The Lost Village by Sten, Camilla (best pdf reader for ebooks .TXT) 📗

odd. So many people have gone. The Janssons on the corner left last week, and just yesterday your old classmate Vera told Mother that she and her family are also going to try their luck elsewhere.

Father’s so quiet nowadays. And Mother’s so busy she hardly seems to have time for us. She asks me to do everything instead. It’s driving me mad! As though nothing I might have to do could possibly be important. And if I tell her I’m busy, she just gives me that stare—you know the one I mean—and tells me that nothing is more important than helping our neighbors and fellow citizens. I hate it when she says that!

Today she asked me to take food over to Gitta. When I asked why she couldn’t do it herself, she said that she and the school nurse were going to pay a visit to some sick old lady to hold her hand. I told her that the nurse was probably capable of doing that by herself, and that I actually had my own things to do. She asked what they were, and when I said that Lena and I had made plans to go to the river, she said that both Lena and the river would still be there after I’d been to Gitta’s. I didn’t know how to explain to her that Lena might not wait for me if I wasn’t there when I said I would be. Obviously we weren’t only going down to look at the water; it’s where Vera’s brother Emil and his friends go to smoke, and Lena’s taken a bit of a fancy to him. But I could never say that to Mother! So instead I said that I had promised Lena, and Mother’s always telling us how important it is to keep our promises, but clearly that wasn’t the right thing to say, either, because then Mother puffed herself up and asked if I thought my promise to Lena trumped the promise she had made to Birgitta’s dying mother to always look after her daughter, and then I felt so rotten and small that I didn’t dare say anything. But I was seething all the way out to Birgitta’s hut, thinking of all of the things I should have said.

It would be better if you were here, Margareta. I even used to enjoy going out to Birgitta’s when we did it together. I think she liked you more than she likes me. Remember that humming noise she’d make whenever she opened the door to find you there on the doorstep? She never does that with me.

I know you and Mother have said she won’t get angry as long as I follow her rules, but I have to say, I don’t like being there alone. As soon as I see her hut, my heart starts to patter like a bird’s, and my mouth goes dry. Mother says the only reason Birgitta got so angry at me that time is because I opened the door and stepped in without knocking—Birgitta’s more afraid of me than I am of her, she says. But Birgitta’s tall as a man and built like a bear! It took weeks for my scratch marks to heal that time. Part of me thought I’d be stuck with them forever.

Oh, now I’m sounding like I don’t feel sorry for Birgitta, and you know that I do! I’m happy to report that she was looking well today. She had trailed some mud inside from her walk in the forest, and I wondered if I should clean it up, but I was afraid of getting her back up. Besides, Mother hadn’t told me to clean—she probably thinks I’m too careless and would rather do it herself. Anyway, that’s besides the point: Birgitta had some color in her cheeks, and she really devoured her chicken and gingerbread. She even did those funny hand movements that you say mean she’s happy.

It’s just … oh, Margareta, it’s not just the scratch marks. I was afraid of Gitta even before then. She’s just so big, and she moves so strangely, and the way her hair dangles down over her face makes her look like a forest troll from those fairy tales Grandmother used to tell us. Perhaps that’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s the truth. She even smells of the forest. I’ve told Mother we should cut her hair and get her some new clothes—anything but those threadbare rags she goes around in every day. Perhaps then the other villagers wouldn’t find her so strange. And then she could live in a real house, and we wouldn’t have to look after her all the time.

But Mother says it’s not as simple as that. Sometimes I think she likes having Birgitta to take care of. It’s not like Birgitta can ever answer back or get on Mother’s nerves like I do, seeing as she can’t talk.

Oh well. It did go okay today, and Lena wasn’t too angry with me when I eventually got home. She even let me borrow some lipstick before we went to the river. I felt very stylish. Perhaps I can buy one just like it when I come down to visit you and Nils? What do you think?

Write soon!

Your sister, Aina

 NOW

My sleeping bag rustles as I twist and roll over onto my other side. The tent is big and fairly spacious, but it’s hardly a hotel room: it’s cold and basic, and smells of a mix of plastic and something slightly nauseating that I can’t put my finger on.

Still, it’s better than sleeping on the back seat of a Volvo, like Max. It was his choice, but I’m sure he’s going to spend our entire trip with a stiff neck and the makings of a bad back. Emmy and Robert didn’t bring a tent, either, but Emmy said they’re used to sleeping in vans. Maybe it is the done thing, but I’m glad I get to pass. Something about cargo compartments makes