Harbour (44 page)

‘No,' said Simon, and meant it.

They were going to get married. So it was probably time to embrace the words from the letter to the Corinthians, the words that form part of the promise of love, ‘When I became a man I put away childish things.'

Let go.

He followed Anna-Greta up on to the track, and the morning stiffness in his limbs began to ease. He looked out to sea and saw that the tender had covered half the distance between Nåten and Domarö. They hurried along, and Simon was worn out by the time they reached the jetty.

Anna-Greta stood in front of him and pushed back his hair, brushing a few loose strands from his shoulders.

‘Will I do?' he asked.

‘You'll do. In fact, you'll more than do. Do you know which word suits you?'

‘No.'

‘It's a beautiful word. You're mysterious.'

The tender slowed down as it approached the jetty. Simon was just about to say something about glass houses and throwing stones when the angry roar of an engine came up behind them. Just as the prow of the boat touched the jetty and Roger came forward to throw the mooring rope, Johan Lundberg arrived beside them on his platform moped and pulled up.

‘Here you are,' he said. ‘Good.'

However, his expression did not suggest that things were good— quite the opposite, in fact.

He ignored Simon and turned to Anna-Greta.

‘You have to come. Karl-Erik has lost it completely. You have to talk to him. He'll listen to you.'

‘What do you mean, lost it?' asked Anna-Greta.

‘We're busy clearing up around the house that burned down and he…you have to come. He's out of his mind.'

Roger came up to them with the mooring rope in his hand.

‘Are you coming? I have to go now.'

Anna-Greta nodded and turned to Johan. ‘Unfortunately I'm busy today. We'll be back at six.'

Johan's jaw dropped, as if Anna-Greta's response had just revealed one of the great mysteries of the universe to him. Before he had time to come up with any objections, Simon and Anna-Greta stepped on board. Roger followed them and climbed up to the cockpit. The boat reversed away from the jetty.

Johan stood there gazing after them with the expression of a foundling left to rely on the kindness of strangers. If Simon had needed any proof that Anna-Greta was the unofficial leader of the village, he had it now.

As the boat began to swing around to head for NÃ¥ten, Johan raised his hand feebly in farewell, straddled his moped, kicked it into life and set off back towards the village.

Anna-Greta and Simon stood leaning against the rail as they swung away from Domarö, towards the mainland. The bay was busy, dotted white with gulls taking off one by one or in groups, flying around in circles then coming in to land once again.

‘What do you think all that was about?' asked Simon.

Anna-Greta was gazing out to sea. ‘I don't know,' she said. ‘And I don't want to know, either. Have you seen how many gulls there are? I don't think I've ever seen so many.'

The boat carved its way through a throng of white bodies that paddled or flew away at a leisurely pace. It really was unusual to see so many.

Wedding guests,
thought Simon.
And here come the happy couple.

He put his arm around Anna-Greta and let his thoughts turn to the mainland.

Duel

This time there was no room for doubt: it was arson. As they worked to put out the fire, the smell of petrol had been noticeable, and when the worst was over they had also found the can. Someone had set the fire in the Wahlgrens' summer cottage, and it was a small step to assume it was the same person who had set fire to the Grönwalls' place.

For a while during the night it had looked as though things might go very badly. The fire had taken hold in the conifers in the Wahlgrens' garden, and sparks and burning fragments were being carried inland. Before the fire service arrived, a panic-stricken decision had been taken to fell a number of trees that might otherwise have led the fire up into the forest. It had been a dry autumn, and if the fire caught in the tops of the fir trees, it could be a disaster. The flames would spread through the forest all the way down to the old village, not stopping until they reached the sea.

Three men worked with chainsaws to fell some forty fir and pine trees that ran along a spur from the forest, an arm that was just dying to grab hold of the fire. It was the kind of feat about which songs are sung. But such songs are no longer sung, and at best Karl-Erik, Lasse and Mats had a small mention in the local newspaper to look forward to.

The report should, however, mention that they had to work fast, that the trees could not be felled in the direction of the fire, and that they also had to make sure the trees did not fall on to any of the cottages in the area, which meant they had to fell every single tree with precision, and of course all this was done in darkness, with little more than the light of the street lamp and the fire itself to help them.

Who would have taken on such a task, and who succeeded?

Why, Karl-Erik, Lasse and Mats!

OK, so they nearly knocked down the Carlgrens' outhouse, and those people from Örebro might have lost a few panes of glass from their greenhouse, but by and large nobody could have done a better job and the three musketeers, wielding chainsaws instead of rapiers, were the heroes of the night. Since the fire was under control, they could go home and sleep as long as they pleased. They had done their part, and more besides.

That was how they were greeted when they turned up the following day to chop up the felled trees, ‘Here come the three musketeers again!'

But Mats was the only one who grinned and tossed out a reply. Lasse's expression was grim, and Karl-Erik looked furious, to put it mildly. It was as if the memory of the previous night's co-operation had been blown away. What happened next could only be described as incomprehensible, an event not unlike that business in Söderviken with Gustavsson and the swan.

Gustavsson used to feed a swan. It came back to him year after year, accepting pieces of bread from him and providing him with a little company. As soon as you met Gustavsson he would start talking about that swan, how beautiful and clever it was, what a good friend it had become.

And then one day Gustavsson took his shotgun down to the bay and shot the swan, fired a blast at its neck so that the head flew off. Afterwards he had been inconsolable, unable to come up with any explanation for his behaviour, except that he had got it into his head that he was going to shoot the swan.

However, this incident with Karl-Erik was more extensive in that it went on for longer than the time it took to load a shotgun, take aim and fire. And it wasn't only Karl-Erik—Lasse was seized by the same irrational behaviour.

The morning's work of removing branches and chopping up the trees proceeded more or less as normal, although Mats did say later that there was something slightly odd about Karl-Erik and Lasse. They had each kept themselves to themselves, working in silence. When they took a break to have a drink of water and eat their sandwiches, they sat a long way from each other.

After their break all three of them put on their ear protectors, started up their saws and set to work again. Mats was working his way through the root of one of the thicker fir trees. Progress was slow, and the saw got very hot. Therefore, when he had finished he switched off the saw, took off his ear protectors and began to sharpen the chain.

Lasse's saw was also switched off, and so Mats was able to hear the sound of sawing from elsewhere, up towards the village and quite a distance from the newly felled trees they were busy clearing. He stood up and looked for the source of the noise. When he found it he dropped his saw and ran.

At the time when Holger's father sold Kattudden to the agent from Stockholm, a couple of families from the village had managed to secure a promise that they could at least divide up and purchase a small area, so that not everything would pass into the ownership of strangers. They had been allocated a few small parcels of land furthest away from the sea, up towards the forest.

The Bergwall family, to which Lasse belonged, was one of them. His mother, Margareta Bergwall, now owned the two summer cottages that lay up on the hill to the west, perhaps three hundred metres from the shore, but with something of a sea view. The cottages were rented out to summer visitors, but Lasse's brother Robert was planning to renovate one of them and move back home.

Between the two properties stood the largest birch tree on Kattudden: a real giant some twenty metres tall. A grown man could just about get his arms around it. And it was this birch that Karl-Erik was busy cutting down.

When Mats saw what he was up to, he dropped his saw as well and hurried towards Karl-Erik. The birch was between the two properties, but leaned slightly towards Lasse's mother's house, and judging from the way Karl-Erik was making the face cut, he intended to use the tree's natural lean to ensure that it would land right on top of Lasse's future inheritance.

‘Karl-Erik!' yelled Mats as soon as he was within earshot. ‘Karl-Erik, what are you doing!'

But Karl-Erik was wearing his ear protectors, and couldn't hear a thing. He was just cutting the final part of the wedge, and kicked it out so that a wide, deep cut at the base of the tree gaped towards Lasse's house like a hungry mouth. He examined his work, seemed satisfied and went around the other side of the tree to start making the felling cut. It was no more than a minute's work, and then the tree would fall.

Mats reached Karl-Erik just as the sawdust began to whirl up from the tree, grabbed his shoulder and shook him. Karl-Erik looked up and Mats took a step backwards. The eyes that were looking at him were neither angry nor confused. They were as empty and ice-cold as the sea in November. It is a testament to Mats's courage that he still, when Karl-Erik revved up the saw again, pulled off his ear protectors and screamed, ‘Are you crazy! Stop it! You can't chop this tree down! Stop!'

Karl-Erik jabbed at him with the saw and Mats was forced to step back again. He ran his hands over his sweaty face and thought:
He's gone completely mad. How am I going to stop him?

There was no time to think about that, because Lasse had realised what was happening and came running, with his own saw in his hands. When Karl-Erik once again inserted the blade of his saw into the felling cut he had started, Lasse came rushing towards him, and Mats saw that his eyes were also empty. They were staring straight at Karl-Erik, but showed no emotion whatsoever.

Only now did Mats begin to feel afraid.

Karl-Erik's saw roared behind him, and the sawdust was tickling his calves; Lasse was racing towards him with his saw held high and the motor running at full speed. It's no surprise that Mats did what anyone else would have done under the circumstances. He took a couple of steps to one side and yelled to the people who were clearing up down on the site of the fire, ‘Help! Up here! They're going to kill one another! Help!'

When Mats screamed, Karl-Erik looked up and saw the approaching threat at the last minute. He pulled the saw out of the cut and jumped back as Lasse rushed forward, swinging the saw at him. The howling chain missed Karl-Erik by a fraction, and the force of his own action made Lasse fall down headfirst, with the saw in his hands and chain oil splashing over his face.

Mats saw Karl-Erik push the speed to maximum and lower the saw over Lasse's back; he just had time to think:
He's going to do it!
before a reflex took over and hurled him towards Karl-Erik. The blade cut through the braces of Lasse's overalls, reaching his skin, and Lasse would have been chopped in half like a rotten log if Mats hadn't tackled Karl-Erik at that very moment, making him stagger sideways so that he couldn't complete the incision.

Lasse got to his feet and his trousers fell around his ankles as the blood started to gush from the wound on his back. He raised his saw and bared his teeth. For a couple of seconds the two men stood face to face, their chainsaws screaming and their empty gazes locked together.

Mats could see that people were on their way up from the shore, but the closest still had at least a hundred metres to go, and he turned to the combatants and screamed like a despairing child, ‘Stop it, stop it, stop it!' as the tears scalded his eyes.

It had no effect whatsoever. Lasse took a clumsy step forward, sweeping at Karl-Erik's arm with his saw, but Karl-Erik managed to lift his saw and parry the blow. Sparks flew as the howling chains made contact.

Karl-Erik responded with a low sweep towards Lasse's unprotected legs, but despite the fact that his trousers were in a heap around his feet, Lasse managed to jump backwards towards the birch so that the whirring blades missed his shins and merely tore up earth and grass.

Once again there was a brief lull as the two men measured each other and revved their chainsaws.

Mats looked around on the ground for something to throw, but as he spotted a stone the size of a fist, he realised it was pointless. If he managed to knock one of them down, the other one would kill the man who was down. He heard shouts behind him, and all he could do was hope that the others would get there in time.

A hint of emotion was now visible on Karl-Erik's face. The corners of his mouth curled upwards in a nasty smile. He swung the saw backwards and took a step forward, while at the same time letting go with his left hand, so that he was holding the machine with his right hand on the throttle as he swung it in an arc towards Lasse's head.

Mats let out a gasp, and it was all too late. But at the very last second Lasse managed to raise his blade in his defence, and the chains met a few centimetres from his ear. Sparks flew, then there was a dry snapping noise and Lasse fell back.

Later it was established that the chain on Lasse's saw had broken and whipped him across the forehead. All they could see at the time was Lasse's head jerking backwards as the saw flew out of his hand. With a heavy thud he hit the birch tree and slipped to one side.