The Lost Boy

FJÄLLBACKA 1871

Finally the ice had set in. It had arrived late that winter, not appearing until February. In a sense it made Emelie feel freer. After a week the ice was thick enough to walk on, and for the first time since she’d come to the island, it would be possible for her to leave on her own, if she wished to do so. It would involve a long walk as well as a certain amount of risk, because it was said that no matter how thick the ice, treacherous cracks existed where the current flowed most swiftly. Yet it was possible.

In another sense it made her feel more confined, because Karl and Julian couldn’t make their regular trips to Fjällbacka. She had come to dread their return, when they’d arrive drunk and spiteful, but at least their absence gave her some breathing space. Now they spent more time in her presence, and the atmosphere was oppressive. She tried to be pleasant and quietly went about her chores. Karl still hadn’t touched her, and she hadn’t tried to make any more advances. In utter silence she lay in bed, pressing her body against the cold wall of the room. But the damage was done. His loathing for her had not diminished, and she felt more and more lonely.

The voices were louder now, and she had begun to see more of what her common sense told her was impossible; yet she knew it wasn’t just her imagination. The dead gave her a feeling of solace. They were her only company on this desolate island, and their sorrow resonated with her own. Their lives hadn’t turned out as they’d planned. They understood each other, even though their fates were separated by the thickest of walls. Death.

Karl and Julian didn’t notice them in the same way that she did. But once in a while the two men seemed filled with an uneasiness that they couldn’t explain. On those occasions, she could see their fear, and it made her secretly happy. She no longer lived for the love she had felt for Karl; he wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. However this was her life now, and there was nothing she could do about it. She could merely rejoice at his fear, and take comfort from the dead. They gave her a feeling of being specially chosen. She was the only one who knew that they existed. They were hers.

But after being ice-bound for a month, she began to realize that fear was also apparent in her own face. The atmosphere had grown more tense. Julian seized every opportunity to yell at her and vent his frustration at being confined to the island. Karl regarded her with a cold expression, and the two men were always whispering to each other. With their eyes fixed on her, they would sit on the kitchen bench and put their heads together, murmuring. She couldn’t hear what they said, but she knew it wasn’t good. Sometimes she would catch snatches of their conversation when they thought she was out of earshot. Lately they’d talked a lot about the letter that Karl had received from his parents shortly before the ice set in. Their voices were agitated whenever they discussed the letter, but she couldn’t work out what it might have said. And truth be told, she didn’t really want to know. The anger in Julian’s words and the resigned tone of Karl’s voice made shivers run down her spine.

Nor did she understand why her parents-in-law never came to visit, or why she and Karl never went to see them. His childhood home was only an hour’s journey from Fjällbacka. If they left early in the morning, they could have made it back well before darkness fell. But Emelie never dared broach the topic. Every time a letter arrived from his parents, Karl would be in a gloomy mood for days. The latest letter had prompted a reaction that was worse than ever. But as usual, Emelie was relegated to the sidelines, unable to comprehend what was happening around her.