Rites of Spring

23 Walpurgis Night 1986

The dragonfly is my favourite insect. It starts life as an egg, then lives as a nymph at the bottom of the muddy pools deep in the bog. The nymph catches tadpoles and lives on them so that it can grow bigger and stronger. When it is strong enough, it crawls up out of the mud to begin its final metamorphosis. To become something better, more beautiful.

As soon as the legs and abdomen harden, it spreads its fine wings and drifts with the wind like a new, perfect creation, far away from the dampness and mud where it was born. Far away from everything that has held it down.

Do you understand where I’m going with this? Or are you still interested only in my death?

Arne walked out of the front door of Svartgården. He’d paused for a minute just inside the porch, wiped the sweat from his forehead, adjusted his uniform and attempted to regain at least some of his dignity.

The truck he’d heard was now parked between his own and Lasse’s. The same white pick-up he’d seen outside the bank. Erik Nyberg, this time accompanied by his pretty-boy son.

Erik and Lasse seemed to be involved in an angry discussion. Erik held out a piece of paper, but Lasse knocked his hand aside. Arne realised what was going on: Erik was serving notice.

‘Go to hell, Nyberg!’ Lasse roared. ‘Both you and the count can kiss my fucking arse!’ With that he jumped into his own pick-up, started the engine and shot away, gravel spraying up around his wheels.

Slowly Arne went over to the Nybergs. Noticed in passing that there was a dead fawn in the back of their truck.

‘Hello,’ he said.

Erik looked him up and down. Raised an eyebrow, presumably at his muddy shoes and trousers and his grubby shirt.

‘Are you here in an official capacity, Arne?’

Arne didn’t bother answering. He couldn’t stand Nyberg or his son. Per was only a couple of years younger than him. Sang and played the guitar, had an earring in one ear.

‘It’s good that you’re here,’ Erik went on. ‘You can be a witness to the fact that we’ve given Lasse notice to quit, even if he refuses to sign.’ He folded up the paper he’d tried to give Lasse and tucked it away in his inside pocket, then turned his back on Arne to show that their conversation was over.

Arne ambled over to his car. Opened the door, got in and pretended to busy himself with the police radio. After a minute or so he realised that no one was looking at him. He’d just decided to leave when the front door opened and Elita emerged.

His heart began to beat faster. Maybe the day could be saved after all. But Elita ignored him, walked straight past his car.

Eva-Britt had come out too, and Erik Nyberg went over to her. He dug out the notice to quit again, and Eva-Britt reluctantly took it.

Arne turned his attention to Elita. She and Per Nyberg had moved a short distance away and were talking to each other. A little too close together, a little too intimate. Elita reached out, touched Per’s arm, and Arne saw her slip something into his hand, a little white square that he recognised only too well.

A Polaroid photograph. A photo of her, taken with his camera. A private photo, and she’d given it to Per fucking Nyberg.

Another person came out onto the steps: Leo in his uniform. He put on his beret and pulled it down over his forehead. Then he caught sight of Elita and Per. His confident, relaxed expression gave way to something else.

Arne knew exactly what it was. The same thing he was feeling.

Disappointment, jealousy.

Rage.