Fire, page 2
Minoo glimpses the outline of Dad through the kitchen window. He crosses the floor with long, clumping steps. Out of sight, he roars something. He is so loud he could make the windowpanes rattle. Mum shrieks something back at him. Minoo pulls her earphones down and tries to lose herself in a Nick Drake song, but music simply makes her even more aware of the sounds she is trying to exclude.
Mum and Dad always used to deny that they argued, called it ‘discussions’ when they fought about Dad’s health or about all the time he spent at work. But this summer, at some point, they had stopped pretending.
Perhaps it would be kind of grown-up to think of their rows as normal. Whatever has been simmering under the surface for so long has finally found an outlet. But Minoo feels like a scared little kid whenever she thinks of the word ‘divorce’. Maybe it wouldn’t have felt so bad if she had had brothers or sisters. But what is at risk now is the only family she has ever known. Mum, Dad and herself.
Minoo tries to concentrate on the book in her lap. It’s a crime story by Georges Simenon that she found in Dad’s bookshelf. Its back has split, and yellowing pages sometimes drop out when she leafs through it. The book is really good. At least, she imagines so. There’s no way she can engage with the story. She feels shut out of the world in the book.
Minoo catches a glimpse of brightness in the corner of her eye. She quickly pulls off her earphones and turns round.
Gustaf is wearing a white T-shirt. It enhances his tanned skin and the golden sheen of his sun-bleached hair. Some people seem made for summer. Minoo definitely isn’t one of them.
‘Hi, Minoo,’ he says.
‘Hi,’ she replies.
She glances nervously towards the house. All quiet in there now. But for how long?
‘You look surprised,’ Gustaf is saying. ‘Did you forget we were meeting up today?’
‘Oh, no. I’d just lost track of the time.’
Inside the house, a door slams and Dad roars at top volume. Mum’s response has a lot of swearing in it. Gustaf’s face is blank, but he must have heard them. Minoo stands up so quickly the book falls on to the lawn. She leaves it there.
‘Come on,’ she says and walks off quickly.
At the end of the garden, she turns impatiently. Gustaf has picked up the book and is putting it on the deckchair. He looks at her, smiles, then hurries to catch up.
Side by side, they amble through Engelsfors. It is impossible to move at anything like a normal pace. The heat is pressing them down to the ground, as if the gravitational pull had been magnified by a factor of ten.
Minoo has never seen the point of lying around on a beach. That is, not until just this summer, when she has been thinking seriously of going to Dammsjön Lake where the rest of Engelsfors goes to cool down. But the mere thought of undressing in front of other people has always made her stay away. She can hardly bear to show her face in public. The heatwave hasn’t exactly done wonders for her skin. A particularly hyper pimple is throbbing at her temple and she tries to pull a strand of hair over it so that Gustaf won’t notice.
Just as it is hard for her to put her finger on exactly when Mum and Dad started fighting openly, it is hard for her to pinpoint when she and Gustaf became friends.
When Minoo finally dared to tell the other Chosen Ones about the black smoke, her alienation from the world of other people felt a little less paralysing. But she was not the same Minoo as before. Her friend Rebecka had died. Killed by Max, the man Minoo had loved more than anyone else. Max, who claimed that the demons had a plan for her. She had no idea what the plan might be, just as she knew nothing about the powers held inside her.
But in the middle of her confusion, Gustaf had been there for her. Early on in the summer holidays, he tried to persuade her to come along to Dammsjön Lake but, when she kept being evasive, they went for walks instead. Or else talked, read or played cards in his garden.
Gustaf is the local football star and one of the most popular boys in the school. Through the years, Minoo has heard so much praise of him, usually over-the-top variants on what a perfect guy he is. As for Minoo, the word she feels describes him best is ‘easy-going’. He makes everything seem simple. Since her life generally is the total opposite to simple, the time spent with Gustaf has become a rare zone of ease.
But when she is not with him, paranoia lurks. She wonders why he cares enough to be with her. Maybe she’s some kind of charitable project.
They stroll across Canal Bridge, then follow the swirling flow of black water past the lock gates and take a path underneath the canopies of the trees. A wasp is buzzing around Minoo and she flicks it away.
‘How are things with you? Honestly?’ Gustaf asks.
The wasp disappears among the trees. Minoo understands that he means what he had heard from inside her house. He has probably sensed all summer that something was up.
‘Look, I’m sorry, maybe you’d rather not talk about it?’
Minoo hesitates. He is her escape route and she doesn’t want to mess that up.
‘Do your parents fight like that?’
‘They did when I was little. Now they never do,’ Gustaf says and then doesn’t speak for a moment. ‘But now, I don’t think they care enough any more.’
Astonished, Minoo glances at him. She always had the impression that Gustaf’s family was like one of these sweet’n’cosy ones in rubbish American comedies, the kind where people get cross with each other because of some crazy misunderstanding. And when all is sorted in the end, cue for hugs all round as everyone agrees they’ve learned a lesson.
‘I try not to think too much about it, but I’m pretty sure they’ll get divorced as soon as I’m out of their way,’ Gustaf says. ‘I’m the last of their kids who’s still at home. I leave and that’s it. Nothing left to hold them together.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
‘You notice when two people are in love, I think. It’s like … a kind of energy between them. Do you know what I mean?’
Minoo mumbles agreement. She knows exactly what he means. She once felt an energy field between herself and Max. That is, before she found out who he actually was. That he was Rebecka’s killer.
‘There’s nothing like that between my parents,’ Gustaf continues. ‘I realised that once I had fallen in love.’
He falls silent. Minoo knows that he is thinking about Rebecka.
Her death had brought them together. Now they talk less and less about her. It is Minoo who avoids the subject. As she gets closer to Gustaf, it is more and more difficult to play along with the lie that the death of his girlfriend was suicide.
She sees a familiar shadow sweep across his face and wants to ask him how he feels. Does he still have nightmares about when he watched Rebecka die? Does he still blame himself? She wants to be the friend he deserves.
But how can she be a true friend at the same time as she keeps lying about something so important?
If only it was possible to tell him the truth. But she knows that she couldn’t, not ever.
The woodland opens up into a meadow where the summer flowers have faded and died. The old abandoned manor house stands on the far side of the meadow.
‘Did you know that building was an inn once?’ Minoo asks to change the subject.
‘No, I didn’t. When?’
‘In the nineties. Dad told me about it. A couple of Stockholm restaurant owners bought the whole thing, moved in and refurbished it. They spent serious money, apparently. And then they opened a restaurant. It got brilliant reviews but, all the same, they had to close the place down after about a year. Zero customers, you see. Dad said the talk in town was all about how they’d show the city folk that in Engelsfors there was no money to be had just for the asking. So there. As if everyone wouldn’t have gained by something actually happening here.’
Gustaf laughs.
‘Engelsfors strikes again. Typical.’
For a while, they stand looking at the house. It is a grand two-storey building made of white-painted wood. Definitely the largest and most beautiful building in the town. Not that the competition is so hot. A wide flight of stone steps leads from the overgrown garden to a veranda where two massive pillars support a large balcony on the first floor.
‘Let’s check it out,’ Gustaf says.
‘Sure.’
They start crossing the meadow. The brittle, crackling stems of dry grass reach up to Minoo’s knees and she thinks nervously about hordes of starving ticks scenting blood.
‘Do you want to stay on in Engelsfors?’ she asks. ‘I mean, after leaving school?’
‘I suppose I’ll have to study first. Then … I don’t know. In some ways, I quite like the town. It is home. But there’s no future here. On the other hand, maybe that’s precisely why people ought to come back later in life. To build something new.’
‘What, like opening a restaurant?’
‘Do you think they’d come if I was the owner?’
Yes, Minoo thinks. They’d come all right. Because you’re you.
‘I guess so. You’re no city incomer.’
Close up, it is easy to see how run-down the house is. The paint is flaking off the walls and here and there patches of bare wood show. The ground-floor windows are shuttered. Minoo thinks of the work done by the previous owners. Now the old place is decaying again.
Gustaf starts climbing the steps to the veranda, but stops halfway. Listens.
‘What’s the matter?’ Minoo asks.
‘I think there’s someone in there,’ he says quietly.
He sets out along one of the wings. Minoo trails after him, nervously eyeing the first-floor windows. They swing round the gable end and step out in front of the house.
A dark green car is parked on the gravelled area near the main entrance. The passenger side door is wide open. Minoo makes out a man seated inside.
He notices them and gets out of the car in one agile movement.
The man is young, their own age, and taller than Gustaf. Wavy, ash-blonde hair frames his face. His features are near-perfect and so is his smooth skin. His looks would fit just right in one of those upmarket ads where everyone is sailing or playing golf non-stop.
‘Hi,’ Gustaf says. ‘Sorry, we thought the house was empty …’
‘You’re mistaken, obviously,’ the guy says.
He speaks with exactly the kind of ‘posh’ Stockholm accent which instantly gets under the skin of most Engelsforsers, regardless of how nice the speaker is. In this case, there isn’t a trace of niceness in his voice.
Gustaf stares at him in blank amazement.
Of course he’s baffled, Minoo thinks. Gustaf must be totally unused to people being rude to him.
‘Sure, yes, our mistake,’ Gustaf replies. ‘Are you moving in?’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ the stranger drawls, sounding utterly fed up.
Minoo’s ears are glowing. She wants to leave. Now. No point in trying to chat, not even Gustaf’s charm will have any effect on this guy. He slams the car door shut, flattens the creases in his trousers. Then he looks up and stares intently at Minoo.
She feels as though he can see straight through her and that he isn’t impressed.
‘Come on. Let’s go,’ she mutters and grabs Gustaf’s arm to pull him along.
‘Hardly the type to improve the reputation of Stockholm folk round here,’ Gustaf says as they cross back over the meadow.
‘Too true.’
When they reach the edge of the wood, Minoo turns for a last view of the manor house. She catches a glimpse of what might have been someone moving upstairs.
‘What would you like to do now?’ Gustaf asks.
‘I don’t know.’
Her mobile pings in the pocket of her skirt. She checks it.
It’s a text from Linnéa.
‘Has anything happened?’ Gustaf asks.
‘No,’ she lies. ‘Nothing at all.’
3
Under the large trees the ground is in the shade, but it is not cool. On the contrary, the heat feels more oppressive in the forest. The air is heavy to breathe and smells of resin, needles and sun-warmed wood. And that special forest scent, too, which Anna-Karin can’t quite define in words. She inhales deeply as she walks along a narrow path through the blueberry shrub between the rough tree trunks.
Around her, the forest is completely still. But she doesn’t feel the peace of mind she has come here to find.
Anna-Karin’s safe places have always been with animals, with her grandfather and in the forest. But she only understood how much these places of refuge truly mattered after she and her mother had moved into a flat in the centre of Engelsfors.
The farm is sold. Grandpa has moved to Sunny Side care home. But the forest still belongs to her. Anna-Karin has been here practically every day of the summer holidays. Hiding away from other people who are crowding in on her, away from their eyes and from the town, its tarmac and bricks and concrete and ugliness. Here, she breathes more easily. She even dares to dream.
Yes. That is how it is, usually. But today is different.
Every single child in Engelsfors learns that ‘you must stick to the forest paths’. It is part of growing up. Maps and compasses don’t seem to function as they should and all attempts to organise orienteering on sports days were abandoned long ago. In the past, such efforts had invariably ended with search parties being mobilised. The forest seems somehow larger when you are in it than when you look at it from the outside.
Several people disappeared without trace during Anna-Karin’s childhood. Even so, this is the first time she feels the typical Engelsfors response to the forest: a sense of unease. It dawns on her that she has heard not one note of birdsong, not one buzz of an insect.
But she walks deeper into the forest, allows herself to become engulfed.
Sweat starts trickling down her temples. The slope she has been walking up is too gradual for her to have noticed it at first, but now she feels it in her legs. To her right, the sun gleams on a water-filled mining hole. The luminous surface reminds her of how thirsty she is. How could she forget about bringing something to drink?
The path becomes steeper and stonier. It feels as if someone has turned the heat up higher still. Dry leaves are rustling as she pushes branches out of the way. She tastes the salty sweat on her lips and hears her own heavy breathing.
Near the top of the hill the ground flattens and the trees are fewer. Gasping for breath, she sits down on a rotten tree stump. Her lips feel dry under the film of sweat. She is thirstier than ever and dizzy if she closes her eyes. Trying to breathe deeply and slowly doesn’t help, it just feels like breathing the same old stale air over and over again.
She opens her eyes.
The air is shimmering. Colours suddenly seem stronger, smells more distinct.
A dead tree stands in front of her. It looks like a human being who is stretching his arms towards the sky. A hole in the trunk is like a mouth. The flaking bark is the colour of ash.
That tree was not there before.
Obviously, that’s ridiculous. Trees don’t sneak up on you. Let alone dead trees.
Anna-Karin gets up. The dizziness hits her again. She must get back home. Must find some water.
But the dead tree beckons her. She leaves the path and walks towards it. Dead branches crackle under her feet. The sound is loud in the heavy silence. Drooping branches of blueberry bushes are so tinder dry they pulverise when she steps on them. She reaches out, touches the hot tree trunk, then carries on walking as if in a dream.
Behind the ghostly tree, the ground falls away abruptly, precipitously. She can see the chimneys of the closed-down factory in the distance.
There is a scattering of other lifeless trees. Tall trunks, bleached bone white by the sun.
It is not only the drought that’s killing the forest, she realises, without knowing how she knows. The forest is dying for another reason.
She turns slowly. It takes her a few seconds to discover the fox standing very still, close to the tree stump she had been sitting on. Its amber eyes coolly meet hers.
The sun on Anna-Karin’s skull feels like a burning hot weight. As she and the fox watch each other, the sweat is nearly blinding her. She doesn’t dare move, doesn’t want to alarm it.
But in the end she must rub her eyes to try to remove the stinging saltiness.
When she takes her hands away, the fox is gone.
Anna-Karin steps out of the lift in the Sunny Side home. The soles of her shoes make sucking noises against the lino flooring in the corridor. Her grandpa is sitting in a wheelchair near the window in the day room. He is so thin. Every time she sees him, he seems to have shrunk a little more.
An old lady with old-lady-style permed curls is snoozing in an armchair. She is the only other person in the room. Grandpa spots Anna-Karin and recognises her. He smiles at her, his eyes are bright. He is having a good day. Anna-Karin’s heart swells with love for him, almost bursting her ribcage.
She hands him the crossword magazine she bought for him in Leffe’s kiosk.
‘What, no hug today?’ he says and puts the magazine down on the little table-top attached to his wheelchair.
‘You wouldn’t want to. I’m covered in sweat.’
‘Silly girl! Come here.’
Grandpa used not to go in for hugs. But he is changing in so many ways. Anna-Karin puts her arms gently around the old man’s frail body.
‘Have you eaten anything today, Grandpa?’ she asks once they let go of each other.
‘I don’t get hungry now that I’m not allowed to move about. All I do is sit or lie down.’
Guilt instantly overwhelms her. She will never forgive herself. It had been her fault that the barn went on fire. It had led to Grandpa’s injuries.
‘Besides, it’s far too bloody hot.’
‘But you’re drinking properly, right?’ she adds, eyeing the half-empty glass of apple juice on the side table.
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ He waves away her question.
Anna-Karin makes a mental note that she must quiz the staff. Is Grandpa really getting enough to drink? Earlier this summer, he was so badly dehydrated they had to put him on a drip.
