Хеннинг Манкелль - After the Fire

I opened a couple of tins and made myself something to eat, then went for a walk around the island. When I got back I fetched an old transistor radio from the boathouse. I didn’t expect it to work, but when I put in the new batteries I had remembered to buy the previous day, it actually made a noise. I listened to a lecture by a professor at the University of Lund who was talking about the healing properties of magnetism. As a doctor I obviously don’t believe in the miraculous power of magnets, but the professor had a pleasant voice. I didn’t really care what he was saying.

Then came the news and the shipping forecast. The outside world becomes more incomprehensible with each passing day. I am losing track of which terrorist groups are killing each other. A Palestinian boy had been burned alive outside Jerusalem. This terrible bulletin ended with a report about a group of rebels in Iraq who had been crucified by their opponents. Their hatred was based on different opinions on what constituted the true religion. Both parties believed that they were serving the same god.

There was no god in my caravan. Perhaps he wandered around the island at night? Perhaps he slept in the boathouse? I had no intention of ever letting him in here, not even if he was frozen stiff. When it came to contact with gods, I was capable of inhumane behaviour.

I woke early the following day. During the night I had dreamed of an armada of ancient motorboats surrounding the island. The beams of their headlights shone at my caravan with such intensity that it reminded me of the fire. I woke up thinking the caravan must be burning. I ran out into the darkness stark naked. My heart carried on pounding for a long time, even after I had realised it was only a dream.

I lay awake for ages. The wind rocked the caravan slightly, like a vessel bobbing around on its moorings.

Eventually I dozed off and slept until six o’clock. I went down to the boathouse and took my morning dip. The thermometer was showing seven degrees. The yellow Chinese shirt served as a towel once more. I made coffee and sardine sandwiches. Just to be on the safe side, I checked the tin to make sure it didn’t say ‘Produce of China’, but in fact the fish had made the long journey from Lagos in Portugal.

At seven thirty Kolbjörn arrived in his big aluminium ferry. Apart from his electrical expertise, he also has an in-depth knowledge of different forms of marine propulsion. This particular vessel was driven by a jet stream, which meant it didn’t need a propeller.

We chatted for a while down by the jetty. He had brought some outdoor lights as well as a couple of table lamps for the caravan.

The electric cable to my island comes ashore on the south side. There is a sign to say that dropping anchor there is forbidden. I asked Kolbjörn if he would like a cup of coffee, but he declined; he wanted to get straight down to work. He had only glanced in passing at the site of the fire; it was as if he would prefer not to see it.

I asked if he needed an unqualified labourer. Once again he declined; he would rather work alone. When I wondered whether we should discuss his fee for the job, he muttered something unintelligible in response.

I knew he would charge me next to nothing. As far as he was concerned, I was a person in dire straits who needed support.

My mobile rang. I didn’t recognise the number and when I answered I heard an eager voice wanting to sell me outdoor furniture made of durable plastic. Before I ended the call in an outburst of rage I gathered that the price had been slashed now the summer was over. The salesman didn’t call back.

As I slipped the phone in my pocket I heard the throb of an engine; it was the coastguard. This time Captain Pålsson was at the helm, with Alexandersson and a man I had never seen before on board. They hove to next to Kolbjörn’s ferry and came ashore. Alexandersson was in uniform, while the other man wore an overcoat with blue overalls underneath.

Alexandersson introduced him.

‘Detective Inspector Sture Hämäläinen. The police are investigating the cause of the fire too.’

Hämäläinen was short and chubby, and his face was so pale I thought he was wearing white make-up. He shook my hand.

‘It’s just routine,’ he said. ‘Apart from anything else, you’ll have problems with the insurance if the cause of the fire can’t be established.’

He spoke Swedish with a Finnish accent. At least he wasn’t made in China, I thought grimly.

We went up to the house. Kolbjörn and Alexandersson nodded to one another.

‘I’m not a pyromaniac,’ I said. ‘Why would I set fire to my own house?’

I was speaking to Hämäläinen, but he didn’t reply. He was staring at the ruins. I wasn’t even sure if he had heard what I said. Then he began to walk slowly around the plot.

‘Why are the police involved?’ I asked Alexandersson. ‘Do you really think I’m responsible for this?’

‘Of course not.’

‘What does he think he’s going to find?’

‘The cause. He’s very good.’

‘Let’s hope you’re right.’

I noticed that I was getting annoyed. Alexandersson understood. We didn’t say anything else.

Kolbjörn was busy fixing up an external light down by the boathouse.

‘Who’s the stranger?’ he wanted to know.

‘A detective inspector who’s going to try and find out if I set fire to my own house.’

Kolbjörn dropped his screwdriver. I bent down and gave it back to him.

‘I’m not an arsonist,’ I said. ‘I’m going shopping. There’s a flask of coffee in the caravan.’

I didn’t go shopping. I chugged aimlessly around the islands instead, then I decided to go out to Vrångskär, the skerry I would be visiting with Lisa Modin in a few days.

I went ashore, pulled the boat up behind me, then found a place to sit under a distorted pine tree where the ground was dry.

I could see storm clouds gathering on the distant horizon. I gazed out to sea, thinking that soon I would have to decide what I was going to do.

Had my life gone up in flames? Did I still have the desire to imagine anything beyond the humiliation of old age? Could I find a new will to live?

Basically it came down to just one question: did I want to rebuild the house or should I let Louise inherit the site of a fire?

I carried on staring out to sea, hoping that an answer would drift ashore. But nothing turned up.

However, I did make up my mind that I wouldn’t wait any longer; I was going to move the caravan to the skerry and the hollow between the two rocks. No doubt Kolbjörn would be able to run a cable from the island to the skerry; he wouldn’t hesitate to break the law if that was what it took to solve an emergency energy issue.

The decision gave me the strength to get to my feet. I went down to the boat, breaking off one of the last roses of the summer on the way, and set off for home.

The two boats were still there. Kolbjörn was in the process of fixing up the wiring in the caravan, while Alexandersson and Hämäläinen were still at the site of the fire.

‘Have you found anything?’ I asked.

I couldn’t help noticing the fleeting glance they exchanged. It worried me, but it also irritated me. A mixture of worry and anger leads to fear.

‘What have you found?’ I persisted.

‘Indications that the fire started simultaneously in several places,’ Hämäläinen said.

‘What kind of indications?’

‘There are signs that an accelerant was used.’

‘So the fire was started deliberately?’

Hämäläinen grimaced and shook his head. Alexandersson looked troubled, scraping his foot at the ash around the foundations.

‘So I’m suspected of starting the fire,’ I said.