ‘Right,’ said Pi. ‘This could take some time.’

  It was evening. Mik sat in his attic room and looked out through the window, scratching his mosquito bites. Everything looked different now, in the summertime. Soft and green. The sun hadn’t gone down, even though it was late. It was almost as light as the middle of the day, but more yellowish. Bengt and Bertil came out with their potties.

  The hawk owl was not sitting in the tree.

  A creaking came from the stairs. Lena was carrying a tray with milk and sandwiches. He ate as she watched.

  ‘No owl,’ said Mik with his mouth full. He pointed towards the window with his sandwich.

  ‘It rarely sits there in the summer.’