Johan Theorin - The Quarry

‘Was there anyone in the house?’ said Nilla.

‘There was nobody living there,’ said Per, and quickly went on, ‘So how are you two, anyway?’

‘We’re waiting for the evening rounds,’ said Nilla. ‘And we’re watching TV.’

‘Good.’

Marika got up. ‘I’ll go out, then you two can have a chat.’

‘There’s no need,’ said Per, ‘I was just going to...’

‘It’s OK, I’ll go.’

She walked past him with her eyes lowered and disappeared into the corridor.

Father and daughter looked at one another, and Per realized he should have turned up with something other than smoke-damaged clothes. Chocolate maybe, or a CD.

‘Has Mum been here all the time?’

‘She’s here during the day, but not when she’s sleeping.’ She looked at him. ‘I’ll be going home soon. Won’t I?’

Per nodded. ‘I’ll come and pick you up on Wednesday,’ he said. ‘Then we can celebrate Easter on Öland with loads of eggs. Boiled eggs and chocolate eggs.’

Nilla looked pleased. ‘Chocolate eggs would be good.’

Per went over and gave her a hug, rubbing his cheek on her forehead. It was cool. ‘See you soon.’

As he left the room he realized how stiff his smile had been.

Marika was standing down the corridor a little way off as he gently closed the door. She crossed her arms as he walked towards her, and he stopped three steps away.

‘She seems to be feeling pretty good,’ he said.

Marika nodded. ‘Is Jesper still on Öland?’

‘Yes.’

Per had no intention of going into what had happened during the day, or of mentioning that he had gone to help his father and had brought him back with him. Particularly the latter; Marika wasn’t fond of her ex-father-in-law.

‘I’ll be back on Wednesday,’ was all he said. ‘When’s the doctor due?’

‘I don’t know... Before lunch, I think.’

‘I’ll be here then.’

‘Georg is coming too,’ said Marika quietly. ‘Is that OK?’

‘Of course,’ said Per, adding a lie: ‘That’ll be nice, I like Georg.’

Jerry had got out of the car when Per reached the car park. He was standing with his briefcase under his arm and a cigarette in his right hand. How could he smoke tonight?

‘Don’t light that,’ said Per, ‘we’re going now.’

He opened the car door and got in. All Jerry could do was put the cigarette away and get in beside him. He was coughing.

Jerry didn’t breathe, he wheezed. Since the fire it was worse than ever, but he had always coughed and wheezed. Wrecked lungs and too many cigarettes made him sound more and more like a leaking balloon.

His father had abused his body all his life, thought Per as he drove away from the hospital. But it was Nilla who got sick.

Per pulled up in front of the cottage at half past eleven on Monday night. Casa Mörner was in almost complete darkness; Jesper had switched on only a couple of lights in the hallway and the kitchen.

‘Home?’ said Jerry, looking around.

‘Yes, this is home now,’ said Per, looking over at the cottage. ‘This is where Anita and I used to come in the summer, Jerry, after you left her. Mum couldn’t afford to take us on a proper holiday for a good few years after that. You must know that, surely?’

Jerry shook his head, but his eyes had narrowed. Per knew he had recognized his ex-wife’s name, at least.

He turned off the engine and sighed to himself in the silence. He was very tired, but there was one last meeting to get through this evening. He carried Jerry’s old briefcase into the cottage, and his father followed slowly behind.

‘Hello?’ Per shouted as he walked into the hallway. ‘Jesper?’

The door to his son’s room was open; Jesper was sitting up in bed, absorbed in his Gameboy.

‘What?’

‘Turn that off now. Come and say hello to your grandfather.’

Per sniffed the air. Did his clothes still smell of smoke?

Jesper showed no sign of noticing. He simply got out of bed and walked slowly into the hallway. Per could understand his hesitation; Jerry hadn’t seen his grandchildren for almost ten years. He had never shown any interest in meeting them, and Per hadn’t gone out of his way to arrange it.

‘Hi, Granddad,’ said Jesper, holding out his hand.

Jerry seemed slightly hesitant, then he shook the boy’s hand. ‘Jesper,’ he said quietly. He let go of his grandson’s hand and looked around.

‘Would you like a drink?’ said Per.

Jerry nodded quickly, so Per went into the kitchen and poured him a glass of milk.

When he had settled Jerry in an armchair in front of the television, he went outside to get a last dose of clean air into his lungs. He went over to the edge of the quarry — and stopped dead.

A half-moon was shining over the sound and the quarry was full of shadows, but Per could still see that the flight of steps he and Jesper had built didn’t look right. The blocks of stone near the top had gone.

He fetched a torch and shone it down over the steps.

He was right — the wide blocks had collapsed. A couple had crashed into one another in the fall, and were smashed to pieces.

But the steps had felt perfectly stable yesterday. Who had destroyed them?

On the Tuesday of Easter week Gerlof had two new visitors — a father and son who didn’t appear to like each other.

After warming up his lunch and eating it, he settled down in his chair out in the garden to read the newspaper and listen to the birds, waiting peacefully for the evening.

Then he caught sight of a grey-haired man in a crumpled coat, walking along the road with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. A young man, at least compared with Gerlof, though he might have been in his seventies; he didn’t look all that well.

The man appeared to be lost. First of all he stood by the gate for a little while, smoking his cigarette and looking around, then he opened it and walked in. He stood on the lawn looking around, as if he couldn’t remember where he was or how he had got there. His left arm was dangling straight down from the shoulder; it looked paralysed.

Gerlof stayed where he was, without saying anything. He wasn’t particularly keen on having any visitors apart from the home-care service today.

However, the man eventually walked up to the lawn in front of the house. He carried on staring around him in a slightly odd way, before suffering a violent coughing fit and stubbing the cigarette out on the grass. Then he stared straight at Gerlof and said, ‘Jerry Morner.’

His voice was hoarse and rough, and he had a Skåne accent. It sounded hardened and experienced.

‘I see,’ said Gerlof.

The man took two steps closer and sat down heavily on the other chair.

‘Jerry,’ he repeated.

‘In that case, we have similar names. I’m Gerlof.’

Jerry took out a fresh cigarette, but merely held it in his hand, staring at it. Gerlof noticed that oddly enough the man had two watches on his left wrist, one gold and one stainless steel. Only one of them was showing Swedish time.

‘Is everything all right?’ asked Gerlof.

The man looked at him open-mouthed, as if the question was too complicated.

‘Jerry,’ he said eventually.

‘I understand.’

Gerlof realized that the man in front of him was lost in more ways than one, and asked no more questions. Silence fell in the garden, but Jerry seemed happy in his chair.

‘Do you have a job?’ asked Gerlof.

There was no reply, so he went on: ‘I’m a pensioner myself. I’ve done my bit.’

‘Jerry and Bremer,’ said Jerry.

Gerlof had no idea what he was talking about, but Jerry smiled contentedly and lit his cigarette with a lighter adorned with the American flag.