The Shapeshifters

by Stefan Spjut

  Lennart had grunted with satisfaction when he saw it. It certainly could not have come at a better time, he thought. The wave had swept away the Vaikijaur man as well.

  ‘If it’s true he’s been living with those Laestadians in Årrenjarka,’ said Susso, as she and Torbjörn sat at their usual table in Safari, ‘then we ought to have heard something by now.’

  ‘It was probably just talk,’ Torbjörn replied. ‘Like Edit said.’

  ‘Yes, it seems like it.’

  Susso, who had been quick to grab the sofa, undid the laces of her boots and pulled up her feet so she could rub them.

  ‘And that guy in Avesta?’ Torbjörn asked. ‘The one who phoned?’

  ‘He seems a bit confused,’ Susso answered, shaking her head. ‘I wanted to see the film, but then he started going on about how it wasn’t digitised and he didn’t know how to transfer it to his computer, and so on. And that’s what usually happens when people are lying. The simplest things become difficult. I mean, how hard can it be? The quality doesn’t matter. I just want to see if it really is him.’

  ‘My dad could never manage a thing like that,’ said Torbjörn.

  ‘No?’

  ‘Not a chance.’

  They walked home in the darkness. Torbjörn lived up in Matto, in a bedsit on Per Högströmsgatan, and Susso went with him part of the way so that she could buy food for breakfast at the ICA store. Torbjörn said there would be a few seconds of sun the next day and his accelerator thumb was itching. Susso thought that sounded like an invitation, so she suggested they go out for a run on a snowmobile. He shook his head and said both of them were broken.

  They walked into the shop, and Torbjörn began talking about Lost.

  ‘You’ve got to see it.’

  ‘I can’t stand Channel 4. All those crappy ads.’

  ‘You can always download it,’ he said.

  ‘My internet is so slow. It’ll take forever.’

  ‘You can borrow it from me. I’ve got all the episodes.’

  They watched Lost on the laptop Torbjörn had propped on a chair at the end of the bed. Susso tried to follow the story, but there were no subtitles so she found it hard to understand everything. She was also tired. Torbjörn lay next to her, explaining what was happening. A character called John Locke was hunting a wild pig and came across a monster you never saw, and then it ended.

  ‘But what was it then?’ Susso asked.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Torbjörn. ‘That’s the question.’

  ‘Tell me!’

  ‘I don’t know. We’re never told.’

  ‘I bet you it was a dinosaur. If so, I’m not watching it any more.’

  ‘Have you got something against dinosaurs?’ Torbjörn said, unexpectedly reaching out his long arm and pinching her shoulder hard.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘That’s what happens when you talk shit about dinosaurs.’

  Susso giggled and hit back, calling him a variety of names. The harsh words seemed to bring them closer. Before it had always been bickering, coarse jokes and wrestling that ended with one of them pinching the other on the inside of the thigh and making them howl in pain. Between this and the other there had been no physical contact at all. It was as if neither of them knew how to go about it.

  Torbjörn asked if she wanted to watch another episode, but she slid off the bed, stretched and said she probably ought to be getting off home. He did not try to stop her.

  While she put on her boots and tied the wet laces, he stood leaning against the hall mirror, one foot angled in front of the other, his hands plunged into his pockets, watching her.

  ‘Don’t forget your things,’ he said, nodding at the plastic bag she had put beside the door.

  She stepped out of the front door and buried her head deep inside the collar of her coat, covering her mouth. It was snowing. Sharp grains blew in all directions at once, stinging her skin. Probably the worst kind of snowfall. Blinking was no help. The only thing she could do was look down at the ridged layer of snow, yellow under the street lamps lining Hjalmar Lundbohmsvägen.

  When she reached Hermelingatan a Volvo trundled past with large clouds pouring from the exhaust at the back. Otherwise it was completely dead. It was past eleven. There was no sight or sound of roaring snow ploughs either, despite the fact that the snow had started to fall heavily. When they had left Safari the sky had been as dark as an empty blackboard.

  The shadow of her hurrying form alternately lengthened and disappeared, only to reappear again suddenly. She cut across the street and carried on in the direction of the playground in the park. She usually went this way, mainly to avoid the wind, but this time there was something pulling her in that direction.

  The glow from the lamp posts beside the narrow path swelled into circular patches in the darkness. The snow was easing off. It was as if she had entered a different zone where everything was untouched. The bushes were soft mounds under their white covering and the branches of the trees in the park were thickened by the snow.

  Then she heard a sound, a dull squealing inside her skull. Or rather she felt it. She thought it was a car with faulty brakes, someone slowing down at a red light.

  She heard the squealing again, and this time it pierced her brain so distinctly and painfully that she had to stop. Leaning forwards slightly she moved the bag to her left hand and lifted her glove to her ear. This time she had not experienced the sound as external: it was like a cry inside her head. Was there something wrong with her?

  As she stood there, wondering if the sound was going to recur, she heard footsteps. She whirled round and saw a man walking towards her. He was big and wearing a dark waist-length jacket and a hat pulled down to his eyebrows. He walked with determined, loping strides and was less than ten metres away.

  A strong urge to run welled up inside her but she controlled it, and instead walked on as fast as she could.

  She dared not look back, wanting only to get out of the park as quickly as possible, and found herself jogging. She had reached the middle of the park and could already see the light from Adolf Hedinsvägen beyond a small hill. The plastic supermarket carrier swung to and fro in one hand, while with the other hand she managed to pull out her mobile, which had been bumping about inside her coat pocket. It was difficult to focus on the screen. But who could she call? The police would hardly have time to get there if the man attacked her. She dropped the phone back in her pocket and felt around for her key ring, thinking she could use the largest key like a small knife. Then she decided to use the bag instead. Two litres of milk weighed two kilos. That would leave an impression.

  With relief she saw that someone was standing over by the crossing.

  A person wearing a lingonberry-red jacket—Roland.

  He met her with an amused look and did not seem especially surprised to see her, even though it was so late. He was bareheaded and snowflakes were scattered in his hair. The cord coming from the handle of a retractable dog lead looped behind a snowdrift.

  ‘Look, Basker,’ he said. ‘Look who’s coming here.’

  Susso turned round, but the man was no longer there. She gasped for air and felt it sting inside her chest. The dog came running up to her, wondering why she was not greeting him. Its snowy paws climbed up her jeans.

  ‘What’s up?’ Roland asked, pulling the lead gently.

  The dog walked alongside them for a few steps but immediately wanted to go back.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, panting. ‘I just . . . I just got a terrible headache. And then . . . I don’t know. It was . . . I don’t know . . .’ She shook her head and crouched down to pat the dog, which was standing on its hind legs, boxing with its paws. Roland’s thumb clicked to shorten the lead. His pointy eyebrows had shot up.

  Gudrun was sitting in front of the television watching a blaring action film. When she heard what had happened, that Susso thought she had been followed by someone in the park, her lips tightened to form a wide, serious fissure in her face. She fumbled w
ith the remote and turned off the sound.

  ‘But are you sure . . . ?’

  Susso sat with the cold shopping bag on her lap and was silent.

  ‘No,’ she said, after a moment. ‘It was just so . . . horrible.’

  Gudrun walked into the kitchen and looked down at the street, as if she was expecting the man Susso had told her about to be standing in the light of the street lamp, waiting.

  Roland was still in the hall. He had not removed his jacket but had unclipped the dog and placed the lead on the chest of drawers.

  ‘I’m going out for a while,’ he said. ‘To have a look around.’

  ‘Are you mad!’ Gudrun exclaimed, quickly turning round.

  ‘I’m only going to look,’ he said, shutting the front door behind him.

  ‘We have to phone the police.’

  ‘Drop it.’

  ‘What if it had been a rapist! And now he’ll attack someone else instead because you’ve slipped out of his grasp.’

  Susso snorted.

  ‘Slipped out of his grasp?’ she said, bending over with an amused smile as she put the bag on the floor. She pushed away the dog, who was interested in the contents.

  ‘What if you read about it tomorrow? How would you feel then, if you hadn’t reported it?’

  Susso could only shake her head. Gudrun sank back down in the sofa and folded her arms.

  ‘You have a duty to phone the police.’

  ‘But what can they do, Mum? He didn’t actually do anything.’ Susso pulled off her hat and leaned back in the armchair.

  She rubbed her forehead.

  ‘Have you ever had migraine?’

  ‘Migraine?’

  Susso nodded.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Why, have you got a headache?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It’s . . .’

  The dog leapt up and trotted out to the hall, and immediately afterwards Roland came walking into the sitting room. His face was shiny and his glasses had steamed up, so he had pushed them down his nose.

  ‘Did you see anyone?’ Gudrun asked.

  He shook his head and sat down on the edge of the sofa.

  ‘I walked all around the park and up the road a bit, but there was nothing.’

  ‘It’s just me . . .’ Susso said, burying her head in her hands. ‘I expect I’m imagining things. It’s all this Mattias business, and the photo, and everything they wrote in the papers. It’s hard, that’s all. And now I think I’ve got a migraine as well.’

  ‘Migraine?’

  ‘Yes. Do you know what that feels like?’

  ‘Well, it’s probably like a really bad headache.’

  ‘There was a kind of screaming inside my head.’

  ‘You need a holiday,’ Roland said. ‘I can hear that all right.’

  ‘I could borrow your snowmobile,’ Susso said.

  ‘You need to get further away than that if it’s going to do you any good.’

  ‘It’s better than nothing. Can I? We thought of taking a ride.’

  ‘What do you mean, we?’ Gudrun asked.

  ‘Me and Torbjörn.’

  There was a sharp intake of breath from Gudrun.

  ‘Are you two getting back together?’

  Susso had no intention of answering that question. She turned to Roland.

  ‘May I?’

  He sat thinking about it for a long time—either that or he was taking his time answering just for the pleasure of it. He pulled a tissue from his jacket pocket and examined it, before pressing it to his nose and moustache. He sniffed and said she could take the old Lynx. If she was careful with it.

  ‘Torbjörn will be doing the driving, I expect, and he was practically born on a snowmobile.’

  Roland pushed the tissue back into his pocket.

  ‘Hasn’t he got one of his own then?’

  She realised the trap too late.

  ‘Yes, two. But they’re out of action.’

  ‘That sounds very reassuring,’ Gudrun murmured.

  ‘That’s always the way with snowmobiles,’ said Roland. He grunted. ‘You spend as much time fixing them as driving them. But take the old Lynx. I’ve got it up at the cabin. We were also thinking of going for a ride tomorrow, so we can meet up there. It’s in Holmajärvi, on the Kiruna side.’

  First there was barking. Then beams of light.

  The camper van came driving up between the spruce trees. It was beige with a horizontal brown border halfway up and gathered grey curtains hanging in the windows. The wheels looked disproportionately small and the hexagonal hub caps were dark with rust. A shiny steel ladder climbed up the rear of the vehicle all the way to the roof, where there was a skylight.

  Seved sat at the kitchen table and watched Lennart step out and make his way towards the house. He had an unusual gait. For every step he took it looked as if he would fall forwards, as if he was about to lose his balance, but he regained it each time at the last minute. He was holding the bag-covered hand against his stomach.

  He appeared not to notice Seved but walked, panting, directly to the sink, where he turned on the tap, bent his head down and took a long, noisy drink. Then he turned round, wiping his jaws.

  ‘I’m so damned thirsty.’

  He took a glass from a cupboard and filled it with water, swallowing it down in one gulp. Then he opened the fridge and lifted out a bottle of cola, which he slammed on the table, only now looking at Seved. While he drank glass after glass he asked where Jirvin was.

  ‘He’s in the barn,’ Seved said.

  Lennart coughed up some phlegm, which he swallowed down with the cola, never taking his eyes off Seved.

  ‘He is?’

  ‘Yes. I think so, at least. I haven’t seen him.’

  Too late Seved realised he had just made a confession. Lennart had told them to keep an eye on Jirvin, and he could honestly say he had failed to do that.

  In fact, he’d been avoiding him. He had taken food out once a day—cooked macaroni with smoked reindeer heart and slices of cured pork, because Torsten had said he liked that—but he had left the bucket inside the door and not so much as glanced into the gloomy interior. The fact that the bucket had been empty every time he collected it was no proof. No doubt there were eyes peering through the gap in the curtains upstairs in Hybblet, watching him walk up and down with the bucket, and it wasn’t hard to work out what it contained.

  But Lennart did not lecture him.

  He merely looked down at the glass.

  ‘And the boy? How is he getting on?’

  ‘He doesn’t say much.’

  ‘But he plays?’

  ‘He plays. Mostly the video game. He likes that.’

  ‘He has to get out as well. It’s important he goes outside.’

  Seved nodded.

  ‘It was absolutely necessary,’ said Lennart. ‘What we did. It was the only thing we could do. And he’ll be fine here, with you.’

  After he had said this he put his hand inside his jacket, coughed and brought out his wallet.

  ‘So, payment.’

  Seved accepted the notes. He sat holding them for a moment before rolling them up and stuffing them into his pocket.

  ‘That feels good, doesn’t it? Having some money?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Fetch the boy now,’ Lennart said. ‘I’ve got to have a word with him.’

  Seved walked down to the cellar, and when he returned with the boy Lennart was sitting on a chair holding the hare in his arms, slowly stroking its fur.

  ‘I was at the county court today,’ he said, not looking up from the hare. ‘Do you know what the county court is?’

  The boy shook his head.

  ‘Well, they’re the ones who decide. About children and things. And they said Börje can look after you. That means you are going to live here from now on. Börje is your daddy now. They’ve also changed your name. Your new name is Bengt.’

  It was a while before the boy could get any words out.

&nbs
p; ‘I don’t want a new name,’ he said. ‘I want to go home.’

  He was almost shouting. The hare’s ears twitched.

  ‘Your parents don’t want you any more,’ Lennart said calmly.

  ‘Yes, they do!’

  ‘I know it’s hard to understand. It’s not really that they don’t want you . . . have you heard your parents talk about any problems lately?’

  The boy did not know.

  ‘But they have been arguing, haven’t they?’

  They had.

  ‘And what have they been arguing about?’

  ‘Money.’

  ‘Exactly. Your parents can’t afford to look after you. They know Börje will take good care of you and bring you up well. And you can have all the toys you want.’

  ‘I want to talk to them.’

  ‘I know,’ said Lennart, nodding. ‘I know. I thought you could talk to them too, and say goodbye properly, but it’s been so hard for them financially that they’ve had to move, and now they live in a flat somewhere in another town, and I don’t know how to get hold of them. But don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll phone as soon as they’ve got themselves sorted out.’

  The sky was layered. Dark blue highest up, then greenish-yellow, and below that a pink strip where the moon floated like a pale marble. The sun was still below the horizon, hesitating, but soon a sparkling shimmer would cover the fields of snow surrounding the flat white lakes to the south of the city.

  When they had driven through Ön, the residential area that lay in the shadow of the ore mountain and had been abandoned since the seventies, there had been a lot of activity. It was a shanty town of snowmobile garages, and now, after midwinter, when there were a few moments of sunlight in the middle of the day, everyone wanted to be out. It must be something biological, thought Susso. Like insects swarming.

  She was sitting very still with her hands clasped between her knees, her eyes fixed on the ridge of snow lining the road as it rushed past the car window. It had become very warm in the car and she should have taken off her jacket a long time ago, but now she didn’t feel like moving a millimetre. She had not yet told Torbjörn how scared she had been the previous evening. After sleeping on it and going over those seconds of being followed, she felt like an idiot. She had overreacted and felt almost sorry for the man who had been walking behind her.