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

At half-past eleven, a journalist and a photographer from Norrtelje Tidning arrived. By that time a couple of hundred people were crammed together on the steamboat jetty. The journalist explained to those who were interested that of course it was forbidden to advertise such risky enterprises in the newspaper, but writing about them was absolutely fine.

While they waited for the main attraction, it was a Stockholmerwho rented a property on another island who drew the largest crowd of listeners. Many had heard of the famous Danish escapologist Bernardi, but the Stockholmer was the only one who had actually seen him appear, at the Brazil Jack Circus. The tense atmosphere was heightened as the Stockholmer told the story of how Bernardi had died on Bornholm during an escape attempt just like this one.

The crowd around the Stockholmer dispersed only when a police officer arrived. Although to be honest it wasn’t a real policeman. It was Göran Holmberg. He had gone to the police training academy and worked in the field for a couple of years, that was true, but he was from the island after all. When he appeared dressed for the occasion in full uniform, complete with cap, he attracted teasing rather than genuine respect.

‘Make way for the forces of the law’, ‘Arrest Karlsson, he’s drunk and it’s still only morning!’ and similar comments were directed at Göran, who explained that it was Simon who had asked him to come along. For the effect, so to speak. He had also been asked to bring a pair of handcuffs with him, and these were passed around among all those who wanted to examine them. They were pulled and prodded, and it was established that, yes indeed, they were the genuine article.

A small number of people had seen Simon performing with his assistant in a show in the open-air venue Gröna Lund, but he hadn’t performed an escapology number on that occasion. In any case, this whole event was a publicity stunt for the series of performances Simon was due to give at the local community theatre in Nåten during the summer. By twelve o’clock it looked as if he had undeniably succeeded. There were at least five hundred people gathered on and around the jetty as Simon came walking down from his cottage.

Which was a bit odd. A magician should make an entrance, after all, perhaps appear in a puff of smoke. But this was just that bloke who rented from Anna-Greta, strolling down from his cottage on the other side of the inlet. This diminished the mystique, but increased the level of anxiety. Would he be able to do it, this… summer visitor?

Room had been made for Johan and Anna-Greta right at the front when they came down to the jetty. After all, they were involved, in a sense. Someone nudged Anna-Greta.

‘You might need to look for another tenant after this!’

Anna-Greta smiled. ‘Well, we’ll see.’

She wasn’t in the habit of exposing her feelings for general consumption, and as she stood there on the edge of the jetty with her hands pushed deep into the pockets of her cardigan, her face gave away no hint of emotional turmoil.

But to tell the truth, even she was a little anxious. She knew that Marita had disappeared almost a week ago, and that Simon wasn’t feeling well. And the water was cold. Nine degrees. She had checked it herself that morning.

It’ll be fine, she told herself, gazing down into the dark water. I’m sure he knows what he’s doing…let’s hope so, anyway.

It wasn’t easy to impress Anna-Greta. The number of people who had turned up didn’t surprise her, people would gather for anything, as long as it was a novelty. When someone asked her how she thought Simon did it, she replied, ‘I expect it’s something to do with his joints.’

The person who had asked smiled indulgently: obviously Anna-Greta hadn’t learned anything from Simon. But she had, in a roundabout way. When he walked around his garden without his shirt on, she had noticed that there was something strange about his frame: the bones stuck out at odd angles, as if the joints weren’t quite in place.

She had come to the conclusion that his escapology had created that body, or that he had got into escapology because he was made that way. When she was young she had seen a contortionist at the circus, and he had looked very similar. Whatever it was that held the bones together was more flexible than in normal people.

From this she had concluded that some kind of manoeuvring lay behind the ability to free himself from chains and ropes. She didn’t want to say any more: Simon’s secrets were his own affair. Besides which, she didn’t see how you could manoeuvre your way out ofhandcuffs. But there must be ways of doing that as well—at least, she hoped so.

As Simon approached the jetty dressed in his bathrobe, the crowd began to applaud. Anna-Greta joined in, glancing at Johan. He was clapping too, but his face was tense and his eyes were fixed on Simon, who was strolling along as if he were just on his way down to take a dip.

Anna-Greta knew that Johan was fond of Simon. Even the previous summer he would disappear for a couple of hours, then come home and show off some trick Simon had taught him. Simple things, according to Simon, but Anna-Greta certainly couldn’t see how Johan did it when he smacked a salt-cellar straight through the table.

Anna-Greta stroked Johan’s back and he nodded, without taking his eyes off Simon. It wasn’t surprising that he was tense; Anna-Greta had read what it said on the poster:

CAN ANYONE ENDURE THIS???

To be fettered hand and foot

with chains and handcuffs?

To be sealed in a sack and

cast into the sea?

To cheat death as the sack

sinks to the bottom?

On Saturday July 15th El Simon will

attempt all this at the Domarö jetty.

WILL HE SURVIVE???