The Lost Boy

FJÄLLBACKA 1870

She moved a little closer to Karl. He was lying on the side of the bed next to the wall, wearing long underwear and a shirt. In a couple of hours he would have to get up to relieve Julian in the lighthouse. Cautiously she placed her hand on his leg, stroking his thigh with trembling fingers. She wasn’t the one who was supposed to take the lead like this, but something was wrong. Why didn’t he ever touch her? He hardly even spoke to her. Merely mumbled his thanks for the food before leaving the table. And he seemed to be always looking past her, as if she were made of glass and barely noticeable, in fact almost invisible.

For that matter, he spent very little time at home. During most of his waking hours he was in the lighthouse or doing work on the boat. Or he was out at sea. She spent all day utterly alone in the cottage, and her housework was soon finished. After that, she had many hours to fill, and she began to think that she might go mad. If she had a baby, she would have someone to keep her company, and other tasks to occupy her time. Then she wouldn’t mind that Karl worked from early morning until late at night, and it wouldn’t matter that he never talked to her. If only they would have a child.

But after living on the farm, she knew that certain things had to happen between a man and a woman before she could end up in the family way. Things that hadn’t yet occurred. That was why she put her hand on Karl’s leg and ran it along the inside of his thigh. Her heart was pounding with nervousness and excitement as she gently slipped her hand inside the fly of his underwear.

Karl sat up with a jolt.

‘What are you doing?’ His expression was darker than she’d ever seen it before, and she yanked her hand away.

‘I … I just thought that …’ She couldn’t find the right words. How was she supposed to explain the obvious? Even he must realize how strange it was that they’d been married for nearly three months, and yet he’d never come near her. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes.

‘I might as well sleep in the lighthouse. I’m not going to get any peace here.’ Karl pushed past her, threw on his clothes, and stomped down the stairs.

Emelie felt as if he’d slapped her face. Up until now he had simply ignored her; this was the first time he’d spoken to her with that tone of voice. Harsh, cold, and contemptuous. And he’d looked at her as if she were some disgusting creature that had crawled out from under a rock.

With tears running down her cheeks, Emelie crept over to the window and looked out. The wind was blowing hard across the island, and Karl had to fight the gusts as he headed for the lighthouse. He tore open the door and went inside. Then she saw him appear in the window of the tower, where the beam of light transformed him into a shadow.

She went back to bed and wept. The house creaked and groaned, almost as if it might rise up and fly over the islands, out into the grey sky. But that didn’t frighten her. She’d rather fly away, to anywhere at all, than stay here.

She felt something caress her cheek, at the very spot where Karl’s words had left a sting, as if he’d slapped her. Emelie sat up with a start. No one was there. She pulled the covers up to her chin and stared into the dark corners of the room. She saw nothing. She lay down again. It was probably just her imagination. Same as all the other sounds that she’d heard since coming to the island. Not to mention the cupboard doors she sometimes found open, although she was certain that she’d closed them. And the sugar bowl that had somehow moved from the kitchen table to the counter. She must have made up all those things. It had to be her imagination, combined with the island’s isolation, playing tricks on her.

She heard a chair scrape downstairs. Emelie sat up, holding her breath. The old woman’s words rang in her ears, the words that she’d managed to push aside during the past months. She didn’t want to go downstairs, didn’t want to know what she might find there, and what had been here in the room, stroking her cheek.

Shaking, she pulled the covers over her head, hiding like a child from unknown terrors. There she lay, wide awake, until dawn came. But she heard no more sounds.