Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 21 - Devil´s Ravine

Her sharp tone made him lose courage. His hands, which moved about like moths close to her, fell loosely to his sides once more.

“Nothing.”

“Speak up! What was it you wanted to say?”

“Please sit down for a little while.”

“I haven’t got time,” said Gunilla, but she sat down nevertheless, carefully avoiding the violet. Erland lay down close to her, resting on his elbow. He looked at her without saying a word.

She was beginning to be irritated. “What is it you want to say?”

“I’ve got hair on my chest.”

“That’s a lie,” she exclaimed, childishly curious.

“No, it’s true. See for yourself!”

Before Gunilla could prevent it, he had unbuttoned his shirt and showed his slim, pale chest.

“Well, where are they then?” she asked mercilessly.

“Can’t you see them? Here ... no, where are they? Yes, here they are, see.”

“I’m impressed,” she said wryly at the sight of two almost invisible wisps of hair in the middle of his chest. “How yucky!”

Erland buttoned up his shirt. He was hurt. “Have you also ...?”

“Of course I have!”

“I didn’t mean that!”

Gunilla stared at him. Then she flew up, filled with disgust. “Oh yuck, hell, you’re horrible! Just go away and become a soldier and never come back!”

Erland jumped up almost as quickly. “No, Gunilla. Please. I promise not to talk like that any more. I promise!”

“Let me go!” Gunilla snarled, trying to break loose from Erland’s grip on her arm. “I’m going over to the estate manager on an errand for my father. The manager is much nicer than you. You’re so stupid, so stupid, so stupid ...”

“That old man?” Erland exclaimed incredulously. “Surely you can’t compare him with me!”

Gunilla said: “He’s not an old man!”

Erland replied: “Yes, he is!”

Realizing that the conversation had gone astray and that he was losing her interest, he quickly changed the topic. “Gunilla, is it true that your father has heard strange sounds coming from the moor?”

She still kept him at arm’s length and answered aggressively: “Oh, that! That was last winter! Or spring!”

“Yes, but hasn’t he heard them since?”

Gunilla thought for a moment. “Perhaps. He whispered something to Mother. I don’t know what it was about but I think it may have been that.”

“Does he know what it is?”

“No, do you?”

“Nobody else has heard the sounds. But I intend to look into it.”

“Really?” Her voice breathed contempt.

“When I’m back,” he said hurriedly. “Right now, I don’t have the time.”

Gunilla looked serious. She didn’t like the idea that her only playmate was leaving, even if he was a bit of a handful.

“Then you had better hurry up if you don’t want others to beat you to it,” she said as she ran away from him.

This was an ambiguous answer, which he couldn’t interpret. “Gunilla,” he shouted, but his shouts fell on deaf ears. She was already far away.

“Damn,” said Erland, because this was a word he would have to use when he was a soldier. He added remorsefully: “Forgive me, God. I didn’t mean it!”

Gunilla was late so she hurried through Bergunda towards Bergqvara Farm in the late spring dusk. She had heard that Mr Posse, who was a member of parliament, planned to rebuild the old farmhouse. The drawings were already done and the timber was drying out in piles in the yard. It occupied quite a lot of space. When she saw all that new timber, which smelled so nice, she thought that the house would look impressive once it was finished.

She went over to the estate office. Nobody could drop by just like that without an appointment. Councillor Arvid E. Posse was much too important a man for that. But the manager, or inspector, which was another of his titles, was easygoing: he always had a kind word for everybody who visited him.

He wasn’t there, and Gunilla didn’t like to be fobbed off by having to tell her errand to his assistant. She wanted to see him in person, because there was nobody in the whole world she liked more than him. So she went over to the stables, where he was discussing the production of milk with the farm manager. The good, warm sounds of calm cows and milk splashing into buckets made her feel relaxed and happy. She saw the manager talking to two other men. None of them noticed the young girl walking quietly down the middle aisle between the lowing cows. Gunilla was always delighted to visit the farm at Bergqvara and she admired the way it was run. Imagine that something so big could be so light, clean and well kept. She was embarrassed when she thought of their own two cows, standing in a shed so tiny and dark that their horns nearly hit the roof.

She stood there for a while, gazing at the men who were deep in conversation. The manager was a handsome man, youthful to look at but with experience etched in his tanned face. The other two were more robust, glum, sullen and unimaginative.

At last, the manager caught sight of her. His face brightened. “Well, here is Gunilla from Knapahult! What can I do for you?”

Oh, she really did like this man a lot! He even recognized her! She dropped a deep curtsey. “I’ve a message for you from my father, Inspector Grip!”

Arv Grip of the Ice People, Örjan’s son and Vendel Grip’s grandson, smiled at her. “Well, then let me hear it, Gunilla!”

Chapter 2

Three years passed.

For the parishioners of Bergunda the Devil’s Ravine became a terrifying reality. They didn’t understand what was hiding there. They were convinced that it was demons that were killing their sheep and other livestock, because they never found any trace of the animals that went missing.

A smallholder who walked into the forest one winter’s day to gather firewood was found with his head smashed in. Another had been chased through the trees by frightful creatures and had barely saved himself. A young woman had disappeared completely. Ebba claimed that she could hear heartrending screams in the quiet nights.

If the smallholders of Bergunda Parish had been more in touch with the outside world, the mystery might have been solved, but people didn’t talk openly about such things. Not even with the estate owner at Bergqvara or his deputy. They were simply too frightened to discuss the demons out on the moor with Arv Grip of the Ice People.

If only they had done so! The explanation was self-evident.

Gunilla was kept at home. They kept a stricter eye on her than ever before. Knapahult was the smallholding that was closest to the Devil’s Ravine, and she wasn’t even allowed to go outside the farm in that direction.

They had been three difficult years for Gunilla. She was an unusual girl in many ways, and she was going through the difficult process of growing up. She could have done with some help and understanding, but her parents, Ebba and Karl, both treated her in quite the wrong way. Karl thundered about sin and depravity, punishing her constantly, although she was now allowed to keep her clothes on when she was beaten. He read aloud from the Bible, above all the twenty-third chapter of the Book of Ezekiel, which he loved. The reading was meant to serve as a warning to Gunilla about what happened to raunchy women who desired pagan men with horse’s penises or whatever it said in the book. She hated to hear about them, especially from her father, and got an ever more distorted view of everything that had to do with eroticism.

The more exuberant Ebba didn’t make matters any easier by implying with giggles and murmurs what Gunilla’s life as a grown-up would involve. “You must let your future husband have his way. However, you must never allow him to have your soul because it belongs to you only.”