Stone Coffin Part 14

"We can make do with that," Ann said.

"Did you see Victor?" Viola asked. "He was supposed to come over this morning."

She always managed to make it sound as if her neighbor were a great imposition, but Ann knew that if there was anyone Viola wanted to have over, it was Victor. They had been born on nearby farms, had gone to school together, and had lived as neighbors on Graso Island their whole lives. Perhaps they had also once nurtured thoughts of living together. That is not how things had turned out, but Viola and Victor were the most touching and vivid example of a lifelong friendship that Ann had ever seen.

"It's only nine-thirty," Ann said.

"He's such a lazybones."

Viola took a couple of steps toward the house before she stopped and peered back at Ann, saying in an unusually kind voice that Ann should feel very welcome. Then she kept on walking.

Ann watched her go. Her feet slipped around in her boots and the worn coat looked as if it could fall apart at any moment. She appeared to have an endless supply of ragged old clothes from old trunks and cupboards. Ann guessed the coat had belonged to Viola's mother. It looked as if it was as old as she was.

Viola banged the veranda door shut and left Ann alone in the yard. If she hadn't known the old woman from before, she would have felt unwelcome. In this case it was almost the opposite. Viola was her usual self; nothing had changed in the past six months. Ann had turned up as an old friend.

Edvard was still nowhere to be seen and Viola had not said a word about him. Ann had a feeling he was down by the water and walked around the side of the house in order to catch sight of him.

They had not seen each other since Christmas. Would he look the same? How would he greet her?

She pulled off her thin summer jacket and let the wind bring the sea to her. The sounds of the birds, the heavy scent of meadowsweet, the year-old alder cones scattered across the sun-warmed earth like large rabbit droppings. Graso Island. She breathed in its name, allowing it to fill her lungs and bring oxygen to her blood.

She closed her eyes. The cries of the gulls across the bay. Maybe Edvard was cleaning fish. These sounds belonged to her. Even if the nor'easter was going to push its violent hand into the sound and whip the water into churning dark-green ferocity, her life in this moment was smooth as a mirror.

She was simply here, in the force field between Viola's house-a wooden palace for Roslagen princes and princesses, her fairy castle-and the heavy ma.s.s of the sea. Edvard rowing, his hands moving across the gray-blue shimmering surface, his smile and the ripple of his muscles under the faded T-shirt as his quiet but powerful strokes transported her into ever-deeper waters.

The dinghy was one of the few occasions where she could watch him without his becoming self-conscious or averting his gaze. She thought it had to do with the fact that he was engaged in work. He had his own style of rowing. He leaned forward so far that he almost touched her knees with his knuckles, placed the blades of the oars far forward, and with an elegant motion leaned his body so far back that he was almost horizontal. For a split second, before his next stroke, he stared up at the sky and Ann saw the glint from the whites of his eyes.

Up with the blades, the start of a new stroke, the knuckles toward her knees, and then pulling on the oar. A half-circular motion that was propelling them out into the bay. Her desire to watch him did not wane.

He claimed to have learned the technique from the Vikings. That was how the Vikings in their easterly expeditions made their way, he claimed. Nothing halfhearted about it. From time to time he paused, taking a look at where they were going, and Ann could see the sense of freedom in his face.

In these moments he wore an expression of energy and happiness. He was working and she could watch him to her heart's content. His hint of a beer belly had vanished in Graso-whether it was from the rowing or the frequent jobs with Gottfrid, the builder he was a.s.sisting, she did not know, but his stomach had grown flat and muscular. His hands had always been strong. A country laborer's hands, a rower's.

He had also talked more in the boat, become chatty in a relaxed and nonchalant way that she wished he would be more often, even on land. Why did he have to sit in a boat in order to speak freely?

For the first time she understood Edvard's longing for the sea. She wanted to scream out her joy, that life could caress her, surround her in this natural, uncomplicated way. No riches in the world could make up for this, she thought, and suddenly felt dizzy, forced to make her way to the boulder where Viola liked to rest her aching legs. She pulled off her shoes and pushed her feet gently into the gra.s.s. It was still a little damp and the stalks tickled her shoe-pinched feet pleasantly.

He would gaze at her with love. She was beautiful and desired. She untucked her tank top and let a little air onto her belly.

She drummed her fingers against the stone, picking off some moss, looking out toward the water. Then she stood up, grabbed her jacket and shoes, and walked hesitantly back toward the house. The gravel in the yard stuck to her bare feet.

She walked to the car and fetched her bag in order to put her things upstairs, then changed her mind, dropped it on the ground, and instead went straight to the rickety bench next to the chicken coop. She sat down. The temperature had risen even more and she had the impulse to pull her top off completely. She felt pale. If Viola hadn't been there behind the kitchen curtains, she would have undressed and sunned herself against the warm wall.

What was he doing? Now the question no longer had the ominous undertone it had had when she repeated it to herself through the winter and spring. He was down by the water and would soon turn up. She stroked her belly, pulled the top up so that at least her navel would get a little color. Soon he would come around the corner and they would lay eyes on each other. Would he have changed?

She bent over and picked up a handful of gravel. "Loves me, loves me not," she said as she dropped the pebbles one by one.

Her stomach growled. She raised her gaze, thinking she heard something, and only now noticed the young birches that Edvard had arranged by the door. They stood in a red plastic bucket, surrounded by Viola's white plastic flowerpots. Red-and-white-striped petunias, some yellow flowers, and some pink ice begonias. Only Edvard and Viola could create such a combination, Ann thought and smiled.

Viola peeked out from between the curtains. She was sitting by the chicken coop. Why doesn't she go down? But she knew why. Ann preferred to wait for him. Edvard was taking his time for the same reason. He must know she had already arrived but was slow leaving the sh.o.r.e. Viola sometimes became aggravated and also anxious when he was late. It was the island woman's inherited sense of worry when the menfolk lingered too long on the water. Only Stockholmers did that, lolling on exposed rock or just standing and looking out at the waves.

Edvard was almost one of them, and yet not. He sometimes dreamed down by the sea even if he usually tried to think of a rationale to go down there. Sometimes she went with him. In the fall they had picked sea buckthorn together, something she hadn't done since the thirties. Between the two of them, they had gathered fifteen liters. Edvard had sold the berries to a physician who lived in the direction of Svartback. They had met at the mill and had apparently started talking about buckthorn. It was exceedingly healthful, the physician had told him. Edvard had come back with seven hundred and fifty kronor, and Viola had laughed the whole afternoon.

She didn't know what to think as she watched Ann pining on the bench like a lovesick hen. Viola had sat there herself many times. It was a good place to wait.

One thing she knew: Her time with Edvard as a renter had been two good years. They got along well together. He made her life easier, went shopping, handled all practical matters, and gave her life a meaning these last years that she had to live. Even Victor came more often to the house when Edvard was around. There was life in the house. She loved to hear him bustle about in the morning, his footsteps on the stairs, how he came in with the firewood or when he wound the clock in the parlor.

She had made him her heir. He would inherit all of her belongings except the grandfather clock, which was going to a second cousin in Stockholm. Perhaps she had written her will with a touch of calculation-anything to keep him longer on the island-but the more time that went by, the better she grew to know her renter and the more her generosity was driven by pure caring and love. He had become the son she had never had, the one that Victor should have given her.

Ann threatened all this and had done so since the first time she stepped across the threshold. She had created anxiety, trying to get him to move closer to Uppsala.

Viola had been relieved last Christmas when it seemed that Ann had disappeared for good. Now here she was again, leaning up against the chicken coop with her attractive young body. How would Edvard be able to resist her this time? And yet she found it hard to dislike the policewoman. She was a good woman, as Victor said, considerate and never intrusive. Ann was a positive influence on Edvard. He had become happier, more open. That was something he learned from Ann, and it was something Viola also benefited from.

Perhaps she could move out to the island? Viola watched as Ann dropped pebble after pebble onto the ground and sensed what was going on in Ann's head. She was here at Edvard's behest, she knew that, and Ann had showed up and that was answer enough as to what was on her mind. She wouldn't have come if she didn't love Edvard.

Viola took out the large tray. They would be sitting outside. Two couples. Victor and she had never managed to get together, had never even kissed each other. And then there were these two youngsters, who had bedded each other so the whole house shook. She had never said anything or indicated how thin the walls were, how the sounds of their lovemaking had traveled through walls and floors and kept her awake as she had thought of her life and her aches.

Viola scrubbed the new potatoes briskly and tossed them one by one into the pot. They had grown these potatoes themselves. Edvard had helped her make the rows and then covered them in plastic to hasten the setting of the tubers. This variety was called Rocket, and Viola was unhappy with the fact that it was so watery. They should have planted the variety called Puritan, which she had suggested instead.

Ann waited, couldn't make herself go up. Perhaps he would like it if she marched in as if she were taking everything for granted. I am still a guest, she thought. I wonder how he has made the beds? Perhaps he didn't have a thought of resuming the relationship? The fact was that she wasn't sure herself. This Midsummer celebration would have to determine how things would be. There were worse ways to frame a lover's meeting, she thought, and the ache in her belly returned.

Then he suddenly rounded the corner. He didn't see her, but he did spot the car and peered in through Viola's window. He took some hesitant steps toward the porch. His uncertainty made her smile. It struck her that he was as nervous as she was. He pulled his hand through his hair and tucked his shirt into his pants. In one hand he was carrying a bucket.

She called his name. Edvard spun around, saw her, but made no attempt to walk over.

"h.e.l.lo," he said simply and put the bucket down.

Ann got up. They looked at each other. He walked closer.

"Welcome."

"Thank you."

He looked like he did before.

"I'm glad you could come."

She nodded.

"It's been a while."

He was tan, his hair longer than usual, and he still had the same self-conscious smile. She felt as though he was a stranger, and yet so familiar. She looked at him. Would she have fallen for this threadbare middle-aged rustic if she met him for the first time today? He smiled wryly, aware of her gaze, and made a gesture that could be interpreted as What you see is what you get.

He prepared to say something, but the sound of a tractor stopped him. They turned to the road and saw Victor's Little Grey Fergie tractor come bouncing along, Victor at the wheel. His three cousins-Sven-Olle, Kurt, and Tore-as well as Tore's wife, Gerd, were being jostled in the wagon.

"The whole gang's here." Edvard chuckled.

The entourage drove in a circle around the yard and Victor honked and waved. Ann saw Viola's face in the window. Sven-Olle tossed a kiss toward the house.

"I brought the entire congregation," Victor yelled and pulled up so abruptly that Gerd was almost thrown off the vehicle.

"Be careful of the herring," she screamed.

Gerd was known for her vocal resources. The ferrymen called her "Screamer-Gerd." She took the moped to regrund two times a week and always placed herself at the front by the boom, blocking the cars as they tried to exit. The ferrymen put up with her, happy to have someone who could frustrate the city folk.

Edvard laughed and Ann looked at him.

"We have home-brewed aquavit," Victor went on, and Ann guessed that the white plastic container on the back of the truck was filled with Graso Absolut, which induced dizziness and inspired festive encounters. Victor and his cousins had most likely already sampled their wares.

How many times had she had to turn a professional blind eye to the containers and bottles pulled out at these parties? Victor had been a little careful in the beginning, especially when driving the tractor after consumption of the gray liquid was involved, but little by little his inhibitions were lowered as he realized that she didn't care.

They had brought not only pickled herring and alcohol but also bags and boxes loaded with pots and dishes filled with leek ca.s.serole and various gratins. Fresh vegetables and beer were unloaded. Kurt and Tore lowered a laundry basket that turned out to contain six different herring dishes, new potatoes, beets, dill, store-bought aquavit, liqueurs, pork chops, salmon, and freshly caught Baltic herring.

Ann and Edvard took in this magnificence, with Gerd's eyes on them. Victor glanced at the kitchen window. The cousins started to fetch and carry. Gerd hollered.

"Wonderful," Edvard said to Gerd with appreciation. "You've worked hard."

She pretended not to hear and yelled at Tore for being careless. Suddenly the kitchen window opened and Viola stuck her head out.

"Get that miserable tractor out of my sight," she said and quickly closed the window again.

Victor smiled and walked up to Ann, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"This is your chance to get some meat on those bones," he said.

Ann looked into his aging face and felt his alcohol-laden breath.

"You're just the same, Victor. It's nice to see you."

He smiled, then turned to supervise the unloading. Tore grabbed the container and Gerd was looking more and more dissatisfied, but everyone knew things would lighten up when they sat down at the table. Gerd was a food person. She showed her best side when she was cooking and when she was eating what she'd prepared.

"We've slaughtered the calf," Victor said and turned back to Ann.

She didn't really understand what he meant by this. Surely they no longer kept animals? He saw her uncertain expression and chuckled but instead of explaining himself turned to Edvard.

"Was that stupid?" he asked and pointed at the cousins and Gerd.

"No, no," Edvard a.s.sured him.

"Viola might be unhappy."

As if in answer to these thoughts, Viola stepped out onto the porch. The old coat had been replaced by a green dress with red flowers. It reached all the way down to her rubber boots. Her hair had been smoothed back into a knot. She saw their gazes and appeared to have some trouble deciding which expression she should a.s.sume. Victor shuffled anxiously in his SnowJoggers.

Ann's gaze went from Viola to Victor, and suddenly she burst into tears. Victor was alarmed and rushed over.

"What is it?"

Ann sobbed, apologizing, and looked markedly embarra.s.sed. The episode was over as quickly as it had begun.

"I don't know," she said truthfully.

"You need some food," Gerd p.r.o.nounced.

Edvard stood completely pa.s.sive. Ann looked up and their gazes met.

"I'll put the tractor away," Victor said.

They went about setting up one long table. Viola took out some linen tablecloths. Ann carried the china. Gerd scrubbed more potatoes, boiled beets, dished up herring in all kinds of pickled sauces, and heated dishes in the oven. The cousins carried the chairs. Victor fried the Baltic herring and competed with Gerd for s.p.a.ce in front of the stove.

At half past twelve they sat down to eat, Viola at one end and Edvard at the other. Midsummer's Eve. To the east, over the mainland, there were dark clouds, but the sun was shining on the island. Kurt expressed his joy at the fact that it was raining in Valo and Norrskedika.

Ann had picked flowers and decorated the table with them. A brimstone b.u.t.terfly searched for nectar in the head of a harebell. Everyone at the table fell silent at the sight of the yellow b.u.t.terfly fluttering above the summery bouquet.

From the water, they could hear the buzz of the powerboats as well as laughter and noise. It was as if the cousins were listening out to sea because they shortly fell into telling their tales. The stories, the humorous ones, of which many had been repeated throughout the years and at many parties, evoked much laughter and commentary. Soon the din from the bay was drowned out by the eruptions from around the table.

"When it was hot in the summer, his wife set the vacuum cleaner in reverse and popped the hose under the sheets. 'Air-conditioning,' Morin called it."

"He died, that one," Gerd observed dryly, still eating with gusto. She knew this because Morin had become a wiener cousin to one of her kin.

"But he was nice," she added.

"The h.e.l.l he was," Tore said, as always fired up by the Graso Absolut. "He was a mean b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Gerd gave him a look above the flower arrangement. In time she would have the last word, she knew.

Tore and Morin had both been employed at the Forsmark nuclear power plant and had never seen eye to eye. The gang told a number of Forsmark stories, followed by the usual bad-mouthing of the summer residents and anyone else with more than six years of schooling.

They did this even as they knew better. The old people around the table felt a mixture of awe and envy, respect and inferiority toward the city folk who had invaded their island. This was true even for those necessary outsiders such as veterinarians, public works officials, land surveyors, highway engineers, and others who effectively governed their island through their arbitrary decisions.

The old people simply bowed, obstructed, didn't give a d.a.m.n, bowed again, sometimes yielding, but always with the inherent suspicion and envy of generations of islanders. They judged people as it suited them depending on the day and what they stood to gain.

That they had accepted Edvard so quickly had to do with the fact that he had worked with the land and with animals. Ann was with Edvard. She was also a decent sort and didn't poke her nose in anyone's business, and last but not least, she was a woman and therefore of no consequence, especially as seen from Gerd's perspective. Gerd railed against all "womenfolk" regardless of where they came from.

Gather a bunch of Graso islanders around a table with filled shot gla.s.ses and there's no risk of low spirits, Lindell thought. Apart from a feeling of satiation, she felt very thankful for being included at the table. Kurt launched into a drinking song about a swan. He had a decent voice and sang verse after verse until Tore made him stop.

Viola had had a couple of shots and smiled at everyone. For once it didn't look as if she was cold.

The dinner dragged on and Lindell started to feel some impatience. She had not had the opportunity to talk to Edvard. She found herself thinking about the Cederen investigation. In her thoughts, she returned to the road in Uppsala-Nas and saw the unknown Julio Pieda before her. "We all carry a great sorrow..." She was suddenly convinced that the answer to the riddle lay there, in Pieda's great sorrow.