Åsa Larsson - Until Thy Wrath Be Past

“Don’t play with knives,” Hjalmar says, just as he has been told not to do many times.

Tore does not seem to hear him. Their mother says nothing. She pours a little yoghourt into a small wooden flask and puts a piece of salted fish into an old flour bag. These Hjalmar will carry in his rucksack.

The family keeps only three cows, to supply their own needs. Isak Krekula, their father, runs the haulage firm, while Kerttu looks after the house and the cattle.

The boys have their rucksacks. They are wearing caps, and trousers that just cover their knees. Hjalmar’s boots are too big for him and flop around. Tore’s boots are a bit too small.

Before they have even crossed the main road, Tore cuts off a birch switch with which he pokes the cows.

“You don’t need to hit them,” Hjalmar says with annoyance. “Star is bright. She follows you if you lead the way.”

Star, the lead cow, follows Hjalmar. She has a bell attached to a leather strap round her neck. Her ears are black, and she has a black star on her forehead. Rosa and Mustikka traipse along behind. Their tails are twitching, aiming at flies. They occasionally run a few paces in order to get away from Tore and his confounded birch switch.

Hjalmar presses on. He is leading the cows to the edge of a bog a kilometre or so away. It is a good grazing spot. The sun is warm. The forest is fragrant with wild rosemary which has just come into bloom. Star trots happily after Hjalmar. She has learnt that he takes her to good grazing grounds.

Tore keeps on holding them up. He stops to poke a big branch through an anthill, back and forth, back and forth. And he feels the need to cut notches in tree trunks with his new knife. Hjalmar looks the other way. His own knife is nowhere near as sharp. One of his father’s employees has used it to scrape rust off one of the lorries. There is a big hack in the cutting edge, too big to be ground away. Tore’s knife is brand new.

Tore prattles away behind his brother and Star. Hjalmar wishes the younger boy would keep quiet. You have to keep silent in the forest. When they reach the edge of the bog, they unpack their lunches. The cows immediately start grazing. They drift further and further from the boys.

The bog is white with cloudberry flowers.

When the boys have finished eating, it is time to head for home.

They have been walking for ten minutes when they catch sight of a reindeer. It is standing absolutely still, watching them with big black eyes. The Lapps have already taken their herds up into the mountains; this is one they missed.

The boys try to sneak up on it, but it stretches its neck and sets off at a brisk trot. They hear the clippety-clop of its hooves, and then it is gone.

They try to follow it for a while, but give up after ten minutes. The reindeer is no doubt a long way away by now.

They set off for home again, but after a while Hjalmar realizes that he does not know where he is. Even so, he continues in the same direction – no doubt he will soon see the familiar rocks and clearings. But before long they come to a swamp that he has never seen before. Spindly, stunted pine trees are growing in the middle of it. Beard lichen hangs from the branches, looking burnt. Where on earth are they?

“We’re lost,” Hjalmar says to his brother. “We must retrace our steps.”

They retrace their steps. But after an hour or so, they find themselves on the edge of the same swamp.

“Let’s cross over it,” Tore says.

“Don’t be silly,” Hjalmar says.

He is worried now. Which way should they go?

They hear a cow lowing in the distance, very faintly.

“Hush,” he says to Tore, who is prattling on about something or other. “It’s Star. It’s coming from over there.”

If they can find the cows, they will be able to get home. Star will find the way as milking time approaches.

But after only a few steps, they realize that they can no longer hear any lowing. They cannot follow the sound. Neither of them is sure where it came from.

They lie down in a clearing to rest. The moss is dry and the sun is warm. They feel sleepy. Hjalmar is no longer on the verge of tears; he is just tired. He drops off to sleep. Tore’s legs twitch, and he says something in his dream.

Hjalmar is woken up by his brother shaking his arm.

“I want to go home now,” Tore whimpers. “I’m hungry.”

Hjalmar is also hungry. His stomach is rumbling. The sun is low in the sky. The forest is filled with different sounds. The heat drains away from the trees, making them crackle. The noise is almost like footsteps. An eerie sound must be a barking fox. It is chillier now, and the boys are cold.

They set off aimlessly.

After a while they come to a beck. Kneeling down, they fill the mugs they have with them. Drink until they are no longer thirsty.

Hjalmar thinks.

What if this is the same beck that flows past Iso-Junti’s farmhouse on the edge of the village?

Hjalmar had once thrown pieces of wood into the beck. They had floated off in the direction of the Kalix. So, if they follow the beck upstream, they should find themselves in the village.

Always assuming it is the same beck, of course. They could well be following one that goes somewhere else.

“Let’s go this way,” Hjalmar says to his brother.

But Tore doesn’t like being told what to do. Nobody is going to tell him which way to go. Except his father, perhaps.

“No,” he says. “Let’s go that way.”

He points in the opposite direction.

They start arguing. Tore’s opposition makes his older brother certain that following the beck upstream is the best thing to do.

Tore refuses absolutely. Hjalmar calls him a stupid brat, tells him he is being idiotic, that he must do as he is told.

“You don’t tell me what to do,” Tore howls.

He starts blubbing and shouts for his mother. Hjalmar slaps him. Tore punches Hjalmar in the stomach. Soon they are both on the ground. The fight doesn’t last long. Tore doesn’t have a chance. Age wins the day. And Hjalmar Krekula is big.

“I’m going now,” he bellows.

He is sitting on top of his brother. Lets go of his arms, but grabs them again when Tore tries to hit him in the face. The younger boy gives up in the end. He has lost the fight. But not the battle. When he eventually stands up, he marches off resolutely in the direction he had chosen to begin with.

Hjalmar shouts after him.

“Don’t be an idiot. Come with me! Now!”

Tore pretends not to hear. After a while Hjalmar can no longer see him.

At 11.15 that night Hjalmar Krekula comes to the main road to Vittangi. He starts walking along it, and just over an hour later a lorry stops and picks him up. It is one of his father’s lorries, but his father is not driving it. The driver is Johannes Svarvare. In the passenger seat is another villager, Hugo Fors. They pull up 50 metres in front of Hjalmar, and both men open their doors and shout to him. Their soft caps are askew over their sunburnt faces. Shirt sleeves rolled up. Hjalmar feels his chest opening up as joy and relief flood in. He will soon be home.

They laugh as they help him to clamber up into the lorry. He is allowed to sit between them. By Jove, my boy, they say, his mother and father have been worried sick. Since the evening milking, practically everyone in the village has been out shouting and looking for them. Hjalmar wants to reply, but the words stick in his throat.

“Where’s Tore?” they say.

He cannot produce a single word. The men exchange worried looks.

“What’s happened?” Svarvare says. “Out with it, my boy. Where’s your brother?”

Hjalmar turns his head towards the forest.

The men do not know how to interpret that movement. Has his younger brother got stuck in one of the bogs?