John Lindqvist - Harbour

The man disappeared from view behind the sea buckthorn, and Anders took the opportunity to lick the sticky sweetness off his fingers. Then he spotted the man again. He had reached the shoreline, and was on his way out into the water. He hadn't even taken off his clogs.

Only now did Anders start to feel there was something unpleasant about the whole thing. The man slipped on the wet stones and fell, but immediately got up and carried on walking. Anders looked around, searching for some adult who could explain the situation to him, or simply indicate with a calm glance that everything was as it should be.

There were no adults in the vicinity. Nor anybody else, for that matter. Only Anders and the man who was now up to his waist in the water, forging ahead with heavier and heavier strides, heading straight for Gåvasten as if there were a secret track leading out there, a track you could only use if you had the right attitude.

When the water reached the man's chest, he started swimming. Anders stood up, not knowing what he ought to do. He sucked on the lolly, took a couple of bites and saw the man's head slowly moving further and further away from the steamboat jetty. He didn't seem to be an accomplished swimmer, he was splashing about and making strange movements.

Perhaps it's because he's wearing clothes.

When he'd finished the ice cream and the man was showing no sign of turning back, Anders threw the stick in the bin and went into the shop.

There was nobody in there either, thanks to the midday lull. Anders found Ove, the owner, in the fridge behind the dairy cupboard, filling up the milk.

'So how's business?' asked Ove without looking up from his work.

'Good, thanks,' said Anders.

'Same here. Plenty of people about today.'

'Yes.' Anders began to feel unsure of himself. He had never spoken to Ove like this before, and he was a frightening figure, with his huge stomach and gigantic eyebrows. Anders rubbed one arm and said, 'There's a man swimming out there.'

Ove put the last carton of milk on the shelf and straightened up. 'I'm not surprised. It's hot today.'

'Mm. But he's still got his clothes on and…' Anders didn't know how to describe the feeling of foreboding that had come over him as the man walked down to the jetty, '…and there was something kind of strange about him.'

'Strange in what way?'

'Well…the fact that he didn't take off his clothes. He just walked out into the water…and he was walking in an odd way too.'

'So where is he now, then?'

'Still swimming.'

Ove closed the door on the milk, wiped his hands on his apron and said, 'We'd better take a look, then.'

When Anders got outside the shop a couple of steps behind Ove, he saw that it was as he feared. The man was no longer anywhere in sight.

'Where is he, then?' asked Ove.

Anders felt a faint blush creeping over his cheeks. 'He was there just now.'

Ove looked at him suspiciously, as if he were trying to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why Anders would have made this up. Evidently he couldn't come up with anything, since he walked quickly down to the jetty with Anders following in his wake.

There was no sign of anyone when they got down to the jetty either, and Ove shook his head.

'Well, young Anders. There doesn't seem to be anyone here.'

Anders gazed out across the water and spotted a couple of ducks bobbing on the surface ten metres off the jetty. But they weren't ducks. They were two clogs. He pointed them out to Ove, and then the circus got under way.

Ove rang and people came. They went out in boats and the coastguard was called out from Nåten. Anders had to describe the man who had walked out into the water, and everyone agreed it must be Torgny Ek, the son of Kristoffer and Astrid Ek who lived just a few houses past the shop.

Curious tourists from Kattudden and the ramblers' hostel came to see what all the fuss was about. Soon everyone knew the story of what the poor little boy-Anders-had witnessed, and how could they best show their goodwill towards the unfortunate child? By buying his herring, of course.

To tell the truth, Anders didn't feel particularly badly affected or upset by what had happened, but realised it was best to adopt a serious expression as the herring flowed out of his hands and the money flowed into his pockets. He even had the sense to avoid mentioning the special offer, which would obviously be inappropriate.

By the time the box was empty there were still a lot of people standing around the harbour waiting to see what the divers might find, and Anders pushed the wheelbarrow towards home for the third time that day. As he approached the Shack he saw a column of smoke rising up into the sky.

His father was crouching by the smoker, pushing juniper branches into the fire. The last box of herring was by his side, but he hadn't started threading the fish yet. He looked surprised when he caught sight of Anders.

'Back already?'

'Yes,' said Anders, tilting the wheelbarrow to show him the empty box. All gone.'

His father got to his feet and looked. First at the box, then at Anders. 'You've sold…sixty kilos?'

'Yup.'

'How come?'

Anders told him about Torgny Ek. How he had come walking along, how he had swum out to sea. All the people who had gathered in the harbour. His voice became more and more tentative as the story went on, since he noticed that his father was very upset by the whole thing, for some reason. He was sitting on the bench by the smoker, staring at the ground.

'And then the coastguard arrived…' Anders' voice died away and silence fell. There was only the crackling of burning juniper branches from inside the smoker. 'Three hundred and twenty kronor. That's how much I've taken. It's a bit less because I did a special offer.'

His father nodded heavily. 'Well done.'

Anders picked up a metal skewer and threaded a couple of herring on to it. His father made a slow, dismissive gesture. 'You can leave that. I don't think we'll do any smoking today.'

'Why not?'

'Well, you've…sold such a lot.'

The heavy feeling in his stomach came back, and Anders was drawn down towards the ground. He lowered the skewer he'd started. 'But…it's always good to have buckling.'

His father slowly got to his feet, and said, 'I'm just not in the mood.' He made an effort and drew the corners of his mouth up into a kind of smile. 'It's really good that you've sold such a lot. Now you can afford that boat. Take it easy for a while.'

Without saying any more he went towards the house, his shoulders drooping. Anders waggled the skewer in his hand. The two herring hung there, threaded through the eyes. The eyes themselves were dangling from their heads, attached by thin membranes. Anders pushed the herring right to the end of the skewer, drew back his arm, flicked his wrist. The herring flew off in a wide arch, landing in the sawdust by the woodpile.

That's that, then.

He washed his hands in the rainwater barrel and went back up towards the shop. He didn't know what had happened, but there had been something wrong with this catch from the start.

Except for one thing.

He felt at the bundle of notes in his right-hand pocket, the clump of coins in his left. He might have a funny feeling in his stomach, and maybe the day could have been better in many ways. But there was no denying one thing: he had made plenty of money.