Åke Edwardson - Sun and Shadow

“Ready,” Angela said from the hall. The music came to an end at the same moment, and it was the last track. He switched it off and left the room.

As they were waiting for the elevator an elderly man came out of Mrs. Malmer’s flat and closed the door carefully behind him. He hesitated when he noticed them, but nodded and stood alongside them to wait. He was tall, graying hair, moles on his face.

“Who was that?” she asked when they left the building and started walking toward the Avenue. The stranger had disappeared in the opposite direction.

“Never seen him before.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

There were a lot of people waiting at bus and tram stops in Vasaplatsen. Their breath came out of their mouths like smoke. Angela could feel the cold through her coat and wished she was wearing a hat. Her ears were freezing cold already. Twenty degrees, and it was still only November. Perhaps it will be up to fifty on Christmas Eve.

“There’s a colleague of yours there,” she said.

“Where?”

“In the police car on the other side.”

“Yes, I can see it.”

“It’s not moving.”

“Well…”

“Can you see what it is?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where it comes from.”

“The district? I suppose it ought to be from Lorensberg. Why?”

“Noth-”

“Now I remember. We can…”

The car started moving and passed by them. Winter waved at it.

“Simon Morelius,” he said.

“Was that the driver? Do you know him?”

“Only by sight.”

The tram was full when they eventually got on, and they stood in the middle, holding on to the straps. Angela was standing with her legs apart so as not to lose her balance, and seemed to be protecting her stomach. Not such a bright idea after all, Erik, he thought.

A lot of passengers got off at Kungsportsplatsen and Angela was able to sit down. It was quiet where they were, but somebody was muttering away and occasionally shouting threats at the back. Everybody looked the other way. Several drunks came on board at Brunnsparken. Winter had to move.

After two more stops the seat next to Angela became vacant. There was a smell of smoke and alcohol in the tram, and sweat from the fat man in front. Some teenage girls were staring at Winter. A black man was playing something on his Walkman that was making him jerk his head from side to side. At Järntorget a group of young men got on. They were all wearing black leather jackets covered in names and symbols. A devil, two witches. An ax dripping with blood. There was a clanking noise from the shopping bags full of beer cans when they put them on the floor, which was covered in black slush. A teenage couple three rows ahead of them kept turning around, apparently to look at him, or at Angela. There was something vaguely familiar about the girl. He looked out the window. A police car overtook them as they approached Stigberget. The long arm of the law again, he thought.

Lotta Winter welcomed them in a cloud of garlic and herbs.

“Where are the girls?” asked Winter.

“It’s Friday night. Eight o‘clock. They won’t stay at home anymore, not even for you, Erik. Let me give you both a hug!” She embraced them. “You’re FREEZING!”

“They’ll be back before eleven, won’t they? The girls?”

“Grow up.”

“He’ll find out eventually,” Angela said.

“What can I get you to drink?” Lotta asked.

“I’ll have some wine, please. Angela will just have water.”

“Have you spoken to Mom?”

“Yes.”

“How was she?”

“Still says she’s coming for Christmas.”

“How was she otherwise, did you think?”

“As you said, she seems to be… strong. Let’s hope she can keep it up.”

Let’s hope she can, for all our sakes, thought Lotta, as she poured the drinks.

Hanne Östergaard was shoveling snow. Her spade scraping over the stone paving, through the snow drifts. The garden was covered in white.

The trees are sticking up like the skeletons they now are, she thought, and could feel the sweat under her woolly hat.

Several neighbors were also out snow-shoveling this Saturday morning, using fancy types of “spade” that still didn’t seem to be much good. Gothenburg isn’t inside the Arctic Circle. Nobody expected the snow to last for very long.

Three houses down the road a man was busy putting winter tires on his car. She looked toward her own garage as the side door opened and Maria appeared in wool sweater and a six-foot scarf, but with no hat or gloves. She was carrying a broom, and now sat astride it and jumped three paces.

“I thought I’d do a bit of flying,” she said.

“Wrong time of year, love.”

“Exactly. Swedish witches appear at Easter. So you believe in witches, do you?”

I believe in everything evil, thought Hanne, but it was only a fleeting reaction.

“I believe in what I see before me,” she said instead. “Sometimes, at least.”

Maria looked put out, for a couple of seconds. Then she looked up again.

“I thought I would give you a hand.” She cleared a strip of the path with one sweep of the broom. “Get rid of the remainder.”

“That’s terrific.”

Maria brushed away. Suddenly, she was a child again. Hanne Ostegaard saw the little girl in her face, and was overcome with love and affection when Maria looked up and smiled. Her attempt to ask for forgiveness. Hanne was determined to swallow it, hook, line, and sinker. She’s only a child.

Patrik appeared and walked along the newly cleared drive sporting a thick and gigantic knitted hat that was big enough to accommodate Maria as well.

“Patrik, hello.” She held out her hand. “Long time no see.”

“Hello! I thought I’d pay you a visit. About time I ventured into the sticks.” He looked around. “Virgin white out here.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Virgin white. Most of it’s already gone in town.”

“What would you say to a cup of hot chocolate?”

“Well, what do you say?” said Maria, looking at Patrik.

“I’d love it. I’m freezing. There was something wrong with the heating in the tram.”

She’d made cheese rolls and two mugs of hot chocolate, with another on the way.

“Do you know what it is yet?” asked Maria, barely audible with her mouth full.

“I was playing it over in my mind last night, but I was so damn… so tired,” he said, looking at Hanne, the vicar.

“It’s all right.”

“Did you listen to the disc I lent you?” he asked.

“Not on your life. You put it into my bag without my knowing.” She took another bite. “I don’t like that kind of stuff.”

“What don’t you like?” Hanne asked. “I’m curious.”

“Hard rock.”

“Death metal,” Patrik said. “Black metal.”

“Eh?”

“Not Ria’s thing. Too heavy.”

“What is it? A sort of punk?”

Patrik roared with laughter. “Metal punk, in that case,” he said, and Hanne noticed he had finished his chocolate. She went to the stove to heat up some more milk.

“Patrik knows everything about music,” Maria said. ‘And about stuff that doesn’t deserve to be called music as well.“

“And you’re saying that this, er, metal is in that category?”

“It’s not music as far as I’m concerned, Mom.”

“But you can’t just… sweep it under the carpet,” Patrik said.

“But what does it sound like?” asked Hanne, who had returned to the table with the hot milk. “I’m getting curious again.”

“All right,” Maria said. “Hang on a minute.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” said Patrik.