Rites of Spring by Anders Motte (life books to read .txt) 📗

how wide the canal is. The banks are steep and the dip itself is full of undergrowth, reeds and fallen trees; it’s difficult to see the surface of the water, let alone the far side by the forest. Thea doesn’t believe that David’s proposed floating restaurant would be able to get through.

Almost without warning the forest opens up in front of an attractive Skåne longhouse, with a thatched roof, leaded windows and red-painted shutters. A short jetty extends into the green pool that forms the end of the canal, and behind the house, among the trees, Thea can see a stable and a barn.

A small van is parked in front of the house, and a stocky man in overalls and a cap is up a ladder painting the gable end of the stable. Just above him there is an enormous set of antlers. The sun breaks through the thin leaf canopy, the shadows play across the façade and for a brief moment Thea imagines she sees a huge, terrifying creature with long legs and horns. The vision is so real that her heart skips a beat, but then the man turns around and the spell is broken.

‘Hi Jan-Olof!’ Dr Andersson calls as she gets out of the car.

The man on the ladder merely raises his brush in greeting; Thea catches a glimpse of an unshaven, fleshy face.

‘Jan-Olof Leander,’ the doctor whispers. ‘Something of a handyman around here. His mother is one of our regular patients. She’s a little . . .’

Before she can finish the sentence, the door of the house opens and Kerstin Miller emerges. She’s the same height as Thea, and her grey hair is cut in a neat bob. Her nose is red, she is wearing a bobbly old cardigan and a scarf carelessly knotted around her neck, but somehow she manages to look elegant.

‘Thea! Welcome – lovely to meet you at last,’ she says. ‘Come on in, I’ve made the tea.’

‘Thank you.’

Thea steps forward and sees that there is something hanging on the wall to the right of the door: a figure about half a metre long, made of interwoven twigs. It looks familiar.

‘Is that a Green Man?’

The question is directed at the doctor, but it is Kerstin who answers.

‘Yes – you know the legend, then. Exciting, isn’t it? I live all by myself out here in the forest, so of course I have to keep in with the Green Man. You can never be too careful,’ she says with a laugh.

Kerstin and the doctor go inside, but Thea remains on the top step. She reaches out and touches the Green Man. It’s bigger and the twigs are still green, but there is no doubt that it’s made in exactly the same way as the figure she found in the tin.

Come to the stone circle at midnight. The spring sacrifice.

She gives a start. A thorn that was hidden under the leaves has pierced her index finger so deeply that she is bleeding. She licks the little wound, then follows Kerstin and the doctor indoors.

11

Walpurgis Night 1986

Father is lethal, everyone knows that. Especially when he’s been drinking. I’ve seen him hit both Eva-Britt and Lola. Leo too. Poor Leo . . .

Once Father knocked down a horse dealer who was trying to cheat him. He kicked him until he was barely moving. Eva-Britt managed to distract Father so that Leo and I could get the poor man into his car. Father chased after him and threw a rock straight through the rear windscreen.

One day Lasse is going to kill someone, Eva-Britt whispered to me. Maybe she’s right.

Arne followed the muddy little track from the house down to the paddock and parked the police car as close to the fence as possible.

Lasse was standing in the middle of the paddock with a long whip in one hand, while Elita was riding bareback. The horse was called Bill, a muscular stallion that belonged to some rich guy in Kristianstad. He was as black as coal, apart from a white sock on one hind leg, and he was almost broken in.

Arne placed his foot on the lowest bar and leaned nonchalantly on the fence. Elita had inherited her mother’s eyes, but instead of Lola’s fragility there was a feistiness about her. There wasn’t a man around who didn’t know who Elita Svart was, who didn’t drool over her. Anyone who thought differently had to be gay, a eunuch, or a fucking liar.

Lasse cracked the whip and Elita urged the horse on, digging the heels of her boots into his sides. Her long dark hair streamed out behind her, and her breasts bounced gently beneath the tight sweater.

‘Well done, Elita! Now gallop!’

Elita continued to drive the stallion. His hooves thundered on the ground, echoing Arne’s heartbeat. Bill snorted, foaming at the mouth.

Just as horse and rider passed by, Elita turned her head and winked at Arne, who almost forgot to breathe.

*

When they’d finished, Lasse sent Elita back to the stable with Bill, then came over to the car.

‘Well, if it isn’t Constable Arne Backe. Nice car – is it yours?’

‘Yes!’ Arne didn’t know why he’d lied. His self-confidence suddenly dissipated.

He always used to admire Lasse Svart. Lasse did exactly what he wanted; he never let anyone mess him around. Plus he had the kind of good looks that women like – dark hair, brown eyes, and a white scar running down his cheek.

‘You’ve managed to grow a moustache as well,’ Lasse went on. ‘And you’ve got yourself a gun. Just like Magnum PI. Things seem to be going well for my old sidekick.’

Arne nodded in a way that he hoped was cool. Lasse took out a tin of tobacco, tucked a substantial plug beneath his top lip, then wiped his hand on his trousers.

‘You’ve come at a really good time,’ he went on. ‘My usual driver was arrested for drink driving last week. I’ve got a new moonshine distiller and thirsty customers all the way up to Nedanås. No one will suspect