Åke Edwardson - Frozen Tracks

“Good Lord,” she said, squatting down in front of the boy. “Have you been out for a walk, August?”

The boy nodded.

“But you mustn’t go outside the fence,” she said.

The boy nodded again.

She looked up at Winter.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before.” She looked in the direction of the juniper bushes. “How on earth can the fence have broken?”

“I don’t know,” said Winter. “I didn’t have time to examine it. But you’d better have it fixed right away.”

“I’ll call this very minute,” she said, standing up. “We’ll keep the children indoors in the meantime.”

Winter went back to the fence and secured the loose strand of wire. Another length came loose when a few rusty staples gave way. He was stronger than August, but nonetheless, the boy had managed to open up the gap, even if it was rusty to start with. Not encouraging. Winter thought of Elsa. Had she ever been to this hole in the fence with August before? Never go with strange men.

The whole group was playing some kind of hide-and-seek, the children were laughing and looked delightful. He’d have loved to run forward and stand against the wall and count to a hundred, then shout “Ready or not, here I come!” and then start looking and see somebody emerge from their hiding place and make a dash for it, but he would be faster and touch base first, and then they’d do it all over again with the same result, and everybody would say that he was the fastest and the best and then, when it was his turn to hide, nobody would find him, and he would dash out and touch base and win again. He would win every time.

He was crying now.

It was raining; he could see drops on the windshield.

The same voice on the radio again, always the same voice when he was out driving, when he felt as he felt now. When he wanted to be where the children were. Talk to the children, that’s what he wanted to do. That was all.

The same voice, the same time, the same program, the same light in the sky. The same feeling. Would any of the children want to go with him, a bit farther? Go home with him? How would he be able to turn them down? Even if he wanted to?

The voices out there sounded like a swishing noise, just like the rain. He liked both sounds, the way in which they blended so softly and gently that made him want to sit there forever and ever and listen to them.

Then came that feeling that was a new feeling, and he knew that it made him feel frightened, and he tried to shake his head so that it would sink back down inside him like it had done before, but it didn’t. It made him stretch and open the car door and step out onto the ground that was covered in rotting leaves that smelled more strongly than they had the previous time, and now he was standing at the side of the car and the feeling was getting even stronger, and it was like a band of steel across his chest. He could hear his own breathing, and it was so loud that he thought everybody else must be able to hear it as well. But nobody heard. Everybody ran. Everybody laughed. Everybody was happy and he didn’t want to think about when he was that little and maybe had run and laughed just like they were doing. With Mom. Mom had always held his hand and the ground had been covered in leaves of many colors.

There was a little girl, running.

A good hiding place.

He followed her.

Here’s a better one.

Yes. I’m playing with them as well. Now they’re looking this way! What if they see you!

Here, here.

This is a better hiding place.

In here.

He’d seen this path before, a sort of corridor between the boulders and the trees where he’d left the car. Behind the hill. He was almost surprised by how easy it was to drive there from the parking lot.

This is the best place, over here. Nobody will find you here.

He felt the rain on his tongue when he realized it had been sticking out.

He’d thought the police would want to talk to him again, but why should they? He hadn’t done anything. It was the other one. Everybody had understood that. They’d understood that at work. Have a rest for a few weeks, and we’ll take a good look into what happened.

I don’t need a few weeks. I need my work. That’s what he’d told them. He’d answered their questions about what had happened, he’d told them everything.

Have you never had anybody like that in your streetcar? Somebody like that! Gothenburg is full of them, in the streetcars, in the buses. It was dangerous for the public, and dangerous for the drivers. Just look at this mess! Isn’t this proof of what can happen? What caused the accident?

Yes, this is my car. Who’ll be able to find you in here? This is the best place.

JANNE ALINDER STRETCHED OUT HIS ARM IN AN ATTEMPT TO EASE the pain in his elbow. He raised it to an angle of about forty-five degrees, palm down, and it occurred to him that if anybody were to come into his office now it might look a little odd.

Johan Minnonen came in and stood behind him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody,” said Minnonen.

“Tennis elbow,” said Alinder.

“Unusually straight for that.”

“You can believe whatever you like.”

“My dad fought on their side.”

“Whose side?”

“The Germans, of course. Against the Russians.”

“Not all Germans were Nazis,” said Alinder.

“Don’t ask me.” Minnonen’s expression became more somber. “I was too little. And Dad never came back home.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Alinder.

“Neither did I, actually. Come home again, that is. I was sent to Sweden, and I stayed here.” Minnonen hadn’t sat down. “A war child, as they called us. My real name was Juha, Johan in Swedish.”

“What about your mother?”

“Oh yes, we met again after the war; but there were a lot of us brothers and sisters. Ah well…”

Alinder knew that was as much as Minnonen was going to let on. He had never been as forthcoming as this before.

Oh my God; he realized that he still had his arm raised.

The telephone rang. He lowered his right arm and picked up the receiver. Minnonen clicked his heels and saluted, then left and made his way toward the police cars.

“Police, Majorna-Linnéstaden, Alinder.”

“Er, yes, hello. My name is Lena Sköld. I called a few days ago about my daughter, Ellen.”

Sköld, Sköld, Alinder thought. Daughter. He had some vague recollection.

“It was about Ellen. She said she’d been with, er, with some stranger or other.”

“I remember now. How is she?”

“She’s fine. Everything’s normal.”

“Hmm.”

“Anyway, you said I should get in touch again if I thought that… that something was missing. I think that’s what you said?”

If you say so, Alinder thought. Hang on a minute, yes, I remember now.

“Yes, I remember saying that.”

“Well, she always has a good-luck charm in a pocket in her overalls, but it’s missing,” said Lena Sköld.

“A good-luck charm?”

“Yes, you know, one of those-”

“Yes, I know what it is. I mean…” Hmm, well, what the hell do I mean? “A charm, you say?”

“An old good-luck charm, one that I used to have myself when I was a kid. It’s a sort of superstition thing, from me. It’s supposed to bring you good luck.”

Silence.

“Yes?”

“She always has it in the left-hand chest pocket of her overalls. A special extra pocket. I can’t understand how…”

Silence again.

“Yes?”

He waited for whatever she was going to say next.

“I can’t understand how it could have fallen out,” said Lena Sköld.

“Could Ellen have taken it out herself?”