Rites of Spring

19 Walpurgis Night 1986

Leo has always been afraid of Father. Crept along close to the walls, keeping his gaze lowered. Jumped every time Lasse raised his voice.

‘Leo is a cuckoo in the nest, Elita,’ Father says. ‘An unwelcome little interloper who must be kept in line to stop him taking over completely.’

But Leo is no longer little, neither on the outside nor the inside. Something has been growing within him ever since we were children. Something dangerous that can escape at any moment. It frightens me, yet at the same time I find it attractive. Isn’t that strange?

Arne lingered by the car for quite some time, hoping that Elita would return. He took the opportunity to go around the back of the shed and pee in one of the muddy puddles. Stood among the bracken thinking about her sitting astride the powerful horse, controlling its movements. His shirt was sticking to his back. He loosened his tie, looked over at the house for what must have been the fiftieth time.

Elita had rushed off as soon as she heard the car, called out Leo’s name in a way that still caused Arne physical pain in his chest.

Shit!

He got in the car. The rubber mat was covered in mud, and the smell of the marsh seemed to have seeped into the upholstery. He started the engine and drove slowly up to the house.

The yard was quiet; there wasn’t even any sign of the dogs. Arne waited for a few more minutes before going up the steps. He could hear loud voices from inside; one of them was Lasse’s.

He reached for the door handle, hesitated. He wasn’t sure why. He was a police officer, he could walk straight in, exactly as he’d done only an hour or so ago.

The voices grew louder. Arne briefly considered leaving, but he’d promised Elita a lift, and the thought of having her in the police car with him was still far too tempting. He knocked, opened the door and went in.

Lasse was sitting at one side of the kitchen table in the middle of an arm-wrestling match with a young man in military uniform. There was an open moonshine container on the table, several coffee cups and a half-eaten cake.

Eva-Britt, Lola and Elita were so focused on the contest that they didn’t even notice Arne.

‘Come on, Leo!’ Elita shouted.

Eva-Britt’s son had always been a scaredy-cat, but he was all grown up now. He was taller and more broad-shouldered than Arne. There were medals on his tunic, and Arne noticed the green beret tucked under one epaulette. However, what bothered him was the way Elita was looking at Leo, as if the little soldier boy was the most fantastic thing she’d ever set eyes on.

The stupid idiot had obviously been persuaded to take on Lasse, and that could only end one way. Lasse’s arms were as thick as pythons, and as far as Arne knew, he’d never lost a match. So now it was the soldier boy’s turn to be humiliated. They’d only just started; their arms were still vertical, and the veins on the back of their hands were bulging with the effort.

Lasse had adopted his usual tactic. First of all he tired his opponent by simply keeping his hand still, then when he thought he’d played out the drama for long enough, he would slowly force down the other man’s hand one centimetre at a time, occasionally pausing just to show how superior he was.

Lasse grinned, but Leo didn’t seem worried. He was leaning across the table with his chest much closer to his hand than Lasse’s was. Nor did he appear to be trying as hard as he should be at this stage. Instead he slowly moved his upper body and his hand a fraction to the side.

The technique looked professional, as if Leo knew exactly what he was doing, which worried Arne. Fortunately Lasse stopped the movement, but his grin wasn’t quite so confident now.

‘Come on, Leo!’ Elita called out again, and her voice sent a shard of ice into Arne’s heart.

Leo repeated the manoeuvre. Lasse stopped grinning and frowned as doubts began to creep in. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Leo continued to move his body to the side, and Lasse did his utmost to stop their hands from doing the same. Sweat was pouring down his face, and a prominent vein was throbbing at his temple. Leo did it again.

One of Lasse’s nostrils twitched, his hand began to tremble and then slowly, slowly sank towards the table. Arne held his breath. There wasn’t a sound in the little kitchen, as if everyone there had realised that something incomprehensible was happening.

The colour drained from Lasse’s face and his eyes were transformed into two pieces of coal. He drew back his lips, exposing all his teeth, and the vein at his temple looked as if it was about to burst. However, his resistance was futile. Leo’s technique forced Lasse closer and closer to inevitable defeat.

Lasse leaped to his feet and overturned the table, sending the moonshine, cups and cake flying. The three terrified women pressed themselves against the worktop. Leo got to his feet, showing no sign of fear. He was a head taller than Lasse, and at least as muscular, but in spite of this Arne thought Lasse was about to attack the younger man. He probably ought to do something to calm the situation; after all, he was a police officer. Then again, that cocky little soldier boy deserved a beating.

Lasse stepped forward, fist raised. Leo still didn’t have the wit to be scared. Instead he clenched his fists, lowered his chin and bent his knees; he knew exactly what he was doing.

At the last second Lasse realised the same thing. He dropped his arm and produced a large flick knife from somewhere. Released the blade with one thumb.

Someone gasped, and out of the corner of his eye Arne saw that Lola and Eva-Britt’s faces were rigid with fear. Elita, however, was looking from Lasse to Leo and back again, seemingly unaware of Arne’s presence. The kitchen stank of spilt booze.

Lasse tightened his grip on the knife. ‘You little fucker! You come back here thinking you’re something – this is my fucking house!’

Arne had to do something.

‘OK,’ he began in his most authoritative tone of voice. He stepped forward, positioning himself between the two men. ‘Let’s all calm down, shall—’

‘Shut the fuck up!’ Lasse yelled.

Arne recoiled as if he’d been punched, but stood his ground. One foot had landed in the remains of the cake, and the alcohol fumes were making the membranes in his nose smart. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? His baton was still in the car, and it would take too long to draw his gun.

He heard the dogs barking outside, followed by the sound of an engine.

This seemed to bring Lasse to his senses. In a second he flicked the blade shut and slipped the knife into his pocket.

‘Get this mess cleaned up!’ he shouted at the women, who didn’t move a muscle.

He gave Leo one last filthy look, pushed past Arne without so much as a glance, and slammed the door behind him.