The Quarry

68

How far was it to Per Mörner’s cottage over by the quarry? Seven hundred and fifty metres perhaps, or even eight hundred. Gerlof remembered that his friend Ernst had put up a beautifully polished sign by the road: CRAFT WORK IN STONE 1 KILOMETRE, but it wasn’t quite that far. He consoled himself with that thought once he had managed to get across the road safely.

It wasn’t far at all.

Gerlof knew every centimetre of this narrow, bumpy track; he had walked up and down it countless times on his visits to Ernst, but it was six or seven years since he had last walked over to the cottage. He had been about seventy-five then, more or less healthy and almost young.

With his aching legs and hips he was able to take only small, cautious steps, which made the journey seem endless. The track curved around the quarry, and way ahead in the distance Gerlof could see the gravelled area in front of Ernst’s cottage.

Could he really walk that far? He had managed the first hundred metres, but his body was aching and his legs were trembling. His only consolation was that he had put on his winter coat before setting off; it was buttoned up to the top, and kept his back and shoulders warm.

He didn’t know what time it was, but the sun was low over the sound now. It would soon be gone. The wind had got up and was making his eyes smart. He blinked away the tears and battled on.

After a few minutes he passed the first of the luxury homes. Kurdin, that was the name of the family. He couldn’t see anyone, but there were lights showing in a couple of the tall windows. He considered turning off and ringing their doorbell, but gritted his teeth and kept on going.

He was still managing to keep his balance with the aid of his stick, although his knees had started to stiffen up.

He was too far away from the quarry to be able to look over the edge and check if the car he had seen had pulled in at the bottom. But he strongly suspected that the driver had been on his way there to meet Per Mörner.

What could Gerlof do when he got there? Wave his stick at the car and try to frighten the man away?

He didn’t know. Perhaps he should have called the police instead of setting off to find Per — but then all he had to go on was a bad feeling, and that was hardly likely to get the police to send a car out to northern Öland.

Now he was passing the second new house, where Vendela Larsson had organized a get-together for the neighbours at Easter. There were no lights on anywhere.

He stopped at the end of the Larssons’ drive to catch his breath, longing for his wheelchair. Still three hundred metres to go to Per’s cottage, or maybe four hundred.

One step at a time.

He still couldn’t see anyone around the quarry, but the old Saab was parked outside the cottage. So Per was home, unless he’d gone out for a walk.

A sturdy wooden bench would have been useful at this point, but there wasn’t even a rock to sit on here by the track. He just had to keep battling on. He could hear the wind in his ears, and perhaps something else — the sound of a car engine idling?

When he was two hundred metres from Per Mörner’s cottage, the sun began to slip down into the sound. The fiery glow was silently consumed by the horizon, leaving a burning sky in the west that was gradually beginning to darken.

As soon as the sun had disappeared, the night began to creep in across the coast. The quarry was filled with a grey gloom.

Gerlof wanted to hurry on, but his strength was almost gone.

After a hundred metres he had to stop and lean on his stick once again, and that was when he heard a dull roar.

It came from the quarry. He took a couple more steps, and saw a bright glow down below.

A new sun flared up briefly in the darkness down at the bottom of the quarry, yellowish-white and much brighter than the first, and a rumbling echo rolled up over the rock face. Something had exploded among the piles of stone.

He breathed in the cold air and started to move towards the edge as quickly as he could. A car engine revved. He heard someone shouting down below, and a few seconds later came the acrid smell of burning petrol.