Åsa Larsson - Until Thy Wrath Be Past

Kerttu looks down at the moss. She wants Viebke to think that she has somehow been forced to do this. She does not want him to think ill of her. But Schörner catches on to what she is thinking and will not allow that kind of deceit. He walks over to her, his pistol still aimed at Viebke, and caresses her cheek.

Kerttu cannot see the disgust in Viebke’s eyes, but she can feel it.

Schörner points his pistol at Viebke’s head and demands information about other members of his resistance group.

Viebke says he has no idea what Schörner is talking about, that he…

He gets no further before Schörner points the pistol away from Viebke’s head and pulls the trigger.

Two seconds pass, then one of the Danes falls over. Blood pours out of Viebke’s ear; the gun went off so close to it. The other two Germans exchange glances.

Kerttu has screamed. But now the forest is silent. Her legs are shaking. She looks down at her trembling knees. White parnassia and eyebright are blooming in the grass at her feet. After a short pause she hears the birds twittering in the trees once more, and the woodpigeons cooing.

She stares at the hair moss and stair-step moss and reindeer moss as Schörner kicks Viebke in the stomach and drags him towards the hut.

She stares fixedly at the spent flowers of the wild rosemary and juniper bushes while one of the German soldiers lifts Viebke up so that he is standing with his back to the hut. Schörner takes his captive’s sheath knife and stabs it through his hand so that Viebke is nailed to the silvery-white wall.

“Out with it!” Schörner shouts.

But Viebke does not say a word.

Kerttu can see his white face, so very white. She watches as he loses consciousness. Then she sees the lingon sprigs and blueberry sprigs and crowberry sprigs and bog bilberry.

And then… then Schörner curses in frustration, tries to bring Viebke round by removing the knife and punching him in the face. But Viebke remains unconscious.

Then Kerttu hears three shots, and thinks, This isn’t happening, this can’t be true. One of the German soldiers walks over to the car and comes back with a petrol can. When they drive off, the hut is burning like a parched fir tree.

Schörner hands Kerttu over to Isak Krekula and tells him that his fiancée has turned up trumps. Then he strokes Kerttu under her chin and says he knows he can trust her, and that she will get a handsome reward. She will have to be patient for a while, but Schörner will personally ensure that she is paid.

Krekula notices the spots of blood on Schörner’s face, and he has to tell Kerttu over and over again to get into his lorry. In the end one of the Germans lifts her in.

A few days later there is an article about the fire in the local paper, Norrbottenskuriren , saying that it had not been possible to identify the three men who died in the accident alongside Viebke. Kerttu notes that it is the only time she has not seen the newspaper on Krekula’s desk in the garage office. But he never says anything. Asks no questions. And she does not say anything either. It is a matter of forgetting, of carrying on.

She never receives payment. They never see Schörner again. In September depot manager Zindel informs them that there is a parcel for Kerttu in a transport plane from Narvik, which is due to land in Kurravaara.

But Krekula, Johannes Svarvare and three young lads from Kurravaara employed to assist with loading and unloading wait in vain for that aeroplane, all evening and half the night. And after that, the matter is never mentioned again. Krekula is informed that the transport plane has disappeared, and Kerttu has constant visions of it crashing somewhere in the forest, and someone finding it, and discovering a briefcase. A briefcase similar to Schörner’s black pigskin briefcase. And that in it are details of everything that she, Kerttu the Fox, did to help the German army. Every time berry-picking season comes, she is worried to death.

“Are you going to tell me?” Martinsson says to Hjalmar Krekula. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

She has made some coffee. Hjalmar has put his mug on the little table in front of the sofa. Vera is lying at his feet; Tintin has fallen asleep in front of the fire. Martinsson is finding it difficult to stop looking at the photograph of the Krekula family. She would like to go and fetch Pantzare’s photograph of the girl and Viebke in order to compare them. But she is sure it is her. It is Kerttu.

“Where to begin?” Hjalmar says. “We drove there. To the lake.”

“Who did?”

“Me…”

He hesitates. Then he takes a deep breath and says, “Me and Tore and Mother.”

It is October 9. Hjalmar Krekula is sitting in the back seat of Tore Krekula’s car. Tore is driving. Kerttu Krekula is in the passenger seat. She has been to see Anni Autio. Asked about Wilma. As one does. In passing. Anni said that Simon Kyrö had been by to collect Wilma that morning, and they had gone off on some adventure or other. They would be out all day. Anni did not know where they were going. But Kerttu knew. She went to the garage. Spoke to her boys.

“They’ll be at Vittangijärvi, that’s for sure. That’s where Svarvare thought they should start looking. We need to go there.”

That was all Kerttu said. Tore Krekula loaded the four-wheeler onto the trailer. Now they are driving along the Luonatti road. Gravel clatters against the underside of the chassis. Tore drives skilfully between the potholes.

Hjalmar thinks, What the hell are we doing?

Nobody speaks.

Hjalmar looks at Martinsson. He is searching for words.

“You know,” he says, “it didn’t happen like you might think it did. Nobody said, ‘We’ll kill them.’ It just happened.”

“Try to explain,” she says. “And drink your coffee. Before it gets cold.”

A tune plays in her pocket. She takes out her mobile. It is displaying Wenngren’s number.

Oh hell! she thinks.

“Answer it,” Hjalmar says. “I’m not bothered.”

“No,” Martinsson says. “Sorry, I should have switched it off.”

She lets the phone ring until Wenngren gives up, then turns it off.

“Sorry,” she says again. “Let’s hear it.”

“There’s not much to say. We got there. Mother cut the safety line. I fetched the door.”

“And you laid it over the hole in the ice?”

“Yes.”

They are driving through the forest in the four-wheeler. It is almost unbearably beautiful down by the lake. When they switch off the engine, it is totally silent. The sun is shining on the bare ice. It is glittering like a silver brooch in the middle of the forest.

And there is the hole in the ice. With a wooden cross over it.

They pause for a while and watch the bubbles of air plopping up through the hole.

“Give me the knife,” Kerttu says to Tore. He pulls it out of the sheath on his belt and hands it to her.

She says to Hjalmar: “Go and fetch a door from up there.”

She nods towards the farmhouse, which appears to be deserted. Hjalmar looks over at it. Kerttu becomes impatient.

“There’s bound to be a door to the outdoor toilet or something. Get a move on.”

He walks to the farmhouse, lifts the shed door off its hinges and carries it back to the frozen lake. When he gets to the hole in the ice, he sees that his mother has cut the line and removed the wooden cross.

“Put the door there,” she says, pointing at the hole.

He does as he is told. And when she tells him to stand on the door, that is what he does.

The light is dazzling. It is almost impossible to see. Hjalmar screws up his eyes and looks at the sky. Tore whistles a tune. A few minutes pass. Then someone appears beneath the ice. Scratches at the door. It is just someone. It could be anybody. Hjalmar does not think about Wilma and Simon.