Хеннинг Манкелль - After the Fire

A snowstorm was slowly moving in from the east, but they weren’t sure how far south the snow would reach.

Lisa turned off the radio and asked me to stop. I pulled over on a logging track and she got out. When I realised she wasn’t going for a pee, I undid my seatbelt and followed her. There wasn’t a breath of wind. She had walked a few metres and was almost out of sight. A little further and she would disappear completely. That frightened me; I didn’t want her to cease to exist, to vanish without a trace among the tall pine trees.

‘It feels as if I’m part of a different story,’ she said.

She spoke quietly, as if she didn’t want to disturb the silence all around her. As I stood watching her I thought she was like an animal, a deer perhaps, alert to the possibility of attack at any moment.

‘Different from what?’ I asked.

She didn’t turn around.

‘The one I’m usually in. Sometimes I detest all those meaningless articles I write for the paper, words that are dead the moment someone reads them. People delouse a newspaper, picking off the words in the same way they pick lice off their bodies.’

I didn’t really understand what she was saying, but there was no doubt that she meant it.

‘I want to write something else,’ she went on. ‘Not books, I’m not good enough for that. I would be consumed with envy whenever I thought about those authors who really know how to choose their words, to create an unforgettable piece of work. Maybe I want to draw maps of places where no one has ever set foot? In the old days they used to let the cows wander free so that they would find the shortest and best route home. Let me go and I will find the forgotten pathways.’

We stood in silence in the forest for a little while. This was my seventieth New Year’s Day. The thought of how few I had left was a frightening one. I shuddered, and Lisa turned to face me. She was smiling.

‘Coffee,’ she said. ‘I’m going to write a detailed account of last night’s fire.’

Everything was quiet in her apartment block. As if to protest at the unwelcoming silence, she stomped noisily up the concrete stairs. A dog started barking, but stopped when a man yelled at it. I followed one step behind and reached out my hand, but I didn’t touch her.

She made coffee while I sat on the sofa where I had once tried to sleep.

We drank our coffee at the kitchen table, ate a couple of sandwiches, didn’t say much.

‘I ought to get some sleep,’ she said as she cleared the table. ‘Otherwise I’ll think it was all a dream.’

‘I can assure you that house really did burn down.’

Lisa leaned against the draining board and looked at me.

‘What’s going on out there on your islands? Houses going up in flames in the small hours. I’d never experienced the roar of a fire until last night.’

‘It was arson,’ I said. ‘There’s no proof yet, but everyone knows. Someone who helped to put out the fire probably started it.’

‘It shouldn’t be impossible to find out who’s responsible,’ she said almost crossly. ‘There aren’t very many of you. There are comparatively few inhabited islands.’

‘No one profited from burning down my house. Who has anything to gain from destroying the Valfridssons’ property? Or from seeing the widow Westerfeldt’s pretty home collapse in ruins? It seems like total insanity to me.’

‘Could it be revenge?’

‘We all have our differences; envy can eat away at someone over the years. But surely no one would go so far as to risk people being burned alive!’

‘The desire for revenge can send you crazy.’

‘We’re too simple for that kind of thing out here on the islands.’

‘You don’t come from the islands.’

I looked at Lisa in surprise.

‘I don’t, but my family does. I also have a profession which the local residents approve of; I’m a doctor, I’m regarded as useful. I have a kind of honorary status as an islander. I probably don’t really “belong” in the archipelago; I don’t have a stamp on my soul. But I’m accepted.’

We didn’t say any more. I could tell from her expression that she didn’t agree with me, but it wasn’t worth pursuing the matter.

As if it were the most self-evident thing in the world, we went and lay down on her big bed. I listened to her steady breathing as it grew deeper. At first I saw the flames dancing, then I fell asleep.

It was ten thirty when I woke up. My head felt heavy, my mouth was dry. I could hear the muted sound of the radio from the kitchen, the clink of coffee cups. I coughed, and a chair scraped. Lisa appeared in the doorway in her dark blue dressing gown with a glass of water in her hand.

‘If you feel the way I do you’ll want a glass of water,’ she said.

I drained the glass as she watched.

‘Painkillers?’ I said.

She came back with the same glass, this time full of a sparkling analgesic solution.

I drank it down and leaned back against the pillows.

‘How’s it going with your article?’ I asked.

‘I haven’t started it yet. But soon.’

‘Are you going to write about the voluntary firefighter who’s sleeping in your bed?’

‘I don’t think anyone would be interested in that.’

My phone rang; it was Kolbjörn, the electrician. He didn’t ask where I was, he simply wished me a Happy New Year then got to the point. He’s not a man who converses unnecessarily.

Apparently a small group of those who had helped out last night had come to a decision and were ringing round other residents of the archipelago. Kolbjörn had been asked to contact me.

I could tell from his gravelly voice that he was hungover. Or perhaps he was still drunk. There were rumours that he was something of a binge drinker, but no actual proof. He had never given the impression that he had been drinking when he worked for me, nor in my grandparents’ day when he was a young electrician serving his apprenticeship with a man called Ruben. That was before he joined the merchant navy.

‘We’re going to have a meeting in the local history association centre,’ he explained. ‘We’ve decided to wait until Twelfth Night. Two o’clock in the afternoon. We want as many people as possible to be there; we’re going to talk about these arson attacks and what we can do.’

‘To stop them?’

‘To catch whoever’s responsible. Then they’ll stop.’

‘Any suspects?’

‘No.’

‘I’ll be there,’ I said. ‘Two o’clock.’

Lisa had left the bedroom while I was on the phone; the door of her study was ajar.

She was sitting at her desk, writing. Her dressing gown had ridden up her thighs. I realised that my need for sex was not a spring that had dried up for the rest of my life. That definitely wasn’t true.

However, I didn’t want her to see me peeping through the door. I moved away, made a noise with my glass and sat down at the table.

She emerged with the notepad in her hand.

‘I’m writing about the fire, but I’m saying that I ended up there because I was at a New Year’s party on one of the islands. I’m not mentioning any names.’

‘Shouldn’t you at least mention Jansson’s name? The former postman who was at the party? If nothing else, it would please him greatly if he appeared in the local paper. His first name is Ture.’

Suddenly I realised she wasn’t listening. She looked anxious, but her voice was firm when she spoke.

‘I’m used to being alone. Right now I need to be alone. And I need to write.’

‘You won’t even notice I’m here. I’ve perfected the art of being quiet.’

‘That’s not what I mean. I need to close everything down around me.’

I sat down on the chair in the hallway to tie my shoes. Lisa stood in the kitchen doorway, still holding the notepad. When I got up and attempted to give her a hug, she moved away.