Blackwater (43 page)

‘I don’t like this place,’ she said quietly.

‘No one does,’ said Birger.

‘Those bloody birds.’

A couple of birds of prey were circling above them, making long-drawn-out cries.

‘Are they kestrels?’ said Johan.

‘Peregrine falcons.’

She sounded dead certain. One of the birds swerved away and flew out of sight. The other went on watching over them.

‘So you know about birds?’ said Birger. ‘I didn’t think you were all that interested otherwise.’

‘
Nature
,’ she said with mocking emphasis. Birger had a feeling she was being ironic about one of Annie’s doctrines; there’s nothing that is not nature. We are all nature. Even the big cities will be broken down into quarries where eagles nest and lizards sun themselves on the walls. Into jungles or secretive formations of spruce forest.

He wondered how Mia saw Annie. With some criticism, presumably, unnatural otherwise. Or did she just laugh at Annie’s faith in the cleared forests coming back? With affection, anyhow. He had heard her saying, ‘Mummy, Mummy.’ She used to say that when she was small and wanted to protect me, Annie had told him. He remembered the thin, sunburnt child with her red hair cut like a boy’s. And Annie at that time. She had had long fair hair and timid – no, irritable eyes. Narrow mouth. Always on her guard.

‘I’ll go down to the river,’ said Johan. ‘You two stay here. We can go on up towards Norbuan afterwards.’

‘Aagot Fagerli taught me,’ said Mia. ‘She had those big bird books. I really only learnt that one bird. The peregrine falcon. I thought it was called peregrim because it was very grim.’

They had found one of the small islands of firm, mossy ground scattered over the marsh, and they sat down beside each other on a rotting birch, watching Johan making his way down. The marsh was full of pools of water like mirrors. Between them beds of sedge bubbled as if all the melting snow had absorbed water. They squelched when stepped on. Sky and earth met in those mirrors, and where the river ran they could see the greyish borders of the downy willow in the greenery. The sound of currents and small rapids was unclear at a distance, sometimes as if crowds of people were talking or even shouting at each other, sometimes like the sound of distant traffic, rising and falling, a totally mechanical mumble.

‘I almost think I can recognise the place,’ said Mia. ‘And the birds are still here. I suppose they’re the great-great-grandchildren of that bird.’

‘Surely you can’t remember that Midsummer Eve?’

‘I was six. I remember two peculiar spruces. My mother sat me on a fallen birch. There was bracket fungus just like on this one. They frightened me. I thought they were some kind of animals sticking to it. Mum was going to go down to the river to look for the tent because she thought we would be able to get some help there. But I went after her. I was terrified of losing her. There was that bird all the time. It dived down over the tent when we went there for the first time. Like a spool. You should see what force there is in them when they dive to kill. Strike, it’s called. I got quite close and saw the tent. It was all bloody and ragged and I could see someone was lying there. A foot and all that. Mum was lying beside it, then she scrambled up and made her way down to the river and splashed and splashed in the water with her hands.’

‘Do you mean you really saw the tent and what had happened?’

‘Yes.’

‘Annie doesn’t realise that.’

‘No, of course not. She wouldn’t be able to cope with that. Though she must have seen I was much further down the path when she came back. I thought she’d be angry. But she never even noticed.’

‘Angry?’

The picture she had drawn for him was a strange one. Her voice was light, almost shrill, scarcely the voice of a grown woman any longer.

‘Then everyone talked about it all.’

‘Did they talk to you about it?’

‘Yes, of course. Though I was the only one who knew how it had happened.’

‘How did it happen then?’ Birger whispered.

‘The bird dived down and stabbed them to death with its sharp beak.’

She laughed at his expression. He had always thought Mia a splendid girl. Happy and jolly. Or, if he were to be truthful, a bit simple. Not particularly like Annie outwardly or inwardly. Now he wondered how much of that had been genuine.

‘That was what I believed,’ she said. ‘For several years. I don’t know when I went over to the general opinion.’

She had sounded totally adult for a moment, but then suddenly the little-girl voice came back.

‘I was frightened but didn’t dare say anything. Mum and I were shit-scared that night afterwards. She bailed out and ran up to Aagot’s. I took my blanket and followed her. It was so cold outside at night and quite light. I wasn’t used to that. I thought something was wrong. That it’d never be dark again. She couldn’t cope with me. She was too frightened herself. I’ve thought about that. Did you know I’m going to have a baby?’

‘No, I didn’t. Annie hasn’t said anything.’

‘She doesn’t know yet. I thought perhaps you’d noticed, as you’re a doctor.’

‘It doesn’t show yet.’

‘No, but it’s true anyhow.’

She sounded slightly aggressive and added:

‘Johan and I are tremendously pleased.’

‘I’m sure you are,’ said Birger.

‘Aagot put Mum to bed in the other room. She was cold and shaking and said she could hear a strange whining sound. Though there wasn’t any sound. Neither the old lady nor I could hear anything. You met Aagot, didn’t you?’

‘Many times,’ said Birger.

‘Jersey over her nightgown and no teeth. Well, she put them in later. There was a smacking noise when she clamped them down. She fixed a bed for me on the kitchen sofa, but I didn’t dare sleep alone. I’ll sit here, she said. All night. I won’t leave you. I thought it was so odd that she said night when the sun was already shining outside. You could see all the way down to Tangen, the sun on the first houses there. I didn’t dare go to bed. I stayed at the kitchen table and got cold. She lit the stove. I had never seen a stove like that before. It crackled and banged. She heated up milk and of course it boiled over and burnt. Then she started swearing. Do you remember how Aagot used to swear? In a mixture of Norwegian and American. And Jämtland dialect. “T’hell with t’saucepan,” she said. “Nivver git thissun clean again. Dammit. Hell and damnation.” She went on and on like that. She got out another pan. Everything became so ordinary, although there was that awful light in there. Then I said I’d seen that bird. I didn’t say what it’d done, because I don’t think I’d really understood that yet. That came later when people talked. It was only the bird. And those blood-stained rags of tent. Pale blue. When I told Aagot where I’d seen the bird, that it was just by the river, just before the lake, and she said it was the peregrine falcon, I thought a very grim falcon was right. That it really was scary, like a cruel spear. I’d seen it swooping down. Then she took out a big book, awfully heavy, by one of the von Wright brothers, of course. Mum’s got them at home. She bid for them at the auction when Aagot died. We sat there at the kitchen table and leafed through it till we got to the peregrine falcon. Its beak and yellow eyes. It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen, not just grim, but terrifying. She read about it to me. I suppose she thought she could distract me from all that horrid business. Then I read it myself, many many times. I was wizard at finding the place. Daylight Birds of Prey. Subheading Falcons. Falco peregrinus.’

Johan came walking along the path. They got up and went to meet him. The marsh was squelching and swaying under his boots as he came unsteadily towards them.

‘Shall we go up towards Norbuan now?’ said Birger.

‘No, we’ll go to the road. We’ve got to talk to them.’

Mia went ahead and Birger soon noticed Johan was dropping behind, waiting for Birger to catch up, then Johan grabbed his arm so fiercely that it hurt.

He had seen the face first. The water pouring over it was so clear, he thought she was lying there watching him approaching. Her eyes were open and the hair streaming out in the direction of the current couldn’t hide her gaze. Then he realised she wasn’t looking and the white skin couldn’t feel the cold of the water. It took on the colours of the riverbed and the stones as ripples in the current and sunspots moved over it; for a moment or two her hand looked as if it were gold and then it darkened to brown. And yet the skin was always mostly white, the whiteness apparently a quality independent of the shifts of light and water.

Johan stepped backwards because he had no desire to see any more. Not for a moment had he considered going down among the stones into the racing water to touch her or try to lift her out. She was bloodless and as cold as the thaw water from the high mountain now rushing over her. He didn’t have to touch her to know.

As he made his way back up to the marsh, all he could think of was how to tell Mia. When he got there, he lost courage, so it was Birger he told, and the large solid man bent right forward as if he had received a blow in the solar plexus. A sound came out of him as well. Mia came running up.

‘What is it?’ she cried. He had never heard her voice so shrill. Birger seemed unable to get his breath back and Johan could no longer think at all.

‘Where is she?’

‘Under the water,’ was all he could get out. She began running towards the river, talking shrilly all the time. Or was she screaming? He couldn’t distinguish the words but it sounded as if she was quarrelling. Perhaps she was, with her mother. Then Birger woke up. He started stumbling after her and caught up with her just as she fell. Johan stayed where he was and heard her crying, her mouth wide open, her head swinging from side to side. Birger held her and pressed her face to his shoulder so the sound was muffled. Johan stood looking at them, thinking it was like looking at two strangers.

Annie had once said that the only thing about her death that she was quite sure of was that she would leave a sizeable amount of rubbish behind. She hadn’t meant it literally – or had she? She must have been talking about modern Western people, or something of the kind. Birger couldn’t remember. He was feeling great irritation and was aware that always preceded an attack of pain.

It often happened. He grew angry. He thought she had talked a lot of nonsense and said unnecessary things. Her joking – or was it joking? – then turned into irony. If it could be called that. It?
What
was it that was ironical? Anyhow, he couldn’t stand it. It was impersonal. Came out of nowhere. He wanted to scream, which, of course, he didn’t. But he often stood there with his mouth open.

Mia was clearing up. Her face was sweaty, and she had gardening gloves on her hands. She was hurling rubbish from the shed into a black sack. In a clumsy way, he was prepared to help her, but nothing came of it.

He hadn’t been to Blackwater since the funeral. It was July now, the air heavy with moisture and scents. Mia had hugged him when he came. That was nice of her. Then she had gone back to clearing up.

Johan was going back and forth with cardboard boxes and bags. Birger sat down on a box inside the shed and looked at the mess. He tried to look at one thing at a time: boules, electric cables, skewers, chisels, nails. Bundles of used stamps in plastic bags, ballpoint pens, clothes hangers, an iron spit, a pickaxe with no handle, curtain rings. A round grid. He worked out that it was meant to be fixed in front of a headlight to protect the glass from stones thrown up, but as far as he knew, she had never had it put on. A dog lead with knots in it, wire lampshade frames, a dirty sheepskin, bits of polystyrene.

In some places the accumulation was untouched. He recognised it the way you know the pattern of an old carpet. In the places as yet untouched by Mia and still recognisable to him, there should have been no muddle. There hadn’t been before. Only a compact and intricate accumulation. But now the pattern had been destroyed by
that.
That totally impersonal – inhuman? – atmosphere he took as irony, as bitterness, though it couldn’t have either taste or smell.

Wire in lumpy coils, fuses, brushes full of dog hairs – Saddie’s and those of a lighter-coloured dog. Nuts and bolts, charcoal, putty knife, clogs, an empty glue tub, plastic sheeting, flowerpots, tattered boots. Tins, cups with no handles. Two lovely great Höganäs jars. Bundles of newspapers. They were from Aagot’s day. Pieces of hardboard, emery paper, a sledgehammer, a whole lot of calendars tied up with string, curtain poles, sheets of birch bark. There were paper sacks full of roofing shingles, but he knew of no shingle roof there. Hexagonal screwdrivers from
ikea
, shoehorns, fishing floats, ski sticks, spinners with rusty hooks, wine bottles, drainpipes, sockets, fishing spoons, a torn sunhat, a curry-comb. A tea strainer. Medicine bottles, sunglasses, radio valves. Earplugs. Yes, they were earplugs, here, where the silence at night was profound. The dirty yellow material looked like foam rubber. A bench for carding flax. He had seen one like it at the Folklore Museum. Stools, mosquito windows, a pedestal, a wooden club, an awl, tacks, shoelaces, lids of preserving jars.

‘What are you looking for?’ said Mia. He shook his head. He hadn’t known it before she asked, but he was looking for a box of cartridges.

‘Nothing,’ he said.

‘Don’t sit here then,’ she said, affection in her voice.

He went out into the heavy air. The roses in the hedge were flowering in abundance. Their scent was strong and sweet, scarcely fresh. Annie had said they smelt of incense and myrrh, another time that they smelt like the armpits of the goddess of love, and during a heat wave she had complained that they smelt like a north African brothel. The way she talked! Presumably just to breathe life into words that would otherwise not be used. Now they came back to him robbed of the note of careless and good-natured raillery. A voice was speaking them inside him. It couldn’t be his own and was too mechanical to be human. Nonetheless it was bitter. Caustic.

Johan had cut the grass. Three large sacks of rubbish stood at the back of his car. He came out with two cans of beer and gave one to Birger. They sat down on the carding bench Mia had carried out on the grass.