Хеннинг Манкелль - After the Fire

I have no idea how she supports herself, but she doesn’t seem to be short of money, and she has a stubborn streak which I envy.

When Harriet surprised me with the news that I had a daughter, Louise was already an adult. At the time she was living inland in a melancholy area of southern Norrland. It was her mother who took me to see her. Harriet had told me only that we were going to visit someone on the way to the forest pool that was our official destination. It wasn’t until after the door of the caravan opened and I was faced with a complete stranger that I found out she was my daughter. Needless to say it was one of the most overwhelming and important moments of my life. I had a child, a daughter, who was born when she was already over thirty years old.

She was living in the caravan, which was later transported to the island on an old cattle ferry. She stayed here until Harriet had died and we had burned her body in my old wooden boat, which had been lying there rotting on the shore. Shortly afterwards Louise disappeared. I eventually found out what she had been doing through a picture in the newspaper in which she was shown dancing naked in front of several international politicians whose actions she despised.

I hardly know her at all, but I wish I did. She has become increasingly fond of this island, and I have promised her that she will of course inherit everything when I am gone. The alternative would be for me to sell my home or to donate it to the local history society, but I don’t need the money, and the society seems to consist mostly of people bickering among themselves about what it should really be doing. I don’t want my grandparents’ house — if it is rebuilt — to be turned into a badly run summer cafe.

A few years ago several young women lived here for a period of about six months. They had been evicted from a home for vulnerable girls run by the woman whose arm I had so unfortunately amputated by mistake. She had forgiven me, and I had been so pleased to be able to help the girls when they were homeless. However, they were restless souls, and living on this isolated island soon began to increase their anxiety levels. They left when a place on the mainland became available, and I never saw them again.

I was glad they weren’t here now that the house had burned down. I shuddered at the thought that one of them could have died in the fire.

I sat on the bed in the caravan for a long time before I managed to pluck up the courage to call Louise. I hoped she wouldn’t answer, then I could wait until the following day with a clean conscience. She picked up after four rings. Her voice was as clear as if she were standing just outside the caravan.

As usual I started by asking if I was disturbing her. I wasn’t. Then I asked where she was. In the past we always began a phone call by enquiring how the other person was; now we want to know where they are.

She didn’t answer, which meant that she had no intention of revealing her whereabouts. I didn’t push it. If I am too inquisitive she often takes her revenge by not responding for several weeks when I call her.

I told her what had happened.

‘The house burned down. Last night.’

‘What house?’

‘My house. The one you were supposed to inherit.’

‘The house has burned down?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh my God!’

‘Indeed.’

‘What happened?’

‘No one knows. The whole place was ablaze when I woke up. I didn’t manage to save anything except myself.’

‘Not even your diaries?’

‘Nothing.’

She fell silent, trying to process what I had said.

‘Are you hurt?’

‘No.’

‘But surely there must be an explanation?’

‘The police and a fire investigation officer have been here poking around in the ruins. They couldn’t find a cause.’

‘Houses don’t just burn down for no reason. Are you sure you’re not hurt?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘What are you going to do now?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Where are you living?’

‘In your caravan, for the time being.’

Another silence. At least her surprise hadn’t turned to anger at me.

‘I’m coming home.’

‘There’s no need.’

‘I know, but I want to see it with my own eyes, see that everything is gone.’

‘You can believe what I say.’

‘I do.’

I could tell from her voice that she didn’t want to talk any more. She said she would be in touch very soon, and we ended the call. I lay down and noticed that I was sweating. In spite of everything, right now Louise was the only person I could talk to about what had happened.

After a while I got up and went outside. I put Jansson’s phone in a small metal box under the bench on the jetty, then I sent him a text to let him know that he could come and pick it up. I also placed a fifty-kronor note in the box to cover the few calls I had made. At the end of my message I said that I would prefer not to have any visitors.

I sat down on the bench and leaned back against the wall of the boathouse; the red paint was flaking.

When I woke up it was twilight. I shivered and walked back up to the caravan. All at once I found the gathering darkness frightening. There was no glow from the windows that were no longer there. The light outside the boathouse wasn’t working either. I was surrounded by darkness. I switched on the LPG light inside the caravan and dug out an old paraffin lamp that Harriet had once given to Louise. I opened a tin of soup and heated it up. When it was ready I switched off the LPG light, leaving the softer glow of the paraffin lamp.

I went to bed early that night. As I lay there I realised how tired I was. I didn’t even have the energy to worry about the following day. It was as if the fire had consumed all my strength, along with my house.

I woke from a dream about a storm. With the help of the old alarm clock I worked out that I had slept for nine hours. I don’t think I’ve slept for that long since I was a child. As usual I got up immediately. If I stay in bed, anxiety spreads through my body. I put on my raincoat and realised that I had forgotten to buy a towel the previous day. I decided to sacrifice the yellow Chinese shirt. I headed for the boathouse, where at the very end of the jetty there is a ladder leading into the water. I climbed down and floated away on my back.

It was cold. I guessed that the temperature of the sea was seven or eight degrees. The wind had strengthened during the night, and the weathervane on top of the boathouse was veering between west and south-west. I hadn’t remembered to buy a radio either, I thought as I clambered out of the water. I rubbed my skin dry with the yellow shirt in order to get my circulation going. I avoided looking too closely at myself; as I get older, I find my body increasingly repulsive. This morning I thought I looked more decrepit than ever.

I hurried back to the caravan and got dressed. After a cup of coffee and a couple of sandwiches, I called Directory Enquiries and eventually managed to get hold of Kolbjörn Eriksson. He is the same age as me, and returned to the archipelago after spending many years as an electrician aboard a cargo ship sailing between Europe and South America. These days he lives in a house he inherited from his uncle, who was a member of one of the better-known seal-hunting families out here on the islands. Kolbjörn repaired my electric cooker a while ago, and he is also the man who renewed all the wiring in the house.

He answered immediately. When I told him who I was, I thought I heard him let out a groan.

‘My house has burned down, but you probably know that already.’

‘I was there,’ he replied. ‘I don’t suppose you remember.’

I had absolutely no recollection of seeing him among those working in vain to extinguish the blaze. How could I not recall his characteristic face, his bald head, his height and his slightly reedy voice?