The Fire Dance

by Helene Tursten

  Irene sighed loudly and raised the volume on the radio.

  “Angie” by The Rolling Stones filled the car, and she felt a bit better.

  When she got home, a wonderful aroma met her. Her stomach leapt with joy since she’d eaten nothing all day but a cinnamon roll with her lunchtime coffee.

  Sammie came rushing up to her, wanting hugs and pets. She hadn’t paid any attention to him all day, so it was right to treat him to a lot now.

  “Mamma, can you take Sammie out?” Jenny called from the kitchen.

  “Of course. Isn’t Pappa home yet?”

  “He just called and said he was going to be late. A huge group came without a reservation. So I started dinner.”

  “Vegan food, I assume?”

  “Of course.”

  Irene felt her mood sink. She was starving and had been expecting a good dinner made by her in-house gourmet chef.

  She felt grouchy as she unhooked Sammie’s leash from its hook by the hat rack and headed outside into the autumn darkness with her dog.

  * * *

  When they returned a half hour later, Krister had just arrived home. First he greeted an overenthusiastic Sammie and then his wife. The kiss he gave her had the unmistakable scent of damp dog.

  The wonderful aromas from the kitchen were even stronger, and, in spite of everything, Irene’s mouth began to water. She had to admit that Jenny was getting good at her vegan cooking.

  When they walked into the kitchen, Irene noticed that the table had been set for five. It was not unusual for one of the twins’ friends to stop by and have dinner with them, but Irene hadn’t been told they were expecting someone today.

  Before she had time to ask who was coming, the doorbell rang.

  “He was alone this evening, and he thinks it’s boring to make dinner, so I invited him over. He was going to be driving here to pick me up anyway,” Katarina said, somewhat defensively.

  Her cheeks flushed. Stars danced in her eyes. Irene felt both hungry and irritated as she went to the front door.

  Then she realized what her daughter had just said: he was going to be driving. Marcelo Alves didn’t have a car. If this wasn’t Marcelo, who was standing on the other side of the door? Frej? It would have to be Frej. She’d misunderstood everything. Frej also danced capoeira. Irene was not sure that things would be much better with Frej as the presumptive boyfriend, but she had no time to think about that now.

  She opened the door.

  “Hi, there!”

  The outdoor light revealed the bright colors of a huge Rasta cap. Beneath it, Felipe Medina’s wide smile shone.

  Felipe proved himself to be a pleasant and open young man. He happily chatted away on anything and everything during dinner, which turned out to be surprisingly good. Jenny had roasted root vegetables, tomatoes, garlic and olives in the oven. She served herbed chickpeas in garlic as a side.

  When Irene pointed out that this meal contained quite a bit of garlic, she replied with a smile, “Flu season is starting! Garlic is the best thing to help your immune system. It helps cure colds and keeps potential disease carriers away.”

  There was something to what she said. Irene took a large helping of the root vegetables. To be on the safe side, Krister had added a large chunk of cheddar and some smoked ham to the table to go on the freshly baked bread. Irene and Krister shared a bottle of white wine. Neither the twins nor Felipe drank anything other than water. Felipe was going to be driving, Katarina wanted to make sure she had enough fluids before dancing, and Jenny never drank alcohol. Jenny was a pure-living person all the way down to her fingertips. She never used drugs, and she didn’t smoke, either. It was reassuring for Irene. As a police officer, she knew how drugs circulated in the music scene.

  One thing she did worry about was that Jenny refused to take any kind of medication at all. Jenny felt that the body should handle all of its troubles on its own. Thank God she hadn’t yet gotten seriously ill. Irene knew she’d have a problem with her idealism if that day came.

  “Are you planning to become a professional dancer?” asked Krister.

  Felipe smiled and shrugged. “I’m already a professional. I’ve been dancing since I was, like, three. Mostly I work freelance. I also train groups in capoeira. But I don’t want to dance until my joints are trashed, like my father.”

  “Is he retired? Gisela Bagge said that dancers retire early,” Irene added with hesitation.

  “He stopped dancing fifteen years ago. Now he’s an insurance salesman.”

  “What do you want to do when you’re done dancing?” asked Krister, continuing his informal investigation. He certainly could interrogate someone gently after all these years of living with a policewoman.

  “I want to be an architect, but my grades weren’t high enough to get in. I’m on the waiting list—number thirty-three this fall.”

  “Isn’t there high unemployment among architects?”

  Felipe smiled and his braids rustled. “It depends on how you draw.”

  There was something to what he said. Katarina’s expression showed she thought this was the cleverest thing she’d heard in years. Irene strangled a sigh as she realized her daughter was hopelessly in love. Still, it was much better that Felipe, and not Marcelo, was the object of her romantic dreams.

  * * *

  The first Monday morning in November was exactly as one would expect from the first Monday morning in November. Damp haze stuck to the windshield like glue and the entire city was dripping moisture. It was just above freezing, but the Weather Service predicted a change in the afternoon. A high was coming in from the east, bringing clear skies and cold temperatures for the next few days. It would be pleasant to have a change from the dismal grey rain they’d endured during the past week.

  Felipe had given Katarina two free tickets to The Fire Dance, and she’d asked her uncultured mother to the premiere. She didn’t have to ask twice, as Irene was already curious about Sophie’s saga in dance. Always something to look forward to, Irene thought, as she turned the wipers on high.

  The day started with a bang: a gruesome case of assault connected to a case the papers had already started calling “The Gang Killing. ” The week before, the leader of the Gårdsten gang was knifed outside the Central Train Station. The victim’s name was Roberto Oliviera, and he called his gang the Pumas. The suspect belonged to a rival gang, and the teenage witness who had fingered him lay unconscious with a fractured skull at Östra Hospital. The suspect, unfortunately, had a watertight alibi for the time of both the murder and the attack on the witness. Problematically, the alibi came from his relatives: his grandparents, siblings and cousins, some of whom were also members of the gang. The police would have to interrogate a huge number of witnesses; some would need interpreters, and others would not only because they absolutely refused to speak at all. The investigation took more and more time, until most of the week had gone by.

  Every once in a while, Irene would call Ingrid Hagberg to try to arrange a meeting for Friday, but no one would pick up the phone. It would have to wait until the following week.

  Irene was too busy with the investigation of the gang murder and the intimidation of a witness.

  On Wednesday Irene brought home three take-out pizzas for dinner. She and her daughters ate them quickly right from the carton. Jenny, of course, had ordered a vegan pizza without cheese.

  Irene had counted all the different kinds of pizza while she was waiting for her order. It turned out there were 111. Imagine being as boring as Frej, ordering the same pizza week after week, though he seemed to have gone over to Kebab Extra Everything to get some variation.

  “Do you want to come with us and see The Fire Dance?” Katarina asked her sister.

  “No, I have to study English,” Jenny replied.

  It was easy to tell by her tone of voice that she didn’t think she was missing much.

  Jenny went to her room, and after a few minutes they could hear the pop music of Mando Diao floating back d
own the stairs. Irene looked at Katarina.

  “When did Jenny start listening to that kind of music?” she asked.

  “A couple months ago,” Katarina replied. “I believe his name is Anders.”

  “Anders?”

  “He’s a bass player for a band. They played at that Slottsskogen festival last summer. He and Jenny have been kind of hanging out since then.”

  “Has she told you about him?”

  “Not really, but the music…” Katarina nodded toward the stairs where the refrain of Clean Town drifted down. “Seems to be serious,” she said. She smiled meaningfully.

  Irene had to bite her tongue to keep from asking Katarina how her love life was going. Better to wait and see what developed and let her daughter come to her.

  One look at the clock told them it was time to get going to the House of Dance.

  * * *

  Every seat was filled in the hall. The world premiere of a dance choreographed by a young woman who had recently died under mysterious circumstances certainly had the power to draw an audience, not to mention a whole gang of reporters.

  A faded woven cloth in all sorts of shades of red hung in front of the stage, and the fabric moved slightly as dancers parted it to peek at the audience. The seats mostly were filled dance students and teachers, friends and parents, as well as a number of specially invited dance professionals. Irene felt like the proverbial cat among the ermines.

  To her surprise, Irene saw two firemen in complete gear climb onto the stage and disappear behind the curtain. The thought that there were now three people in the audience who knew nothing about modern dance gave her a bit of comfort.

  Irene looked over the program she’d received when she entered. It was a simple sheet of paper folded in half.

  WELCOME TO THE WORLD PREMIERE OF THE FIRE DANCE

  A saga in dance by Sophie Malmborg, choreographer.

  The ensemble would like to dedicate this performance to her memory.

  Music: ERNST MALMBORG

  Direction: GISELA BAGGE

  Set Design: MARCUS ANDERSSON from the Eldsjälarna Theater

  Costume Design: IDA JÄRNBERG

  Dancers:

  The King— DANIEL NILSSON

  The Queen— SANDRA BRUHNSKOG

  The Princess— LINA GUSTAFSSON

  The Prince— TOBIAS FALK

  The Guardian— ISOLDE WERNER

  The Fire: MARCELO ALVES, FELIPE MEDINA, FREJ ERIKSSON

  The Guests: EVITA MEDINA, KAROLIN ÖSTMAN, VIKTORIA KJELLBERG

  Other Participants: MARKUS ANDERSSON and TINA JONASDOTTER from Eldsjälarna Theater

  The audience sat down and the curtain parted.

  The entire stage was dark. Then one musical note swept over the audience and increased in intensity as morning dawned behind the silhouette of a circular tower. Around this tower were three six-foot U-shaped narrow steel rods.

  Irene couldn’t figure out what they were supposed to represent. The tower was gloomy and threatening. Slowly, full daylight came as the music changed to a line of melody that hardly could be called pleasant to the ear. Irene now understood what Max Franke meant when he described Ernst Malmborg’s music. Atonal, as Ernst’s sister had called it, rolling her eyes.

  Several figures danced onto the stage. They all wore black, but it was still easy to distinguish who was who. The Queen was the first to appear. She was dressed in a wide, long dress with a golden tiara glittering on her head. The Prince and the Princess swirled in, hand in hand. Each wore a simple gold band around their foreheads. They had on tight leotards and the princess’s skirt was short and wispy. Her long, rose-dyed hair stood out against all the black costumes. Irene recognized Lina from capoeira.

  The Guardian entered after them. She wore a rough cape and came to stand with bent legs in front of the dark castle tower. The Queen and the two royal children crawled across the floor in an odd dance, but Irene could tell that they were at least following the music.

  Suddenly, the music stopped, and the dancers stood as if petrified on stage. One lone drum began to beat. It increased its tempo until it neared a frantic crescendo. From backstage, a dancer leapt out. This figure wore a gold crown clearly signifying the King. He moved across the stage with hunched leaps and wild but rhythmic gestures. In one hand, the King held a bottle and would take large swigs. The Queen and the children huddled in fear as the King captured the entire stage for himself. He swaggered and gesticulated for a long while.

  The music calmed down and the King began to yawn. He lumbered over toward the tower. The Guardian let him in and then locked the door behind him, before going back to her spread-legged stance. The Prince and the Princess dared to come forward again to dance together. Irene interpreted it as some kind of game of hide and seek. At times, one of them would try to sneak into the tower, but then the Guardian would chase him or her away in a friendly but determined manner.

  The audience jumped at an unexpected trumpet blast.

  The Queen came rushing in with a picnic basket. With the help of her children, she spread a large blanket on the ground, and then they placed bottles, dishes and food upon it. Their colorfully dressed guests arrived and began to enjoy the party, dancing and eating. They encouraged the sulking Guardian to join the festivities. Although she was hesitant at first, she took a few swigs from a bottle and was soon right in the middle of all the frolicking.

  Listening so intently to the music was exhausting, and Irene wished that it would soon be over. At that moment, the music faded to one solo flute, and Irene felt her prayers were answered.

  The party guests began to yawn and one after another they lay down to sleep. The light dimmed and soon it appeared to be twilight. Only the Prince was still awake.

  He’d found a bottle from which he drank. On unsteady legs, he staggered toward the tower. Since the Guardian was not at her post, he had no trouble opening the door.

  When the door was completely open, all the lights went off at once. Three masked men with burning torches leapt out of the tower. They whooped and yelled and the effect was both dramatic and frightening. Pounding drums began to beat over which a lone violin could be heard. The music resembled the music Irene had heard at the capoeira class.

  The three men wore ski masks with only their eyes visible. They wore wide, black pants. Their torches were blazing on both ends and the dancers swung them frenetically as they yelled and leaped, attacking one another with kicks. Their sweaty bare chests shone in the light of the fire, and their eyes glittered in the dark holes of their masks. Irene held her breath.

  The wild music abruptly ended and although slower music began, the effect was even more threatening. The men slowly walked to the U-shaped steel rods, where two more black figures had appeared. The capoeira dancers held their torches to the rods simultaneously, and fire burst out as if the tower truly were on fire. The five dancers began to dance, partnered with the flames, their forms casting black shadows against the bright fire in the background.

  A shriek was heard. The King appeared at the top of the tower. He fought helplessly against the flames and then fell back into the tower.

  The fire went out just as quickly as it had come. The stage was now silent and dark.

  The audience didn’t stir.

  The lone flute began to play as dawn returned. The party guests began to awaken. They stretched and started to get to their feet. It took some time before the Guardian realized what had happened. She began to run in despair around the tower and soon the other guests searched with her. The Guardian found the Prince, sleeping peacefully, still clutching his bottle. Resolutely, she pulled him to his feet. She hid him beneath the Queen’s wide dress and then the Guardian hung her large cape over the Queen as well. Their trick seemed to work, as none of the other guests noticed how the Prince was brought away.

  A few moments later, the two women returned with the Prince between them.

  The guests brought out colorful shawls and hung them around the royal family m
embers. Everyone danced, their shawls swirling. The atmosphere was almost ecstatic.

  One by one, the dancers left the stage until only the Princess remained. Lina then danced a solo. Her rose hair and her multicolored shawl whirled over the stage. She radiated enormous strength and energy. Although Irene had never been to a ballet performance before, even she could see that Lina was a brilliant dancer.

  The light went out again. The three capoeira dancers ran in with lit torches and went down on their knees in the middle of the stage. Lina was in front of them with her arms over her head and her leg high to the side. She appeared as a silhouette against the fire. The dancers were motionless as the music died away. Behind the capoeira dancers, the two black figures came and put the fires out. The stage was plunged into darkness.

  For a few moments, the audience was breathless. Then the applause broke out. Everyone was clapping, whistling and stamping their feet. The stage lights came on and the dancers bowed. They had to bow again and again as the applause seemed unending.

  “That was absolutely magnificent!” exclaimed Katarina. She was clapping enthusiastically while gazing at the stage in rapture.

  The house lights came up to the audience’s standing ovation.

  Irene happened to glance at the exit and saw Angelika leaving. For a moment Angelika turned back and Irene could see her face. It had drained of color, and she looked like she would faint at any moment. She fumbled with the door before finally pushing it open and rushing out.

  * * *

  Katarina stayed for the party after the performance, but Irene hadn’t been invited and had no intention of going. She drove home in the November darkness. It was good that the traffic was light, because she had difficulty concentrating on her driving.

  She was still lost in the performance. It had been as far from a lacy, traditional ballet as it could get. Obviously the fire in Björkil had been the inspiration behind the story.

  Even if the main characters and the place were not identical, the basic chain of events in real life was the same. Angelika was the Queen, and Sophie and Frej were the royal children. That much was obvious. The fire was the one that had killed Magnus Eriksson. The Guardian and the party guests were add-ons that Sophie had created for color and contrast.