The True Deceiver

  No, not yet – they hadn’t become important yet… only later, when Sylvia first saw them. Or when the first book came out, she couldn’t remember… In any case, the first time they talked about Anna’s work, really talked about it seriously, and Sylvia had said… She had helped Anna, somehow really helped her move on. Here maybe: “Life is short but art is long. Struggle on, little Anna.” Or here: “Don’t take it so seriously. Inspiration will come when it comes.” Or: “I think your rabbits are really darling, so don’t you worry about them.”

  In one of the last letters: “What do you mean when you say you want to preserve the landscape without misleading anyone? Did you get my little New Year’s present..?”

  Then the letters came at longer intervals and gradually switched to Christmas cards. Anna searched back through earlier letters looking for the important passage, the decisive thing that Sylvia had said about her work, but it wasn’t there. Sylvia hadn’t understood and hadn’t cared, and Sylvia was hopelessly sentimental.

  Anna replaced the empty folder in its proper place and put the letters in a plastic bag. She went down to the cellar, put pieces of broken flowerpots into the bag, and tied it up tightly. Only the dog was at home. Anna put on warm clothes and took the path down to the shore. The ice was very slippery, and it was further than she’d realized out to the pile of furniture. It was a splendid rubbish pile, almost like a monument. She tried to distinguish and recognize items, but without success. She added her bag and turned for home. No one had seen her farewell to Sylvia. In the hall, she said to the dog, “Well, what do you say to that?” But this time without triumph. It was only an observation.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  MATS SPENT HIS DAYS IN THE BOAT SHED and every evening after dinner he went up to his room. Katri asked no questions.

  He’s probably sitting and drawing, some detail or other that he wants to work on. He doesn’t read any more, it’s only the boat. Soon I’ll need the down payment for Liljeberg, a third of the price. Next payment when it’s planked and sided, and the final when it’s finished. When I’m sure of the down payment, I can tell Mats it’s his own boat he’s building. But not yet. I don’t dare talk to Anna yet, she’s getting unpredictable. She could cheat, cancel Mats’s percentage, say it had only been a game.

  I need to wait and be very careful with her. Always wait. As far back as I can remember, I’ve done nothing but wait, wait to finally act, to wager all my insight and foresight and daring, wait for the big decisive change that sets everything right. The boat is very important, but it’s only the beginning. I could double and triple her inheritance – dead money lying fallow – invest it wisely and bring it to life and give it back to her many times over in a millions game that isn’t pretend any more, a game worthy of me. It can’t be too late. It mustn’t be too late!

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ONE DAY WHEN KATRI WAS OUT WITH THE DOG, Anna opened her work drawer, the only one of all her cabinet drawers that was always impeccably tidy. It had been closed all winter. Anna carried out a ritual that she always repeated when the first spring fog rolled in from the sea. She lifted out the teak case with its worn, carefully oiled finish and conducted a painstaking examination of her paints. No additions needed. She tested the soft tips of her brushes, marten hair, the best brushes you could buy. She contemplated all her materials carefully, and everything was in order. She put everything back in precisely the same place. She went out into the woods behind the house and dug a hole in the snow. There was moss at the bottom. She pressed her hand against the frozen earth and felt how the ice was slowly beginning to melt. But the moment was not yet, not for some time to come.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  KATRI WALKED OUT TOWARDS THE POINT. She could hear the first black grouse hooting and drumming at the edge of the woods. The ice was as grey as asphalt, and shadowy dark-blue clouds moved above it in long ribbons. The dog was uneasy and didn’t keep pace. As they neared the lighthouse, he trotted away. She ordered him back in the very low tone that the dog knew and obeyed. He swung around sideways like a wolf, but he didn’t come. Katri took out her cigarettes. Once again she ordered him back in an even lower voice, but the dog didn’t move.

  She turned away. The light was strong and transparent, the landscape seemed suffused with expectation. Along the shore, the ice had already broken up, and open water was breathing in the fissures, rising and spilling over the ice and falling back again. Katri lit a cigarette, crumpled the empty packet and threw it out on the ice. And the dog retrieved it, flung himself through the shore water, took it in his mouth and brought it back to her feet. With the hair on his back on end and his head on one side, he stared her straight in the eye, and Katri saw and understood that her dog had become an adversary. At home she went to Anna and said, “Anna, you’ve ruined my dog. You did it on the sly. I can’t depend on him any more.”

  “Depend and depend,” Anna shot back. “I don’t know what you mean… Dogs like to play, don’t they?!”

  Katri walked to the window and, with her back to Anna, she went on. “You know perfectly well what you’ve done. The dog no longer knows what’s expected of him. Is that so hard to grasp?”

  “I don’t understand!” Anna shouted. “Sometimes I’m supposed to play and sometimes not…”

  “You don’t play with a dog just for the fun of it. You know that.”

  “And what about you, Katri Kling? Your game about money isn’t even fun. And don’t go telling yourself that dog is happy. He just obeys…”

  Katri turned around. “Obey?” she said. “You don’t know the meaning of the word. It means believing in a person and following orders that are consistent, and it’s a relief, it means freedom from responsibility. It’s a simplification. You know what you have to do. It’s safe and reassuring to believe in just one thing.”

  “Just one thing!” Anna burst out. “What a lecture. And why in the world should I obey you?”

  Katri’s reply was chilly. “I thought we were talking about the dog.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ONE MORNING ANNA DECLARED that she wanted to go to the shop and pick up her own mail.

  “Do,” Katri said. “But it’s very slippery, so wear your leather boots, not the felt ones. And don’t forget your sunglasses.”

  Anna took her felt boots. The hill was at its worst, and when she’d almost reached the road, she slipped and sat down in the snow. She looked quickly over her shoulder but all the windows were empty.

  “Well, well,” said the storekeeper. “So unusual to see you in the shop for once, Miss Aemelin. We were almost a little worried. I mean, we have no way of knowing what’s going on at your place… Nowadays, I mean. What can I get for you?”

  “I wanted some sweets, but I can’t remember what they’re called… It was such a long time ago. Something with kittens on it. Rectangular box with kittens.”

  “Kitty-Kitt,” said the storekeeper caressingly. “It’s an old brand. But we’ve got a new one, too, with puppies.”

  “No, thank you. The one with kittens.”

  “Very good. It can’t be easy having such a big dog in the house. They say it’s wild.”

  “The dog is very well behaved,” said Anna guardedly. She recalled that the storekeeper had cheated her. His smile was not friendly, not even polite. Anna turned her back on him and walked over to the canned goods, but as usual it was impossible to decide what she really wanted. Fru Sundblom came in and greeted her with exaggerated amazement, bought coffee and macaroni, took a lemonade and sat down at the window table to listen.

  The storekeeper said, “And Miss Kling has become such a marvellous housekeeper. Well, I’ve always said that she knows what she’s doing. And her brother seems to be cleverer than we thought. Now they’re building a boat that he designed. Isn’t that right?”

  “What’s this?” Anna asked.

  “That’s yeast. People use it when they’re baking bread.”

  Fru Sundblom cackled and poured he
rself more lemonade.

  “Boats,” the storekeeper resumed. “Boats are really wonderful things. I’ve always liked them. The boat is your commission, isn’t it, Miss Aemelin?”

  “No,” Anna said. “I don’t know a thing about boats, unfortunately. I read about them. This will be fine – please put it on my bill.”

  Suddenly the room seemed full of malice. As Anna was leaving, Fru Sundblom called after her. “Say hello to Miss Kling. Please give my very special regards to Miss Kling!”

  Anna walked home, forgetting to take her mail. What had they said? Just ordinary shop gossip… No. Oh, no, they couldn’t fool her any more. She knew. They were venomous, inwardly they were sneering at her, Anna Aemelin, sneering at Katri and Mats… She would never go back. Never go anywhere, except into the woods. She needed to work, as quickly as possible… Right away…

  The Kitty-Kitt didn’t taste the way it had forty years ago and got stuck in her teeth in an unpleasant way. Anna walked faster, looking only down at the road. Several neighbours passed by, but she didn’t notice their greetings, just wanted to get home, home to the dreadful Katri, to her own altered world which had grown severe but where nothing was wicked and concealed. At the end of the village street, Madame Nygård came towards her, placed herself in the middle of the street, and said, “Such a hurry we’re in, Miss Aemelin! Are you out looking to see if spring is on its way? We’ll be seeing the ground now pretty soon.”

  Her calm, friendly voice stopped Anna in her tracks. She stood in the slush and looked up, the spring sun burning her eyes.

  “How’s everything up at the rabbit house?”

  “My, my,” said Anna quickly. “Is that what you call it in the village?”

  “Yes, indeed. Didn’t you know?”

  “No. No, I really didn’t.”

  Madame Nygård looked earnestly at Anna and said, “But it’s just a nickname. No one means any harm.”

  “Excuse me, I’m in something of a hurry,” Anna said. “You wouldn’t understand, but I’m very short of time just at the moment…”

  The road was even icier closer to the shore. Her stick slipped, and it didn’t help much to shuffle along with her legs wide and her toes turned out. It felt ridiculous. Anna climbed up in the snow beside the road to catch her breath, then went on. It wasn’t much further now, but she grew steadily more anxious. She needed to get onto her own land as quickly as she could, in under her own wall of spruce where the snow was clean and unmarked by other people’s tracks. At the bottom of the hill, the village children stood shouting something rhythmically, over and over the same thing, a single word that she couldn’t make out. They were staring at her house.

  “Don’t shout!,” Anna called at them. “I’m right here. What is it you want?”

  The children stopped shouting and moved away.

  “Now, don’t be frightened,” Anna said. “It was nice of you to come… But you see right at the moment I don’t have time for you, I’m in a very great hurry…” She tried to find the bag of sweets in her purse. The children had lost interest in her, had turned towards the house and taken up their shouting again. It sounded like ‘Witch, witch, witch…’ Anna passed them and walked up the hill. The bag of sweets was sticky in her hands; she ripped it open and threw the sweets in the snow. “They’re for you,” she yelled, shaking her stick at them. Then she struggled on up the slippery hill.

  A steady land breeze blew through the trees behind the house. The heavy new snow tumbled from spruce branches, first here, then there, filling the whole woods with steps and whispers. Between the tree roots on the sun side, the soil was showing dark and wet with little sprigs of lingon. Anna paused now and then as if waiting, and then walked on.

  “She’s out early this year,” Liljeberg said, looking out his window. “Maybe the old girl misread her calendar. And she’s not as steady on her legs as she used to be.”

  “No wonder, with a witch in the house,” his brother observed. “Gets to you eventually.”

  Edvard Liljeberg turned back into the room and said, “Now, you just hold your tongue. That witch you look down your nose at is ten times smarter than you are. And you’re not that much nicer, either.”

  Anna walked along the edge of the woods, from tree to tree, the same route she took every year, with the same excitement, the accumulated anticipation of an entire winter. She recognized her forest floor, but today, this premature day, the black earth held no promise. It was just patches of wet soil that gave no hint, inspired no faith in coming miracles.

  Anna went home.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ANNA ALWAYS THOUGHT OF HERSELF as a painter of the ground. She had said as much on several occasions and discovered to her surprise that her listeners took it as a sign of modesty. On the contrary, beneath this self-description was a quiet, sovereign conviction that she, Anna Aemelin, was, strictly speaking, the only person who could paint the forest floor in the one correct manner. And that this eternally living, growing forest floor could never fail her. But after her first visit to the woods, Anna was gripped by a terrible anxiety. Nothing and no one could have calmed her fears. She felt bereft and uprooted.

  The day wore on and her anxiety grew. Anna hardly knew why she took out the letters Mama and Papa had received in the course of their long lives, but it had to do with her work, her relationship to her work. Somewhere in all these crowded folders there had to be an explanation, maybe a reference to when and why the child Anna or the little girl Anna had been captivated by the ground in the woods, had consecrated herself to this one thing that had never failed her, never until today. It was important. Someone, sometime, must have talked about her. There were many letters, far too many. But the people who had written to Julius and Elise Aemelin didn’t mention their daughter. Anna went on reading, more and more rapidly, skimming, scanning. She wanted no supper, and when it got dark she lit the lamp and read on, making her way through a flood of words, messages, comments that had once had significance for these people long since dead, and with every folder she opened and then laid aside. Anna grew older, but no one mentioned her. At the most they wrote “Greetings to your daughter” or “Merry Christmas to all three of you”. She didn’t exist.

  There was Papa’s correspondence with government offices, his receipts for membership fees in clubs and societies, Mama’s household accounts, rail tickets saved from trips abroad, postcards someone had sent from one of those Mediterranean places where people suddenly remember friends they never see, and “My dear Elise, congratulations on your daughter’s graduation…” Later, condolences to Elise Aemelin, and then they stopped.

  “Of course,” Anna said. “Maybe that was when I started painting the ground.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  THE NEXT MORNING, ANNA DIDN’T WANT TO GET UP. “Go away,” she said.

  “Aren’t you feeling well?” Katri asked.

  “It’s nothing. I just don’t want to.”

  Katri put the tea tray on the bed table. “That’s the wrong book,” Anna said. “I’ve read it. Anyway, it’s so silly I didn’t even bother to find out how it ended. They’re all the same, the same things over and over again.” And she put the pillow over her head and waited to be contradicted. But Katri went away. In the back hall, she stopped Mats on his way out and said, “Couldn’t you go and talk to Anna for a while? She doesn’t want to get up, and there’s nothing wrong with her. She’s just sulking.”

  “Why?” Mats said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “But what should I say?”

  “Well, what do you talk about in the evening?”

  “Not much,” Mats said. “We talk about books.”

  “She doesn’t read any more.”

  “I know. It’s bad.”

  “And what is it that’s so bad?”

  Mats didn’t answer, he just looked at his sister. When he went in to see Anna, he talked in general about getting boats in the water, how it wouldn’t be long before the ice br
oke up.

  “Listen, Mats,” Anna said. “I realize you’re here to comfort me, and Katri sent you.”

  “It’s true.”

  “And it doesn’t matter to me one whit when the boats go in the water.”

  “You’re mistaken, Miss,” said Mats earnestly. “It matters a great deal. And I can tell you that we’re building a very beautiful boat at the moment.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “And it’s from my drawings.” Mats paused in the doorway but couldn’t come up with anything else to say. Finally, he asked if there was anything he could do.

  “Yes, there is,” Anna said. “You can take all this out on the ice. This house is getting so crowded I can hardly breathe!”

  “But that would be a shame,” Mats objected. “Those folders were expensive. Katri got white to match the furniture.”

  “Take them out,” Anna said. “Carry them out to the furniture pile on the ice. They’ll match just perfectly. And then it will all go down together. You said the ice was about to break up. I’d love to watch it all sink.”

  Anna didn’t come to dinner, but later in the evening, when the house was dark, she went to the kitchen to find something nice in the refrigerator. And she’d hardly started rummaging through Katri’s plastic containers when Mats appeared in the doorway and said, “Hi.”

  “So there you are again,” Anna said. “Just look how your sister has organized this food! No one could possibly know what’s in these without opening every one of the wretched things… Did you take it out on the ice?”