The Silver Road, page 18
He pulled at his moustache and looked at her with hangdog eyes.
‘To be honest, she’s missing you, and I’ve got this damned guilty conscience, because I drove you away.’
Meja turned to look at the school’s red bricks.
‘You didn’t drive me away.’
He drummed his grimy fingers on the steering wheel in time to the swish of the windscreen wipers.
‘How are you getting on at Svartliden?’
‘Good.’
‘Everything OK with Birger and family?’
‘Yep.’
‘What’s it like, living together?’
‘Fine.’
‘So you don’t regret it?’
Meja squinted towards the birch tree. Crow’s hair looked unnatural in the greyness.
‘Nope.’
‘Because it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Changing your mind, I mean. You’re very young, both of you.’
‘I haven’t changed my mind.’
Torbjörn’s sour breath filled the car as he exhaled.
‘Then come and have a meal with us one day, won’t you? You and Carl-Johan? We miss you. Both of us.’
‘Mm.’
He looked at her with his pleading eyes.
‘I want so much to be a dad to you, if only you’d let me.’
Meja hugged her backpack to her chest and reached for the door handle.
‘I don’t need a dad.’
She lay on the bunk, playing with her own shadow and making plans with the gangly shape on the wall. She was going to have the toilet bucket ready for when the door opened. He would get his eyes so full of urine he wouldn’t see as she raised the little table. She would bring it down on his head with all her strength. Knock him unconscious, or at least off balance enough to be able to run past him and up the stairs. She didn’t know what was waiting up there, whether there were any more locked doors, but she was prepared to take the risk.
Sometimes it was several days before the man came back. She had only her own brain to keep track of the hours and days, but she could tell from the food how time passed. It solidified and turned mouldy. Then she was afraid the door would never be opened again. It was a strange feeling, being afraid of something and longing for it at the same time. She realized her fear of being left to rot alone was greater than her fear of him.
She put the plate of dried-up food on the floor and practised lifting the table. The wood was bulky and heavy and the effort made her chest hurt. She saw the shadow arms tremble on the wall as if all her strength had drained away.
‘We must eat,’ she said to the shadow. ‘If we are going to do this.’
She was woken by flashes from a camera. He was standing over her, taking pictures, and the hand around the lens was coarse from cold and hard work. She pulled the blanket over her and hid her face in her hands. The flashing continued. He jerked the blanket off her and ripped the front of her T-shirt, exposing her stomach and bra. Not until she started crying did he finally stop. He breathed deeply as he paced the floor.
‘You’ve hardly eaten anything! Are you trying to kill yourself or what?’
‘I’m not well. I need a doctor.’
He threw her a look, a silent warning, before he started frantically emptying the dried-up food into a bin bag. Then he laid out more: sausages, potatoes and grated carrot. Two flasks and a bar of chocolate. The silver paper shone up at her. She watched the shadow on the wall become eager.
‘I thought you were never coming back.’
He smirked.
‘So you missed me?’
She reached for the chocolate and fumbled with the paper.
‘You smell of winter. Is it cold out?’
‘I won’t say what you smell of. Haven’t you seen the bucket of water and the soap? Can’t you wash?’
She broke off a square of chocolate, put it on her tongue and let it melt along with her tears. He reached out his hand and stroked her hair.
‘Shall I help you wash your hair?’
She pulled up her knees and saw the shadow imitate her. Her nose was running. The chocolate tasted of salt.
‘Why did you take pictures of me?’
‘Because I want to see you even when I’m not here.’
‘Do you live alone or have you got a family?’
‘Why, are you jealous?’
‘Only curious.’
‘Curiosity can be dangerous.’
His hand moved from her hair to her cheek. She sat as still as she could, struggling not to flinch. His thumb stroked her lips.
‘Family or not, you are the most important thing in my life.’
She stood alone at the bus shelter, waiting, a hazy circle of street light above her head and blonde strands of hair showing from under her hood. It was the hair that made him react. And the fact that she was standing there alone.
Without thinking Lelle skidded across the left-hand lane and drew up at the bus stop. He wound down the passenger window and beckoned her over. He was disappointed it wasn’t Lina, even though he knew.
The girl was called Meja and was new to the school. In his class she sat by the window and spent most of the lesson drawing spiral patterns in the margin of her writing pad. He left her alone, because she was new and because she seemed lonely. Now the girl was taking a few steps towards him and he could see her narrow eyes shining under the hood.
‘I’m on my way home. Want a lift?’
He saw her glance up the road in the direction of the bus that never came.
‘It’s over ten kilometres to Svartliden where I live.’
‘That doesn’t matter. No one’s waiting for me.’
He saw her hesitate, clearly weighing up the offer. Then she took two quick steps towards the car, opened the door and slid into the seat beside him. She smelled of rain, and wet strands of hair dripped on to her hoodie. Lelle steered out on to the Silver Road, going north.
‘You can’t rely on that bus, anyway,’ he said.
‘It’s always really late.’
At the top of the hill he switched to full beam and looked at the grey forest. It would be white soon. The trees would stoop like old people under the weight, and the ground and everything concealed below it would be forgotten. Another winter. He didn’t know how he would get through it. He felt Meja looking sideways at him and he looked back, but her eyes slid away.
‘So you live at Svartliden?’
‘Mm.’
‘With Birger and Anita?’
‘Do you know them?’
‘I don’t know them, exactly. Are you related?’
She shook her head.
‘Their son, Carl-Johan – he’s my boyfriend.’
‘Well, I’ll be damned.’
People liked turning up their noses at Birger Brandt and his family, even though nobody knew them very well. Or perhaps that was why. They were rarely seen in the community, and no one knew how they made a living out there at Svartliden, whether it was hunting or their farm that kept them going. There had been a hell of a row when they refused to send their boys to school. They said they wanted to home-school the boys, the way people used to. Lelle didn’t know how that had turned out, whether social services had agreed or not. But he had never seen them at Tallbacka.
‘Do you smoke?’ Meja suddenly asked.
‘Only in the summer.’
Of course, the car reeked of smoke. It got into the upholstery and Lelle hadn’t bothered cleaning it. There was a thick carpet of ash all over the instrument panel. But he wasn’t embarrassed.
‘Do you smoke?’
‘No, I’ve given up.’
‘Good. Cigarettes are crap.’
‘Carl-Johan says tobacco is a conspiracy of the state. To get rid of the weak.’
Lelle looked at her.
‘I’ve never heard that before. But cancer isn’t a benefit to the state, surely?’
Meja sighed.
‘A weakened population gives the state more opportunity, so Birger says.’
‘Oh, does he?’
Lelle cleared his throat to disguise his bemusement. He didn’t want to laugh at the girl. He had searched for Lina on Birger’s land, that first summer three years ago. They had all helped – Birger, his wife and their three lads. Given him keys to outhouses and root cellars, and guided him along the forest tracks that criss-crossed their land.
He studied the girl out of the corner of his eye, noting the blonde hair and the sprinkling of freckles from the summer. Her shoulders were drawn up to her ears and she seemed fragile, like the first shards of ice before winter took hold.
‘How long have you lived at Svartliden?’
‘Since the summer.’
‘Where did you live before that?’
‘Here and there.’
‘You sound like you come from down south.’
‘I was born in Stockholm, but I’ve moved about.’
‘What do your parents think about you living at Svartliden of all places?’
‘I’ve only got Silje, and she doesn’t care.’
He could tell she didn’t like his questioning. Her fingers drummed restlessly on her jeans and picked at the seams. He thought of Lina and how hard it had been to have a conversation with her. It got worse as she got older, as if the years came between them and made them strangers. Everything he said resulted in grimaces and eye-rolling. It had made him frustrated then, but he missed it now.
Meja lifted her arm and pointed as they were getting close, and through the gloom he could see the wooden sign between the spruce trees.
‘You can drop me off at the drive.’
‘I’ll take you to the door.’
She squirmed in her seat as if that bothered her, but Lelle wasn’t put off.
He wondered why a young girl would willingly move to such a desolate place, and whether teenage love could be enough. Svartliden had nothing but dense ancient forest and a sad little lake to offer.
At the gate he stayed in the car, while Meja ran to punch in the code.
‘Birger Brandt’s boy must be one hell of a charmer,’ he said out loud to himself, before she came back.
Behind the gate the large farmhouse stood flanked by black forest and the lit-up windows seemed to burn in the darkness. Meja sat on the edge of the seat, playing with her hair. She pulled it back in a ponytail, only to undo it and start again. It made him nervous.
Birger was standing on the top step as they drew up. The old man held up his hand and quickly bounded down the steps. When Meja got out of the car he patted her as if she were one of his bitches. Brisk, but affectionate.
‘Well, well, Lennart Gustafsson, it’s been a while!’ He leaned in through the passenger window. ‘You’ll stay for coffee?’
The shadow on the wall danced, waving its spindly arms and legs, headbanging and sending drops flying from the wet hair. The smell of soap was alien to her nostrils and made her sinuses hurt, but both the wash and the chocolate had given her energy. Enough energy to lift and turn the small table eight times in a row. Afterwards she put her hand on the wall and high-fived the shadow. She felt stronger now than for a long time.
When the man came the food was gone. Most of it had come back up in the bucket, but if he noticed he didn’t say anything. He went out and emptied it and was soon back, filling the room with autumnal air and his own breath. His eyes shone behind the mask.
‘You’ve had a wash!’
She sat with her back to the shadow. The wall was rough against her shoulders. Immediately she became afraid of what he would do now she was clean. She looked as he moved across the floor, watching his hands as he took fresh food out of the backpack. Thick slices of blood pudding, lingonberry jam. The side table creaked as if it also shrank from him.
‘Pity I haven’t got the camera with me,’ he said. ‘Now you’ve made yourself look so pretty.’
The bunk protested on her behalf as he lowered himself beside her. She was numb and silent. All she could hear was her own rasping breath as he touched her. He stroked her hair with his fingers and slid them down her neck.
‘Why have you chosen today to make yourself pretty?’
Her chest heaved and it was hard for her to speak.
‘I thought maybe if I ate something and cleaned myself up, then you’d let me go outside for a while and get some fresh air.’
His hand tightened impatiently round her neck, and he lifted her face to his.
‘Kiss me and we’ll see.’
The balaclava was damp against her face as he pressed his mouth to hers. She screwed up her mouth and turned away. She watched the shadow struggle as he started to tear at her clothes. The spidery arms clawed and hit until he started hitting back. Warm blood ran from her forehead and into her mouth as he forced her down on the bed.
She floated up to the wall as he did what he wanted, joining the shadow and gritting her jaw so hard it made her teeth ache.
Afterwards he pulled on his jeans and dabbed her bleeding eyebrow with his own T-shirt. He pressed hard with his whole hand. She breathed with her mouth to avoid his smell. The hood had ridden up on top of his head and she resisted the impulse to pull it off. She understood from the way he was touching her that his anger had turned to regret. She took her chance: ‘Why can’t you take off that mask?’
‘You know what I’ve told you about that.’
‘But I want to see you.’
He let her go, crumpling the stained T-shirt in his hand.
‘One of these days I will take it off and we’ll walk out of here together, hand in hand. But you’re not ready. Not yet.’
The blood began to pound in her eardrums. She leaned closer to him, suddenly eager. ‘I am ready.’
He left her there on the bed. She watched the shadow reach out towards the door as it swung open, as if it had plans of its own to slip out when he did. But the door slammed, leaving both of them with the whirling dust and the taste of blood.
They remembered him, naturally. Anita, the wife, made coffee and stared at Lelle from under her fringe. She seemed agitated and her chapped hands shook as she laid the table. She wouldn’t sit down. She stood hunched by the stove. That’s what happens, Lelle thought, when you never get out and see people.
Birger had aged since he last saw him. Lines on his forehead and sunken eyes. He looked at Lelle in concern.
‘No news of that girl of yours?’
Lelle shook his head and looked outside to the driveway lit by a single lamp. He could see the wind had picked up. The trees and shadows were moving, making it hard to focus.
‘Nothing new,’ he said.
‘What about the police? Are they doing anything about it?’
‘Sod all,’ he said.
The skin on Birger’s face quivered as he nodded.
‘Incompetent numbskulls, that’s what they are. If you want anything doing, do it yourself, I say.’
‘I haven’t given up. I’m going through the whole of Norrland with a fine-tooth comb.’
‘That’s good,’ said Birger. ‘That’s how you’ll find her.’
Lelle stared down at the table and blinked until his eyes were clear again and he could make out the dents in the wood and the grains of sugar on the cakes Anita had served. The crying still came out of nowhere, but he had mastered the art of not giving in to it.
‘I’d like to thank you for giving Meja a lift home,’ Birger said. ‘We worry about her.’
‘Do you?’ said Meja.
‘Yes, of course we do.’
Lelle lifted his head and looked from Birger to Anita.
‘I guess you’ve heard about the girl who disappeared from Arjeplog in the summer?’
‘We certainly have,’ Birger said. ‘And the police don’t seem to be much help there, either.’
‘No,’ said Lelle. ‘Not much is happening.’
Anita bent over the oven and a cloud of smoke poured out as she opened it. The loaves had a black crust as she lifted them off the baking tray. She flapped the tea towel and he could see the perspiration stains under her arms.
‘No,’ said Birger, opening the window. ‘A wise man looks after himself. The police are nothing more than a pack of bungling idiots.’
Lelle’s lips puckered. The coffee was incredibly bitter.
‘I don’t know if I’d go that far,’ he said.
Birger was about to answer when the front door opened. Three young men came in with a cold blast behind them and stamped wet earth from their boots. When they caught sight of Lelle they stopped in their tracks.
‘Here are my lads!’ said Birger, beckoning them in. ‘Don’t stand there like idiots, come and sit down!’
They were fair-skinned and red-cheeked, with wiry bodies and dirt under their fingernails. Birger presented them one by one. Göran, the eldest, had red-blond hair and a face covered in acne scars. He didn’t seem especially chatty. The middle son, Pär, was growing a beard and his cheeks glowed as he scratched it. His handshake was cold and firm. Carl-Johan was the youngest, tall and thin, and he hurried to sit down beside Meja. Birger’s flabby cheeks shone with pride.
‘I have succeeded with three things in this life, if nothing else. Now all we’re waiting for are the grandchildren.’
‘It stinks in here,’ said Pär. ‘Are you trying to burn the house down?’
‘I burned the bread,’ said Anita, and that was the first thing Lelle had heard her say.
She looked small standing there, at least a head shorter than her sons. Lelle felt the young men’s energy, their closeness. It made him feel exhausted. The tiredness lay like a yoke across his shoulders and he stood up so suddenly his cup clattered on the saucer.
‘Thanks for the coffee,’ he said. ‘I must be off before my eyes get too tired.’
There was a heavy silence, before Anita found her voice. ‘Yes, you must. Goodness me, how dark it’s got.’
Meja thanked him for the lift and he felt their eyes on the back of his neck as he went. Birger accompanied him to the car and put an arm round his shoulder as if they were old friends.
‘I hear you left the hunting team?’
‘They gave me the push.’
Lelle slid behind the wheel. A light rain pattered against the windows and settled as mist over Birger’s glasses as he stood beside the car.
