The Quarry

53

Vendela had called Max’s mobile and the landline at their apartment in town a total of eight times on Monday evening, but he didn’t answer until the ninth call. By that stage she was no longer capable of keeping her voice steady; she shouted down the phone, right across the water: ‘Ally should be here, Max! Here on the island!’

‘But right now he’s here.’

‘He doesn’t feel well in town!’

‘We’ll see,’ said Max. ‘In any case, he’s going to the vet first thing tomorrow morning; I’ve made an appointment. Then we can find out what’s wrong with him.’

Vendela clutched the receiver tightly. ‘He’ll get well here. With me!’

‘That’s just your imagination.’

Max sounded calm and collected, but Vendela got even more angry when she heard how much he was enjoying having the upper hand. She lowered her voice. ‘Bring him back here, Max. Come straight here after you’ve been to the vet.’

‘Of course, we’ll soon be back... And of course you can go off jogging in the meantime.’

Vendela realized what he was implying, and sighed. ‘I’m on my own here, Max,’ she said quietly. ‘All the neighbours are away.’

‘So you’re keeping an eye on their comings and goings, then?’

Vendela didn’t reply; this was pointless. ‘Bring Ally back tomorrow,’ she said, and hung up.

She stood by the window, staring out at the empty landscape. Something was complaining and screaming out there, and at first Vendela thought it was a child, but then she saw a gull flying south along the coast.

She was dizzy with rage and hunger, but she wouldn’t eat yet. She would go out instead.

Quarter of an hour later, as she was setting off from the house, she noticed that Per Mörner’s car was parked outside his cottage.

But she didn’t stop, she ran towards the alvar with the sun on her back and her eyes fixed on a point far ahead in the distance. She became a machine, lifting her legs and pumping her arms and moving across the ground. She didn’t achieve a sense of rhythm, but she ran fast.

Eventually she noticed that she wasn’t alone. Another figure was moving through the bushes ahead of her.

Per Mörner. He was wearing the same blue tracksuit top, but was running in shorts this sunny evening.

Vendela increased her speed and gradually caught up with him. She didn’t call out, but he stopped and turned around when she was about fifty metres away.

They stared at one another; by the time Vendela stopped she was completely out of breath and hadn’t the strength to speak, and Per also looked totally exhausted.

It wasn’t until a few moments later, when she had her arms around him, that Vendela decided to take Per to the elf stone. When she got her breath back the first thing she said was, ‘Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.’

And they set off again, running straight across the alvar. She could find her way between the bushes without even thinking about it now, and Per followed her. They ran in step and close together, as if they were helping one another.

Vendela didn’t slow down until she saw the grove of juniper bushes. Per stopped and took deep breaths; he looked worn out.

‘It’s over here,’ she said, leading the way.

They entered the dense ring of bushes, and Vendela saw the elf stone. As always, she speeded up as she approached it. For a brief moment she forgot that she wasn’t alone, but Per followed her right up to the block of stone.

‘A big stone,’ he said.

‘Yes, a big stone,’ said Vendela. ‘Have you never been here?’

He shook his head. ‘But you have?’

She placed her hands on the stone, running her fingers around the empty hollows. ‘Yes, many times. This is a very old place. I think people have been coming here through the ages to forget the rest of the world for a while.

Per looked around. ‘It seems like a good place to do that.’

‘A good place? I don’t know... But time passes more slowly here. And you can sit here and pray.’

‘Pray?’

Vendela nodded. ‘Pray for help and good health.’

‘God’s healing power, you mean?’ said Per.

‘Something like that.’

She sat down on the grass with her back resting against the stone. Per hesitated, then sat down beside her.

They rested for a while with their legs outstretched, watching as the setting sun stained the clouds dark red.

‘Have you told your husband you’re out here?’ Per asked.

Vendela didn’t answer at first. How much should she tell him?

‘Max isn’t at home,’ she said eventually. ‘He’s taken our dog back to the city so the vet can check him over. And... we’ve had a row as well. I stood up to him, and he’s not used to that. He gets frustrated.’

Per didn’t say anything.

‘But he’ll soon come bouncing back, like a rubber ball... Max needs me.’

‘In what way?’

‘I help him with his books.’

‘How? You mean you...’

‘I make sure he finishes them.’

Per looked at her. ‘Do you write his books?’

‘Sometimes.’ Vendela sighed. ‘We work together. But Max thinks it’s better and simpler if he’s the one in the limelight, with his name on the cover as the author.’

‘Better for him, anyway,’ said Per. ‘What do they call it when you lend your name to someone else who wants to remain anonymous?’

‘I don’t know... but then again, Max has nothing against being well known,’ said Vendela. ‘I prefer to remain invisible.’

She had always found it difficult to talk about her husband; it felt like a betrayal, but she went on, ‘Max likes to be in the centre of things, and he has tremendous self-confidence. He’s written a cookery book this spring, in spite of the fact that he can hardly even boil water... I wish I had just a fraction of that confidence in myself.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I was in therapy for a while, seeing a psychologist. That’s how I met Max.’

‘He was your therapist?’

Vendela nodded. ‘I fell in love with him and we got together, but he was given a warning by the psychology association. Therapists aren’t allowed to seduce their patients — it’s unethical.’ She added, ‘So Max got angry and decided to become a writer instead; he regarded it as his revenge on the association when his books became popular.’

They sat in silence for a little while.

‘Why were you in therapy?’ asked Per.

‘I don’t know... So that I could move on from a difficult childhood, isn’t that usually the case?’

‘Did you have a difficult childhood?’

‘It wasn’t great. My mother died when I was very young, and my father was in a dream world most of the time... And I had a brother, an older brother called Jan-Erik. We lived in the same house, but he didn’t want to see me. His door was always closed. So I thought we had some kind of monster living upstairs.’

‘But you got to know him eventually?’

‘Yes, but he frightened me at first. He was mentally handicapped... retarded, as we said in those days. And he looked horrible.’

‘Horrible?’

‘Jan-Erik had allergies, just like me... but his were much worse. I think he had a mixture of different allergies, as well as asthma and sensitive skin. He had long nails that were hardly ever cut; they tore his skin when he scratched himself, and that led to infections.’

‘It sounds horrendous,’ said Per.

‘It was, but there was no attempt to help a person like that back in the fifties. They were just hidden away.’ She closed her eyes. ‘And then he was convicted of setting fire to our barn, and the authorities decided to send Jan-Erik to a mental hospital on the mainland... Which meant he would end up among psychopaths and those who’d committed sex crimes. It was out of the question.’

‘Out of the question?’

‘I helped him to run away.’

She didn’t say any more. They sat in silence again.

The setting sun had begun to nudge the trees over by the shore. Before long it would be pitch dark out here.

Per was lost in his own thoughts. After a while he looked over at the red clouds and said, ‘There’s no love or consideration in this world, only egotism... He taught me that at an early age. But when I grew up I tried to prove to him that it wasn’t true.’

Vendela turned to look at him. ‘Who are you talking about?’

‘My father.’

Vendela reached out her hand and he took it. His hand was cold and almost as slender and bony as her own. ‘And now Jerry’s gone. And I’m frightened of what he’s left me.’

‘What has he left you?’ asked Vendela.

‘Bad memories. And a whole lot of problems.’

They sat there by the stone, still holding hands. The sun had disappeared and the sky was growing dark, but they carried on talking. Eventually they got to their feet.

They didn’t say much on the way home, but Vendela stopped outside Per’s cottage. She looked at him in the darkness. He opened his mouth, but didn’t seem to know what to say or do. And Vendela didn’t know either.

‘This is where I live,’ he said eventually, turning away.

Vendela stayed where she was for a minute or two, wondering whether to go with him. What would he do then? What would she do? A range of possibilities extended before her like meandering rivers.

‘Sleep well, Per.’

Vendela set off again — home to her own dark stone fortress.