Harbor by John Lindqvist (no david read aloud TXT) 📗

Anders nodded. Anna-Greta had never actually nagged him about smoking, but the barbs were many and varied.

‘I was thinking about something,’ said Anders. ‘About Holger. The fact that he thought it was me.’

Anna-Greta pursed her lips. ‘If you ask Holger, he’ll tell you it’s the Stockholmers’ fault that there’s no more cod.’

‘Yes. But it wasn’t that. It was more this business with…this business with Maja.’

Simon and Anna-Greta looked at him without moving a muscle. The atmosphere dropped like a stone, but Anders went on, ‘It seems strange that…when I think about it now…that nobody suspected me. Or Cecilia. I mean, that’s the obvious thing, isn’t it? Two parents, one child. The child disappears without a trace. It’s obvious the parents are guilty.’

Simon and Anna-Greta exchanged glances. Anna-Greta reached across the table and rubbed Anders’ knuckles. ‘You mustn’t think like that.’

‘That’s not what I mean. I know, you know that’s what happened. She disappeared. I still don’t understand how that was possible. But why…’

Anders held up his hands as if he were trying to grab hold of a ball that wasn’t there, something he just couldn’t grasp. He saw it all again. The faces, the tone of voice, the questions and the condolences. And nowhere…nowhere…

‘Why didn’t, why doesn’t one single person suspect me? Why does everybody seem to regard it as…something natural?’

Simon rested his head on one hand and frowned. He too seemed to have realised this was strange. Anna-Greta looked at Anders with an expression that was impossible to interpret. She said, ‘I imagine they have some respect for other people’s grief.’

‘But what about Holger?’ said Anders. ‘His wife drowns and Simon told me that lots of people suspected him straight away. Despite the fact that it’s sort of…natural, somehow. Drowning. It happens. But Maja…I mean, the police asked questions, of course. But nobody here. Nobody.’

Simon finished his coffee and put his cup down very gently, as ifhe didn’t want to break the silence. A gust of wind sent a flurry of aspen leaves whirling past the window.

‘It is rather strange,’ said Simon. ‘When you put it like that.’

Anna-Greta passed the coffee pot to Anders, pressing him to have another cup. ‘I expect it depends on who’s involved,’ she said. ‘Everybody here has known you since you were little. And everybody knows you wouldn’t do such a thing. Unlike Holger.’

Anders poured himself half a cup. He wasn’t convinced, he still thought it was hard to understand. But he said, ‘Yes. Perhaps.’

They talked about other things. About possible repairs at the Shack, what they would do if Anders’ outboard motor proved unwilling to start, about village gossip. Anders had no desire to get up and go home. There was nothing waiting for him but a cold house.

When there was a lull in the conversation he leaned back in his chair, folded his hands over his stomach and looked at Simon and Anna-Greta.

‘How did you two actually get together? How did you meet?’

The question provoked a simultaneous grin from Simon and Anna-Greta. They looked at each other, and Simon shook his head. ‘It’s a long story.’

‘Is there anything that needs doing?’ asked Anders. Neither Simon nor Anna-Greta could come up with anything urgent. ‘So won’t you tell me the story then?’

Anna-Greta looked out of the window. The wind was getting up. The sky was overcast and breakers had appeared on the grey water. A couple of raindrops hit the glass. She rubbed a hand over her forehead and asked, ‘How much do you know about your grandfather?’

Love in the archipelago

The story of the story

On the island of Domarö there are two very special bottles of schnapps. One is down in Nathan Lindgren’s old boathouse, and will no doubt remain there until his relatives finally get around to sorting through his belongings. The other is in the possession of Evert Karlsson.

Evert is almost ninety, and has kept that bottle for nearly sixty years now. No one knows what the cheap schnapps inside might taste like, and no one is going to find out either, not as long as Evert is alive. He has no intention of removing the cork. The bottle and its contents are much too good a story for that.

That’s why Evert has kept it: just so that when some stranger comes along who hasn’t heard the story before, he can take the bottle out of the cupboard and say, ‘Have you heard about the time when Anna-Greta smuggled schnapps in on the customs boat? You haven’t? Well, it was like this…’

And he tells the story as he strokes the bottle with his fingertips. It’s the best story he knows and, even better, it’s absolutely true. When he has finished he passes the bottle around, with strict instructions to hold it carefully and not to drop it.

People look at the clear liquid behind the glass, and nothing aboutit indicates that it came ashore under such remarkable circumstances. But this very liquid was part of the story that made Anna-Greta notorious throughout the entire archipelago. It is, as Evert says, the original schnapps.

Then he puts the bottle back in the cupboard, and there it stays, waiting for the next occasion when it will be brought out and the story will be told once more.

The smuggler king’s daughter

Things didn’t turn out the way Anna-Greta had expected at all. Erik seemed to have exhausted himself finishing the house and getting married. Once that was done he had no strength left over to set any new goals.

The summer went reasonably well, while the original flame of passion was still burning, but towards autumn Anna-Greta began to ask herself if Erik really had been in love with her. Perhaps it was just a project, like the house. Build house, install wife. Job done.

Hitler had invaded Poland in August, and there was feverish activity in the archipelago. The coastline was to be fortified, and the navy’s destroyers and transport ships were shuttling between Nåten and the islands around Stora