by Philip Teir
‘I get it that you don’t have any rules, but I’m not used to letting my daughter run off without telling me where she’s going,’ said Julia.
‘What time is she supposed to be home?’ asked Marika.
‘That’s not what I mean,’ said Julia. ‘I wasn’t expecting her to be running around at night in Mjölkviken. I didn’t think I needed to give her a specific time to come home.’
‘Nothing has happened to them,’ said Marika. ‘I promise you that. Even if they got lost in the woods, sooner or later they’ll find their way back to the road because it’s not that far away. I think that’s most likely what happened.’
‘But shouldn’t we get the others to help us look for them?’
Marika glanced out of the window without saying anything for a moment. She no longer had her usual superior smile. ‘Chris is down there with Helena. She turns up in the morning, and then they go off together. Or else she eats lunch with us, and it feels so horrible that she’s still my friend when she looks at Chris like that, and … Well, it’s not the first time.’
Julia turned to Anton. ‘Maybe you should go out and look for them,’ she told him.
‘Now?’ asked Anton.
‘It’s late, but it’s still light out. Why don’t you walk down to the road to see if they’re on their way back.’
Anton reluctantly got up from the table. He picked up his mobile and went out the front door. Julia could see him through the window as he walked around outside the house, holding his phone in his hand.
‘It’s not as if this is anything new,’ said Marika. ‘Chris has always been like this. There have been lots of women. Young women.’
‘Doesn’t that bother you?’ asked Julia, glancing at the clock again. It was ten forty. At eleven she was planning to take another walk along the beach.
‘Maybe in the beginning … But by now I’m used to it.’
Julia didn’t really know what to say. She was having a hard time concentrating on the conversation. She wanted to go out to look for the kids, go out and shout their names.
‘Sometimes I think I should leave Chris. You know, just take Leo and go off somewhere. But where would I go? I’ve always thought that we could come here, but now he’s claimed this place for himself too. Mjölkviken was the last place that was all my own. And now it feels like he’s here with Helena and not with me.’
Julia could no longer keep her mind on what Marika was saying.
‘I’m sorry, it sounds really awful. But right now I need to go out and look for the kids.’
‘Again?’
‘Yes.’
‘I promise you, they’re fine. They’ll come back eventually,’ said Marika.
‘But I feel so helpless. I can’t even phone them.’
‘Think about when we were kids. Nobody had mobile phones to call each other. And everything went just fine.’
‘I know, but I really want to get hold of them. Could you try phoning Leo again?’
They both tried, but neither of them got through. So they decided to go out again and look for the kids at the beach.
Marika kept on talking as they walked along in the rain. Anton went with them, carrying his mobile and lighting the way. Julia listened with only half an ear to what Marika was telling her. Occasionally she shouted for Alice and Leo. She felt like she’d ended up in some sort of therapy session with Marika, even though they both should have been focusing on finding the children.
‘I’ve devoted such a big part of my life to distancing myself from my parents’ way of life,’ said Marika. ‘Everything had to be so neat and tidy, with cocktails at five o’clock and a father who read the newspaper; friends with good taste, pearl necklaces, and children who played the piano. I’ve rebelled against all that and given Leo a free upbringing. And I’ve never owned even a single pair of earrings. I didn’t want to be like my mother, who always agreed with everything Pappa said. Mrs Segerkvist, the doctor’s wife, member of the local Odd Fellow club and loyal supporter of the Swedish People’s Party in Finland. But when I look at my own life, I realise that I’m exactly the same. Chris is a leader who needs followers, and I’m the perfect trophy wife in his dream of an alternative lifestyle. I’m the Big Guru’s personal PR assistant. That’s what my life has become. Just like my mother’s.’
Julia was a little surprised to hear all this. It wasn’t what she’d expected. She had almost felt jealous of the relationship that Chris and Marika had, the sense that they were an adult couple who shared an adult relationship, emanating a sexual and slightly reckless tension that was neither conventional nor proper.
‘My father was always drunk,’ Marika went on. ‘Always. I didn’t really think about it back then. That’s just the way he was. But your parents must have thought my father was hopeless. They were so smart.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Julia.
‘We’ve never talked about it,’ said Marika.
‘About what?’ asked Julia.
‘You wrote about it in your book. But you had no idea what it was really like.’
‘You’ve read my book?’
Marika stopped and looked at Julia. ‘Of course I’ve read your book. You wrote all about me and how annoying I was. And you’re right. I was annoying. I wanted to spend every day with you; I couldn’t bear the thought of not being with you. I was in love with you, or at least I thought I was. I couldn’t do anything without you. But you thought I was trying to manipulate you.’
‘Let’s just forget it. None of that matters any more. We were so young.’
‘I know, but in some way it was also very real. As if life were happening at that particular moment, and whatever happened was incredibly important. I remember that each day, each change, seemed like a matter of life or death. Each change. But you saw things differently. Although you didn’t see everything.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Julia.
‘In your book you write that your childhood was like a shimmering, eternal summer, with late-night celebrations and parents who were happy and fun. There were firework displays at the end of the summer and crayfish parties and secret walks through the woods. The only thing that bothered you was me. I’m the worst thing in your book, your constant companion but also a constant torment. But you only saw what you wanted to see,’ said Marika.
‘What should I have seen?’
‘Nothing. It’s nothing.’
Marika’s eyes suddenly lost some of the joy that usually made her look amused. ‘Do you remember our parents ever telling us when we should go to bed?’ she asked.
‘No, never,’ said Julia.
‘Me neither. I can’t recall that there were any rules.’
‘Should we phone the police?’
‘What is it you think the kids might be doing?’ asked Marika.
‘What did you do when you were thirteen?’ replied Julia.
‘Good Lord,’ said Marika.
‘Exactly.’
They both started laughing at the same time, and Marika put her hand on Julia’s shoulder. Julia didn’t shrug it off immediately. It felt reassuring in the midst of all this anxiety. Her shoulders were wet with rain. Then she deliberately moved forward, and they kept walking along the shoreline.
Marika lowered her voice. ‘Do you remember the parties the grown-ups had, and how they acted when it was well past midnight?’
Julia thought back. She recalled her parents sitting in the patio chairs at Marika’s house. She remembered how the children were seated at a different table. She remembered Mjölkviken in the autumn when it was already getting colder and darker. She remembered itchy socks and having to put on warmer clothes.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘Do you remember all the fathers sticking their hands under the mothers’ shirts? And I don’t mean their own wife’s shirt. I mean the shirts of other women.’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Julia.
‘All of that went on. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thin
g in the world. It was the 1980s, after all, and God knows things like that are still going on. But don’t you remember that my father and your mother had something special?’
‘No, I don’t remember that,’ said Julia.
‘Well, they did. And there was a big ruckus one summer, and my mother took off. All I remember was that Pappa was drunk, as usual, and he hit her. And your mother came over, and she comforted him when my mother left, and I don’t know how it happened, but your mother was still there the next morning.’
‘What time is it?’ Julia asked abruptly.
‘It’s past midnight,’ said Marika.
7
ALICE AND LEO WALKED through the woods until the path split in two directions. There they turned right and followed the sign to the campsite.
‘They might be using the camp as a retreat for confirmation students,’ said Alice.
‘Let’s wait and see. If there are people around, we’ll have to think of someplace else. Come on,’ he said, tugging at her arm. They continued on as it began to drizzle. Alice thought it was lovely, with the rain cooling her face.
‘Do you believe what your parents are saying?’ she asked. ‘That the world is about to end?’
‘That’s not what they’re saying. They’re just saying that climate change can no longer be stopped; in fact, it’s escalating. And that’s true. Just ask any climate scientist.’
‘But what does it mean?’
‘I don’t think anybody knows the answer to that.’
‘So do you agree with your parents? Do you want to do what they’re doing?’
‘You mean live primitively?’
‘Is that what it’s called?’ asked Alice. She hadn’t heard it described that way before.
‘That’s not what they’re doing. I don’t really understand what Pappa wants. I just hope that I’ll be allowed to keep my mobile,’ he said.
Alice laughed.
They had been walking for half an hour when they reached the campsite. They saw another sign and a narrower path. A couple of cars were parked nearby, but they didn’t see anyone around.
‘Shall we go over and find somewhere to sit?’ asked Leo.
Alice nodded, so they headed into the camp area.
They saw a big red timbered house and a dozen cabins scattered along the shore. It was a beautiful place with granite rocks and a sandy beach, a volleyball net and a shore sauna.
Leo had brought a cloth bag filled with food, and Alice had her little loudspeaker. Her mobile had run out of juice, but Leo’s phone had enough charge left to listen to music.
They walked to the cabin at the far end of the beach, hoping no one in the main building would notice them. The cabin was about the size of a small sauna hut, and when Leo tried the door, he found it unlocked.
‘Bingo.’
‘Do you think somebody is staying here?’
‘Let’s have a look.’
It seemed empty. There were mattresses and pillows on the beds, but no sheets or blankets. Pine needles covered the floor, and it looked as though no one had been there in a while. The air was raw and cold.
Leo sat down on one of the beds.
‘Let’s stay here. We have food and music. What more do we need?’
‘Booze,’ said Alice.
‘Too bad we don’t have any. Shall we take a look around the area?’
Leo brought his phone so they could listen to music as they walked.
A group of people dressed in white sat at a table on the big terrace of the main building. Leo went up to them, showing a curiosity that Alice lacked.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
They looked strange, as if they were actors in some sort of theatre production. They all had the same old-fashioned hair-styles, and they wore what looked like old lab coats.
There were five of them, all about twenty-five years old, younger than Alice’s parents, at any rate. They exchanged embarrassed looks.
‘What are you kids doing here?’ asked one of them. He had dark brown hair and a moustache, trimmed and waxed, the kind that might be seen in old photographs.
‘We’re just out taking a walk.’
‘This is a private area. We’ve rented the whole place for the weekend,’ said the man with the moustache.
‘I think the beach is public property,’ said Leo.
‘We’re in the middle of role-playing, so we’d appreciate it if you kids would leave us in peace. And turn that off,’ he said, pointing at Leo’s phone. ‘You’re wrecking the illusion. It’s 1915 right now.’
‘It’s 2016,’ said Leo.
‘No, it’s 1915, and we’re at a sanatorium. Are you patients here? Do you want to be admitted to the hospital?’
Alice thought this whole thing seemed very strange. She’d never heard of anything like it. What were these people up to, anyway? Was it some kind of theatre?
‘Sure,’ said Leo with a shrug.
‘Seriously?’ said the man with the moustache.
‘Leo, what’s this all about?’ asked Alice.
‘If I understand it right, we’re supposed to pretend to be sick and they’re the doctors. Haven’t you ever heard of role-playing?’
Alice shook her head.
‘If you kids want to participate, you’ll have to put on hospital clothes. We’ll go and get them,’ said the man.
One of the other young men, who was also wearing a doctor’s white coat, seemed hesitant.
‘But they’re just kids. Should we really let them take part?’
‘Why not?’ asked the other man. ‘Why shouldn’t the hospital have kids with lung disease?’
They were each given a white cotton shirt and a pair of sweat-pants, also white. They were escorted into the main building and told to lie down in white iron beds.
‘In the daytime you’re allowed out on the terrace. It’s good for your health,’ said a woman who belonged to the group. She had thick blond hair pinned up in a complicated style. It was a dreary place with a wood floor. Raw and cold. The lights were on and a fire was burning in the big fireplace.
There were other ‘patients’ as well, about ten in all. Leo and Alice whispered to each other, but the people playing doctors asked them to be quiet.
‘No whispering. Not if you want to participate.’
They lay in separate beds for at least an hour. The sky grew dark and Alice regretted running away from home. She was just about to get up when someone came in to tell them it was time to eat. They were given beef broth with potatoes, carrots and leeks.
After the meal all the patients sat in a circle and talked. Mostly they talked about ‘the war in Europe’, which sounded sort of familiar to Alice from school, though she didn’t really understand what they were saying. The mood was subdued, as if the others were immersed in thoughts that the world was about to end. Some of the ‘patients’ coughed and sniffled as they sat there.
Someone read aloud from a newspaper from 1915:
The Red Cross conference now taking place in Stockholm with delegates from Germany, Austria, Hungary and Russia has as its goal to ameliorate the harsh lot suffered by hundreds of thousands of prisoners of war. It is proof that the war has not stifled all sense of sympathy among those in power towards those unfortunate souls who are held captive.
Alice glanced at Leo, who was suppressing a grin. She had a hard time not laughing, and finally she started giggling uncontrollably. The others in the group gave her angry looks, and now Leo was also trying not to laugh.
‘Children, do you think the news is funny?’ asked one of the people playing a doctor.
‘Not at all,’ said Alice, giggling even more.
‘We’re going to put on a play later, and then you will be allowed to laugh and have fun. But right now we’re discussing what’s happening in the rest of Europe. Italy has just invaded Austria-Hungary, and no one knows what will happen next. Some people think there’s going to be a big war, which will destroy us all,’ said the doctor.
The others lowered their eyes and looked gloomy, but Leo stood up and took Alice’s hand.
‘Shall we go?’
She nodded.
They spent the rest of the evening on the beach, by themselves. Leo took pictures of Alice running along the water’s edge.
They changed back into their own clothes and headed back to the cabin to eat the last of the food they’d brought along.
Sometime during the night they both fell asleep, and when Alice awoke the cabin was dark; she couldn’t see a thing. Her arm had gone numb because they were lying so close together in the narrow bed, and she had a hard time remembering where she was.
‘Leo, wake up!’
‘Leo!’ she whispered louder.
He opened his eyes. That was all she could see in the dark. His eyes.
‘We fell asleep,’ she said. ‘We have to go home. I think it’s awfully late.’
He sat up in bed.
‘Fuck. I guess I was really tired. Which isn’t so strange, since we’ve been spending every night texting each other,’ he said.
Gradually her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, and she could see he was smiling at her. They hugged for a long time before getting up and leaving the cabin.
As they walked back along the road, Alice remembered the ring she’d found on the beach. It was in her pocket. She’d brought it along to show Leo, but then decided that would be a stupid, childish thing to do. Now she took it out.
‘Would you like to have this?’ she asked. ‘Then you can remember me wherever you are.’
Leo stuck the ring on his thumb.
‘That looks so cool,’ he said.
8
WHEN IT STARTED RAINING in the morning, Kati moved the patio furniture inside. There was really no reason to do it, but she found it depressing to see everything out in the rain, and she decided not to wait until autumn to put the furniture away. The chairs and table weighed more than she’d expected, leaving deep tracks in the sand as she dragged them to the small woodshed behind the house. They were hard to fold, and she got a gash in the palm of her hand when she stowed away the large table. It was a deep cut, and blood ran down her arm as she walked across the yard to the house. She couldn’t find any plasters, so she tore off a piece of paper towel and wrapped it around her hand.