Echoes From the Dead

4

Gerlof Davidsson was waiting for his daughter in his room at the residential home for senior citizens.

Today’s edition of the local newspaper, Ölands-Posten, lay in front of him on the desk, and he was reading about an eighty-one-year-old man suffering from senile dementia who had vanished outside Kastlösa in southern Öland. The man had simply left his little cottage the day before and disappeared without a trace; the police and volunteers were now searching for him out on the alvar — they’d even had a helicopter out looking for him. But it had been a cold night, and it wasn’t at all certain he’d be found alive.

Senile dementia and eighty-one years old. Gerlof was only a year or so younger; his eightieth birthday was coming up. Eighty was not as old as some thought, but of course it was easier to understand when an old person disappeared without a trace than when it happened to a child. He closed the paper and looked at the clock. Quarter past three.

“I’m glad you’ve come,” he said to himself. He paused, coughed, and went on: “You’re just as beautiful as I remember, Julia. Now you’re here on Öland, there are certain things we must do. There are things you’ll need to take care of yourself, too. And we can talk... I know I wasn’t always a good father to you when you were growing up, I was away a lot and you and your sister were alone with Ella in Borgholm when I was at sea. It was my job, being a captain and transporting cargoes across the Baltic, far away from my family... But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere anymore.”

He fell silent and stared down at the desk. He’d written his speech to Julia down in his notebook. Ever since she’d told him which day she was coming to the island, he’d been trying to learn it — and it sounded that way. He had to get it to sound like a father talking to his child in a perfectly ordinary way.

“I’m glad you’ve come,” said Gerlof, again. “You’re just as beautiful as I remember.”

Or pretty? Pretty, that was probably a better description of a much-missed daughter.

At last, when it was almost four o’clock and there was only an hour left before dinner, he heard a knock on the door of his room.

“Come in,” he said, and the door opened.

Boel stuck her head in.

“Yes, he’s here,” she said quietly to someone behind her, then in a louder voice: “You’ve got a visitor, Gerlof.”

“Thank you,” he said, and Boel smiled as she stepped back.

Another woman came forward; she took several steps into the hallway, and Gerlof took a deep breath so that he could start his speech:

“I’m glad you’ve come...” he began, then fell silent.

He saw a middle-aged woman in a crumpled coat looking at him from the hallway; her eyes were tired, her forehead furrowed. After only a couple of seconds her gaze slid away from him, and she wrapped her arms around her brown shoulder bag as if it were some kind of protective shield as she took a few more steps into the room.

Gerlof gradually recognized his daughter in the woman’s furrowed, serious face, but Julia looked much more weary than he’d expected. More weary and much thinner. She made him think about bitterness and self-pity.

His daughter had grown old. So how old did that make him?

“Hello, Gerlof,” said Julia, then she didn’t speak for a few seconds. “Well, here I am again.”

Gerlof nodded and noted the fact that she still had no intention of calling him Dad, not even face-to-face. She said Gerlof, in a tone that suggested she might be talking to a distant relative.

“How was your journey?” he asked.

“Fine.”

She unbuttoned her coat, hung it on a hook in the hall, and placed her bag on the floor. It seemed to Gerlof that she was moving slowly, without any energy. He wanted to ask how she was feeling, but perhaps it was too soon.

“Right.” Silence again. “It’s been a long time,” he said.

“Four years, I think,” said Julia. “More than four years.”

“Yes. But we’ve kept in touch by phone.”

“Yes. I meant to come and help when you moved here from Stenvik, but it wasn’t...”

Julia stopped speaking, and Gerlof nodded.

“The move went very well anyway,” he said. “I had a lot of help.”

“Good,” said Julia. She’d come halfway into the room. She sat on the bed.

Gerlof suddenly remembered the little speech he’d been practicing.

“Now you’re here,” he said, “there are certain things we need to—”

But Julia interrupted him.

“Where is it?”

“What?”

“You know,” said Julia. “The sandal.”

“It’s here. In the desk.” Gerlof looked at her. “But first I thought we could—”

“Can I see it?” Julia broke in. “I’d really like to see it.”

“You might be disappointed. “It’s just a shoe. It has no... no real answers.”

“I want to see it, Gerlof.”

Julia got up. She hadn’t even smiled so far, and now she was staring so intensely at Gerlof that he was beginning to think the whole thing was a mistake. Perhaps he shouldn’t have called her. But something had already been set in motion, and he couldn’t stop it now.

Still, he tried to delay things as long as possible.

“You didn’t bring anybody else with you?” he asked.

“Like who?”

“Jens’s father, perhaps,” said Gerlof. “Mats... was that his name?”

“Michael,” said Julia. “No, he lives in Malmö. We hardly keep in touch anymore.”

“I see,” said Gerlof.

Silence again. Julia took another step forward, but Gerlof thought of something else:

“Did you do what I said on the telephone?” he asked.

“What?”

“Did you think about how thick the fog was that day?”

“Yes... maybe.” Julia gave a distracted nod. “What’s all this about the fog?”

“I don’t think...” Gerlof chose his words carefully. “I don’t think anything could have happened... that things could have gone so badly if it hadn’t been for the fog. And how often do we get fog on Öland?”

“Not very often,” said Julia.

“No. Three or four times a year, maybe. As thick as it was that day, anyway. And lots of people knew it was coming; it had been mentioned in the weather forecast.”

“How do you know?”

“I rang the weather bureau,” said Gerlof. “They keep the forecasts.”

“Was the fog so important?” said Julia.

“I think... somebody was making the most of the fog,” said Gerlof. “Somebody who didn’t want to be spotted in the area.”

“Didn’t want to be spotted on that particular day, you mean?”

“Didn’t want to be spotted at all,” said Gerlof.

“So somebody was using the fog to... take Jens away?” said Julia.

“I don’t know,” said Gerlof. “But I do wonder if that was the aim. Who knew he was going to go outside that day? Nobody. Isn’t that right? Jens didn’t even know himself, he just... took the chance when it arose.” Gerlof could see that Julia had begun to press her lips together as they started to talk about her son’s disappearance, and he went on quickly: “But the fog that came that day... That was predicted.”

Julia said nothing. She was just staring at the desk now.

“We should think about that,” Gerlof insisted. “We need to think about who would have had the most to gain from the fog that day.”

“Can I see it now?” said Julia.

Gerlof knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. He nodded, and spun his chair around to face the desk.

“It’s here,” he said.

He pulled out the top drawer, reached in, and carefully lifted out a small object. It didn’t seem to weigh any more than a few ounces, and it was wrapped in white tissue paper.