I turned off the lamp and got to my feet. There was a wardrobe on one wall, containing her clothes. I inhaled the smell of her and picked up a pair of high-heeled shoes.
As I stood there with the shoes in my hand I heard a noise behind me. I spun around so fast that I banged my head on the wardrobe door, but there was no one there. It was just my imagination. I put down the shoes exactly as I had found them. I was about to close the door when something right at the back caught my eye. At first I couldn’t make out what it was: possibly a small Swedish flag? However, when I took it out I discovered that it was an embroidered cloth. Above the Swedish flag was the word ‘Schweden’, and below it a black swastika on a red and white background.
I could see that it was old; the white fabric had acquired a yellowish tinge. I put it back in the wardrobe. Next to it, on another hanger, was a black leather bag. I took it out and opened it. It contained a number of Nazi war decorations, including a gold-coloured clasp with an inscription on the back which I interpreted as ‘close combat clasp’. There was also an Iron Cross, although I couldn’t tell which grade, and a knife in a case that had belonged to a member of the Waffen-SS. At the bottom of the bag was a photograph of an unshaven man in a German uniform. He was smoking a cigarette and smiling into the camera. On the back of the photograph was the name Karl Madsen, and in different handwriting someone had added: ‘Eastern Front 1942’.
I put the bag back in the wardrobe and left the room. There still wasn’t a sound from Lisa. It was quarter to three in the morning. I lay down on the sofa without getting undressed and fell asleep. In my dream Louise was walking along a street I didn’t recognise. I didn’t recognise her either; she looked completely different, and yet I still knew it was her. When I tried to call out to her, she turned and smiled. Her mouth was like a black hole; she had no teeth.
When I woke, it was ten past four. The whole situation, the fact that I was in Lisa’s apartment, felt like a dream. I went over to the window and looked down on the open space illuminated by a swinging street lamp. My car was in the shadows.
I went into Lisa’s study again. Once more I opened the wardrobe and took out the embroidered cloth with the Swedish flag and the swastika. Why was it hanging there among her clothes? What did the contents of the black leather bag mean?
I couldn’t find any answers.
I was on my way back to the sofa, but I couldn’t resist listening outside Lisa’s bedroom door again. Everything was still silent. Gently I pushed down the handle and opened the door a fraction. The blind was pulled only halfway down, and the street lamp shone onto the bed where she was lying.
I don’t know how long I stood there in the doorway, gazing at her. In the pale glow she looked like the women I have been with during my life. There weren’t many, apart from Harriet, but they were all lying in that bed looking just like Lisa Modin.
Eventually I lay back down on the sofa and dozed off, even though I really didn’t want to. When she woke up I wanted to be sitting here so that I could tell her I hadn’t slept a wink. I hoped that would arouse her sympathy.
I came back to life every fifteen minutes or so, in a state somewhere between sleep and drowsiness. When I heard the alarm clock in her bedroom, immediately followed by the sound of the radio, I sat up, combed my hair and waited. She opened the door softly, so as not to wake me. It was six o’clock. She was wearing her dressing gown. She nodded when she saw me sitting there; I nodded back as she disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the sound of running water. When she came out she had a towel wrapped around her hair. She went back into the bedroom; I stayed where I was. It was still dark outside.
She was dressed when she reappeared.
‘I thought you’d be asleep since you were so tired,’ she said. ‘But you’re up and dressed already.’
‘I haven’t slept,’ I said. ‘I didn’t even get undressed.’
‘Have you been sitting on the sofa all night?’
‘I lay down from time to time.’
She shook her head and looked worried.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘At least I’ve had peace and quiet here. Nobody knows where I am.’
‘Not getting any sleep isn’t going to help.’
‘Sleeping isn’t going to help either.’
She went into the kitchen and began to prepare breakfast. I waited on the sofa until she said the coffee was ready. I was hungry but only had a cup of coffee. She tried to persuade me to have a sandwich, but I refused.
She got up, taking her coffee with her.
‘I’ve got a couple of things to do,’ she said. ‘I’ll be leaving in half an hour.’
When she had gone into her study I quickly made a sandwich while trying to work out how I could stay in the apartment. I didn’t want to go back to the island.
Lisa came out of her study. She topped up her cup, went over to the window and looked out towards the inlet; the sky was growing lighter now.
‘Why did you come here?’ she asked. Her voice was different, deeper. She was still gazing out of the window.
‘I tried to explain last night; perhaps I didn’t do a very good job.’
‘You’ve been snooping,’ she said, turning to face me.
I felt my pulse rate increase, as if I had avoided a car accident by the narrowest of margins.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
She put down her coffee cup on the draining board; I could see her hand trembling.
‘You’ve been in my study. You’ve been going through my papers, and you’ve opened my wardrobe. I can’t say exactly what you’ve done or why, but I can tell when something has changed.’
‘I’m not in the habit of going through other people’s things,’ I said huffily. ‘Whatever you might think, you’re wrong.’
Lisa looked tired. She shook her head slowly.
‘I’d like you to leave now. I thought you really needed help and a place to sleep, but now I don’t know who you are or why you’ve come here.’
‘I can assure you I haven’t been in your study.’
She shook her head again. I didn’t know how she had discovered what I had been up to during the night, but I knew I wasn’t going to be able to convince her that she was mistaken.
‘In that case I’ll go,’ I said, getting to my feet.
She followed me into the hallway and watched as I put on my jacket and my wellington boots. I opened the door, then asked her, ‘Who’s the man in this picture?’
‘Robert Capa. He’s a photographer; I admire him more than any other journalist or photographer. He died when he was reporting from a war zone in Asia; he stepped on a landmine.’
I made my mind up there and then, with one foot outside her door.
‘One day you must tell me why there’s an embroidered cloth in your wardrobe with the Swedish flag and a swastika on it. Who made it? You must tell me all about it, but not right now – you’re obviously in a hurry.’
—
I didn’t wait for her response because I didn’t want to hear it. I hurried down the stairs, and as I reached the wheeled walker outside the old man’s apartment, I heard Lisa’s door slam.
I got in the car, lowered the back of my seat and fell asleep almost immediately.
When I woke up two hours later I was frozen through and felt sick. I took my pulse. It was much too rapid: ninety-seven. I got out of the car and walked around for a couple of minutes to shake some life into my body.
A little while later I parked by the bank and waited in the car until the liquor store opened. I bought half-bottles of vodka so that I could slip them into my jacket pocket, and ten cans of beer to ease the hangover that was bound to follow.
I went to a small cafe I had never been to before and had a couple of sandwiches. Since I was alone I added a good slug of vodka to my coffee cup. I saw no reason to wait until I got home. There were no police checks on the short stretch of road between here and the harbour. I wasn’t used to drinking spirits, so I felt the effects imme
diately. A warming sense of calm flooded my body.
I left the cafe, got into my car and had another swig of vodka before I set off. I was drunk, but I was still capable of keeping the car on the road and avoiding a collision with the oncoming traffic. I felt extremely cheerful. I was convinced that my parting comment to Lisa had hit home.
I parked outside Oslovski’s house, which still appeared to be deserted. I listened for sounds from her garage but heard nothing.
I went down to the boat with my stash of booze; I didn’t bother looking over at the chandlery to see if fru Nordin was there. The two coastguard patrol vessels were moored at the quayside. I clambered into my boat and left the harbour. A gentle offshore breeze was blowing, and just as I was picking up speed the sun emerged from behind the clouds. I set a more northerly course so that I could take a longer route home, travelling between islands with summer cottages closed up for the season. At one point I thought I caught a glimpse of a wild boar among the trees, but I couldn’t be certain. The water opened out into the wide expanse of Ramfjärden. In the distance I could see the outer sunken reefs and the open sea. I intended to head east when I had gone about halfway to the open sea; I would soon be home. However, instead I switched off the engine. I moved to the prow and fell over when the boat rocked. One of the oars slid into the water, but I managed to fish it out before it drifted away. I sat down and carried on drinking. The sun was lovely and warm. I took off my jacket.
I didn’t think about anything – not Lisa Modin, not my daughter, not the unknown police officers I would soon be talking to. I drank. Exhaustion from the almost sleepless night caught up with me, and I fell asleep.
I was woken by the boat bumping into something. When I sat up I was staring straight into Alexandersson’s face. He was leaning over the rail of the larger patrol boat, which loomed above me like an enormous whale. I looked in the other direction and realised that I had drifted all the way to the outer reefs, where the open sea was waiting. I was already caught up in the sea swell. I didn’t know how long I had slept, but I was still extremely drunk.
‘I think it’s best if you come aboard,’ Alexandersson said.
‘Fuck off,’ I replied as I stumbled to the stern and pulled the cord. The engine started immediately; I reversed away from the reef and set off towards my island. I thought Alexandersson would come after me; I was drunk, and could be arrested for being in charge of a vessel while under the influence.
However, the coastguard made no attempt to stop me. When I reached the island I ran the boat straight up onto the shore, but managed to flip up the engine before the propeller sustained any damage.
I tottered up to the caravan. Before I lay down I did something I never usually do.
I locked the door.
CHAPTER 13
I was woken by the sound of someone knocking.
It was the second day after the coastguard had found me drifting in my boat. I had carried on drinking when I’d got back to the island, and hadn’t begun to sober up until the following day. I was constantly expecting the police to come and pick me up.
The occasions in my life when I have drunk heavily have been few and far between, and I have always been alone when they happened. They follow the same path: I drink, I remain silent apart from yelling into the emptiness now and again. I fall asleep easily but usually wake up after a short time.
When I had started to sober up and felt the remorse gradually ebbing away, I went up to the bench on the hill with my binoculars. I looked over at the tent on the skerry, but there was no sign of anyone. However, I couldn’t be sure that the mysterious visitor hadn’t been there.
I noticed that I was listening for the sound of an engine the whole time. There wasn’t a breath of wind. I made myself something to eat when I remembered, but I hardly touched it and threw it to the gulls on the rock down by the boathouse where my grandfather used to sit mending his eel traps when I was a child. Slowly my thoughts returned to the night I had spent in Lisa Modin’s apartment.
The events to which the embroidered cloth bore witness, and the contents of the black bag, belonged to the past. It was seventy-five years since the war broke out, since the Nazi threat had seemed unstoppable. I was born after the war, Lisa Modin much later than me. Obviously there was something in her past that was still alive as far as she was concerned, but she didn’t have the items on display. It wasn’t something she wanted on show.
The most important question in my mind was of course the identity of the smiling man blowing cigarette smoke straight into the photographer’s eye. Who was Karl Madsen?
Remorse was replaced by depression and self-loathing. Every time I was overcome by those feelings I thought about my father and his many failures. I remembered him coming home after long shifts and immediately sitting down at the kitchen table, forcing my mother to listen to his complaints about all his difficult colleagues and the maître d’s, not to mention the diners he had to put up with. I never heard him accept responsibility for any tricky situation that had arisen; it was always the other person who had been in the wrong. When I was a child, I thought my father was an amazing man who never made any mistakes, but as time went on I realised that of course he was simply blaming someone else. That was also why he burdened himself with what sometimes seemed like a bottomless sorrow over a life that had turned out to be a failure.
My mother was his polar opposite. She was happy to take the blame for everything that happened in our home. If I came home with bad marks from school, it was her fault; she should have made sure I had peace and quiet to do my homework. If I got a nosebleed because I’d been fighting in the playground, she was responsible; she should have warned me about the boys who had attacked me.
I began my second day after my major drinking session by going down to the jetty and taking a dip in the ice-cold water. When I had rubbed myself dry I was even able to manage a substantial breakfast. Afterwards I poured the remains of the vodka down the sink but kept the cans of beer I hadn’t yet drunk.
In the afternoon I lay down for a sleep only to be woken by the sound of someone knocking. I opened the door to find Lisa Modin standing outside. She was dressed in the same way as on the day we went over to Vrångskär. She was pale and seemed nervous. I stepped aside and let her in.
‘How did you get here?’ I asked when she was sitting at the table. I had offered her the bed, which was more comfortable, but she chose the stool.
‘My editor has a small boat; I came on my own. I was afraid of running aground because I only knew the general direction, not how far away from the islands I needed to stay, but it was fine. I hope I’m not disturbing you.’
‘You’re not disturbing me. Can I get you anything?’
‘Tea?’
We drank tea. I didn’t like the taste; Lisa didn’t seem very keen either. I could tell from her face, but she didn’t say anything. I waited.
I had once been sent for by my senior consultant when I was a newly qualified doctor. I didn’t know why he wanted to see me, so I sat down and said nothing. The consultant, who was both stern and rather self-important, didn’t say anything either. We sat in silence for perhaps ten minutes, then he looked at me and thanked me for coming. When I mentioned this strange encounter to one of my contemporaries, he said I should have asked for a pay rise. That was why the consultant had sent for me. He knew I wasn’t happy, but he would never have started the conversation about my salary.
I topped up Lisa’s cup. She still didn’t say anything. I looked at her, remembering the night I had seen her in her bed.
‘I wasn’t lying,’ I said.
She looked questioningly at me.
‘I wasn’t snooping. I made a mistake in the night when I needed the toilet. I opened the wrong door, and then the wardrobe. I might have tripped. But I don’t read other people’s letters. I don’t poke around in other people’s belongings. Nor do I allow anyone to poke around in what is mine. Or was mine. Now my house has burned down, there’s nothing
left.’
When I stopped speaking she looked at me for a long time, presumably trying to decide whether to believe me or not. Trusting what a person says is always a risk. The truth is always provisional, while lies are often solid.
‘I came here because I want to explain,’ she said. ‘At the moment I don’t care whether or not you got lost in the night. You’re wrong if you think I was trying to hide something.’
She got to her feet.
‘Can we go outside? It’s not raining or windy. I need air; it’s so cramped in here.’
I pulled on my wellingtons, grabbed my jacket and opened the door. The sun was shining; late autumn in the archipelago was still mild.
We walked around the island and eventually sat down on the bench at the top of the hill.
She began to talk. Her family came from Germany. Her grandmother Ulrike had married Karl Madsen, a member of the infamous Waffen-SS. He had belonged to one of the units responsible for appalling outrages in Poland while Ulrike had remained in Bremen. Lisa’s mother Roswita was born when the war was over, in the autumn of 1945, following Karl’s last visit home towards the end of 1944.
Ulrike, who had been born in 1917, died at the end of the 1970s. Until that day Roswita had believed that her father had died while defending Berlin, before the city fell in May 1945. However, as she went through everything her mother had left behind, she realised that Ulrike had lied to her. Karl Madsen had been lynched in Krakow a few months before the end of the war, hanged on a makeshift gallows in one of the city’s squares. He had been recognised because of his involvement in indescribably brutal actions during the conflict in Poland. There was no indication in Ulrike’s papers of what he had done, nor was there any explanation as to why the photograph of Karl Madsen had been taken somewhere on the Eastern Front. It seemed likely that he had fought on the front line for a short period; a soldier’s life was always full of gaps.
We set off for a brisk walk around the island again because Lisa was cold. When we got back to the bench, she continued her story.
After the Fire Page 17