The Quarry

65

Per thought he must be somewhere in the middle of the narrow island now. He had moved quickly along the tracks among the undergrowth for a kilometre or so, then set his sights on a clump of trees on the horizon and begun to run.

After ten minutes he was hot and out of breath. There was no sign of the elf stone, but when he looked to the north he spotted a group of juniper bushes that looked familiar. They were a few hundred metres away in a circular grove, and he headed in that direction.

When he got there he could just see the top of a large block of stone, and recognized its angular shape. He had reached the place Vendela had shown him.

The sun had emerged from the clouds and its evening glow shone over to the west. It made the shadows of the bushes extend like long black ribbons across the grass. He made his way through the thicket and stopped.

The stone rose up in the glade in front of him, and there was someone standing on the grass beside it. A slender figure who didn’t reach the top of the stone.

It was a boy, wearing jeans and blue jacket. He turned to face Per, and seemed to be smiling.

Per looked at him and blinked several times, but the boy was no illusion, he was still there, and Per could see that he was holding a little wooden box in his hand. He was perhaps nine or ten years old.

‘Hi,’ said Per.

The boy said nothing.

Per moved one step closer. ‘What’s your name?’

The boy didn’t respond to that either.

‘What are you doing here?’

The boy opened his mouth and looked sideways. ‘I live over there.’

He pointed somewhere behind him, towards the north-east. Per couldn’t see any buildings, or indeed any sign of human habitation, but if there were houses they were probably hidden by the trees.

‘Are you all on your own here?’

The boy shook his head and took a step away from the stone. ‘I’ve turned her on her side,’ he said. ‘That’s what you’re supposed to do.’

That was when Per spotted Vendela.

She was lying with her eyes closed behind the boy, half hidden by the stone and with her hands joined in front of her face. She was wearing a hat and a bulky padded jacket, and looked as if she were just resting.

Per quickly went over and bent down to her. ‘Vendela?’

When he shook her shoulders he realized she wasn’t sleeping. She was unconscious; he could see scraps of food gleaming among the grass, and there was a sour smell emanating from her open mouth. She had been sick.

‘Vendela?’

No response.

The boy was still standing a couple of metres away, watching with interest as Per attempted to revive her. It wasn’t working.

He straightened up. He had his mobile with him, but an ambulance would never find its way out here. He looked at the boy. ‘We have to help Vendela... she’s ill,’ he said. ‘Do you know if there’s a road near here?’

The boy nodded and turned away. Per bent down, managed to get his arms under Vendela’s back and picked her up. Her body was thin and limp; he could carry her.

They left the stone and headed eastwards in silence, with the sun at their backs. The boy was still carrying the wooden box, but after fifty metres he stopped by a particular juniper bush and pushed it in beneath the lowest branches.

‘This is my hiding place,’ he said.

Per nodded and noticed that there were some magazines tucked under the bush as well. Only comics, thank goodness.

‘Come on,’ he said.

His arms were beginning to ache, and he kept on walking so that he wouldn’t lose the rhythm. The boy caught up with him and led the way eastwards through the undergrowth.

After a few hundred metres he became aware of a swishing sound. He recognized the sound of a car driving past, and realized they were close to the main road — much closer than he had thought.

As the trees and bushes thinned out, he saw a pair of headlights flickering past only fifty metres away. He staggered on with Vendela in his arms; he didn’t know how much longer he could go on carrying her.

‘Vendela?’

She was still breathing and opened her eyes for a few seconds, but didn’t seem to recognize him. She mumbled something in response, then she was gone again.

He took a firmer hold of her body and carried her the last few metres to the road.

There were no cars in sight, but there was a bus stop about a hundred metres away. He made his way there and laid her down on the wooden bench in the shelter before taking out his mobile and calling the emergency services. He explained what had happened, but when he had finished the call and looked up, he was alone with Vendela.

The boy had disappeared.

It took half an hour for the ambulance to reach the bus stop, and in the meantime Per tried to keep Vendela warm and to bring her round. He wrapped his tracksuit top around her, and by the time the ambulance finally pulled in by the bus stop she had opened her eyes and kept them open for several minutes before closing them again. Her breathing was faint but steady in the chill evening air.

The paramedics came over with their emergency kit and bent over Vendela; they took off her jacket and checked her blood pressure. Per stepped back.

‘We’ll be taking her to Kalmar,’ one of them said.

Vendela had become a patient, Per realized, just like Nilla.

‘Is she going to be all right?’

‘I’m sure she is. Are you her husband?’

‘No... just a friend. I’ll try to get hold of him.’

Ten minutes later the ambulance set off towards the bridge leading to the mainland, and Per breathed a sigh of relief.

He took Vendela’s padded jacket with him as he headed back down the gravel track and then along the path leading out on to the alvar.

At the end of the path the boy was waiting for him. He had pulled his wooden box out of the bushes and was sitting on it.

Per stopped by the juniper bushes. ‘They’ve taken her to hospital in the ambulance... Thanks for your help.’

The boy didn’t reply. It was almost twilight on the alvar, so Per asked, ‘Are you OK to find your way home?’

The boy nodded.

‘Good.’ Per was about to go on his way when something occurred to him, and he asked, ‘What’s the box for?’

The boy didn’t say anything at first. He seemed to be thinking it over, then he decided he could trust Per.

‘I’ll show you.’

He got to his feet and picked up the box. It had no bottom, and hidden in the grass underneath it was an old rusty biscuit tin. The boy removed the lid and showed Per what was inside.

‘I need the box to reach the top of the stone,’ he said. ‘There’s nearly always something new up there.’

Per saw that the tin was half full of coins and small pieces of silver jewellery.

And on top lay a shiny wedding ring.