Åke Edwardson - Sail of Stone

“Who were you trying to beat home?” she asked.

“Myself, as usual,” he said, smiling at Elsa, who was taste-testing the fish with a thoughtful expression.

“Who won?”

“I did.”

“That’s not a bad arrangement, is it.”

“Should we bike down to the lot?” he said. “This weekend?”

“Do you want to, Elsa?” asked Angela. “Bike down to the sea?”

“Yes, yes!”

He helped himself to the mashed potatoes.

“So now it’s settled,” he said. “ The deal is in the harbor, to use a Swedish expression.”

“That deserves a bike trip,” said Angela.

Yes, he thought. Everyone here had been waiting for his decision, including himself. But now it was settled. After all, it was only a plot of land.

No. It was a bigger decision than that.

He looked at his family, who looked at him. Fuck, he didn’t want other people to have to wait for him to make up his mind.

For one of his selves to make up its mind.

I’m always sliding a little bit farther away, and I have to get back, work my way back.

I’m trying. The other day I didn’t answer the phone.

It didn’t help.

What am I doing wrong?

It shouldn’t be so hard.

It won’t be so hard. It’s better than ever, right? I’m here more than ever, aren’t I? I’m there but also here, and I’m starting to find a balance. Yes, balance. It’s thanks to her. And her. Both of them.

Does everyone think like I do?

One of them said something.

“Uh…?” said Winter.

“Elsa made dessert,” said Angela.

“Mmmm,” he said.

“It’s chocolate mereeengue puffs,” said Elsa.

“My favorite,” he said.

“Yes!” said Elsa.

“Effective against weight loss,” he said, and looked at Angela.

“Do you ever long for your origins?” he said over espresso.

“Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know, do you?”

“Longing… what would you call it… I guess I just wonder sometimes what would have happened if I had been there. Stayed there. Been born there.”

“Yes, that’s definitely a point of departure,” he said.

“If I had been born in Leipzig, it would have been a bewildering life, at the very least,” she said. “So much has happened to the people there.”

“It still was a bewildering life for the Hoffman family,” said Winter.

“Not for me, not like that. I was born here. ”

“Indirectly bewildering for you.”

“Maybe.”

They heard Elsa in her room. She built something that she then knocked over, built and knocked over, built and knocked over, and yet she had grown up enough to laugh at it. Build and knock over. Well. That wasn’t unusual. Things that were built got knocked down.

“I think I would have become a doctor in Germany, too,” she said.

“Günther wouldn’t have allowed anything different?”

“He would have. But I would have become one anyway.”

“Why?”

“There are so many people who need help and care.”

“Like who?”

“You, for example.”

“Yes.”

She circled her fingers around the cup. The saucer made a noise, like faint music.

“When can they start building, do you think?”

“When we say it’s time,” he said.

“When is it time, then?”

“When we say so.”

“And when will we say so?”

He thought about what he’d just thought. Who was waiting for whom, for whose decision.

“When you want to,” he said.

Angela and Elsa followed him down in the elevator, to Vasaplatsen.

He led his bike up to the kiosk. Angela and Elsa were on their way to Kapellplatsen and the bookstore.

“Don’t you think we should take a trip soon?” said Winter. “Soon. To celebrate. Celebrate the decision.”

“We’re going to bike to the sea on Saturday.”

“Some other sea. Somewhere else.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ve banked time off. Weeks.”

“Good.”

“But you don’t have any, do you?”

“Why do you think I’ve been working nights and weekends, away from our family?” said Winter.

“Ha ha ha.”

“Now it’s time for the payoff.”

“Marbella?” asked Angela.

“Why not.”

“Will you call Siv?”

He waved a “yes” and wobbled off onto Vasagatan in the middle of the intersection, and an angry driver laid on the horn.

The black V40 arrived as Halders and Aneta were walking back to the car. It drove fast and then parked two cars away. A woman got out and slammed the door after her. Aneta recognized her.

“I saw her with Forsblad,” she said. “In the court.”

“In the court?”

“He works in the district court. She was with him.”

“The license number matches,” said Halders.

“Excuse me,” said Aneta to the woman, who was about to walk by them. She looked at them, but she didn’t seem to register that Aneta was talking to her. She was blond, but her hair was darker at the roots; she had sharp and rather small features, which didn’t really suit her height. She was tall, wearing a dress that was elegant and simple and maybe expensive, and a coat that seemed light and comfortable, but its color didn’t match the dress. Shoes that seemed uncomfortable. She was in a hurry.

“Excuse me for a sec-,” repeated Aneta, but Halders had already moved into her path and taken out his ID, and the woman stopped. She looked at him, and at Aneta, but she didn’t seem to recognize her.

“Susanne Marke?” asked Halders.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he said. “Are you Susanne Marke?”

“Uh… yes.” She looked at Aneta again, as though she still didn’t recognize her.

She ought to recognize me. A black woman in the courthouse. Maybe she’s color-blind. Her clothes seem to indicate that she is.

“What is this about?” asked Susanne.

“We’re looking for Hans Forsblad,” said Halders. “Do you know where he is?”

“Hans Fors… why would I know that?”

“He lives with you.”

“What do you mean, he lives with me?”

“Do you live there?” asked Halders, nodding toward the fancy building behind her. He said the address for the sake of clarity.

“I live here,” she said.

“Hans Forsblad has given this as his address,” said Aneta.

Susanne didn’t answer, but it looked like she was silently cursing him.

“This is not his address,” she answered.

“But he could live here anyway, couldn’t he?” said Halders.

She didn’t answer. She suddenly looked out over the water, as though trying to find different answers. As though she were trying to make eye contact with the Seaman’s Wife. A ferry passed again, this time on the way in. There were people on the quarterdeck, little heads that stuck up over the railing. Aneta thought of how Forsblad lived at addresses that weren’t his. Was that the point? Was there some idea behind it?

“Do you have problems answering a simple question from the police?” said Halders.

“I want to know what this is about,” she said, trying to look more confident than her voice indicated.

Halders sighed so she could hear. He looked at Aneta, who nodded. Seabirds started to cry out nearby. They could hear the sound of a hammer or a sledgehammer striking. Maybe Forsblad has some other woman in there, in the flat, thought Aneta. Here we go again.

“We have received a report that involves Hans Forsblad,” said Halders. “We want to speak to him, and I really hope that you will help us. I really hope you will.”

Said the broken record, thought Aneta, unable to help herself.

“Re… report? What is it about?”