Depths

  'I understand. I won't press you.'

  Tobiasson-Svartman clicked his heels and saluted. He went back to the boat and sailed home. Why had he chosen the name Hans Jakobsson? he wondered.

  Was it a greeting to the man who had died on the deck of the Blenda? Why had he not said what he had really wanted to say, that he was Sara Fredrika's new husband?

  He changed out of his uniform. The wind was enabling him to maintain steady progress. On the way he invented news and rumours about unknown people that he passed on to Sara Fredrika that evening when he got back home.

  CHAPTER 179

  Sara Fredrika gave birth on Halsskär on 9 September 1915.

  He'd had time to fetch Angel from Kråkmarö. The wind had been capricious on the way back, the sail had not been much use, and he had rowed so hard that the palms of his hands were covered in burst blisters. There were three of them in the boat, Angel had taken with her another woman to help, a maid to one of the cargo boat skippers. Once they arrived on the island Angel told Tobiasson-Svartman to keep out of the way, and to find somewhere among the rocks where there was a wind to carry the screams in a different direction if Sara Fredrika got into difficulties.

  It was a chilly day. He found a crevice on the south side where he could half lie, well protected. He tried to imagine Sara Fredrika, her struggle to force the baby out. But he saw nothing, only the sea.

  My innermost longing is a dream about horizons, he thought, horizons and depths. That's what I am searching for.

  It was as if he had some kind of invisible seal that made him inaccessible to everybody apart from himself.

  The surface was calm, like a sea when there is no wind blowing, but underneath it lurked all the duplicitous forces he was forced to fight against. Ambition, insecurity, the memory of his furious father and the silent weeping of his mother. He lived through a constant battle between control, calculation and outrageous risk-taking. He did not do what other people do and adapt to different situations, but he changed his personality, became somebody else, often without being aware of the fact.

  Without warning, he started crying, forlornly, uncontrollably. Then he stopped, just as suddenly as he had started.

  Late in the afternoon he heard them shouting for him. He went back to the cottage, convinced that he had a son. But Angel Wester held out a daughter to him. This time he did not think the baby looked like a shrivelled mushroom, more like heather in the spring before it acquires its full colour.

  'She's healthy and strong. She will survive if God wishes her to and you look after her properly. I reckon she weighs three kilos, and a bit more.'

  'How is Sara Fredrika?'

  'Like all women are after they've given birth. Relief, happiness at the fact that all has gone well, a great desire to sleep. But first she should greet her husband.'

  He went inside. Angel and the maid left them alone. Her face was pale and sweaty.

  'What shall we call her?'

  Without hesitation, he replied 'Laura. That's a pretty name. Laura.'

  'She's born now. And now we can leave this hellish island and never return.'

  'We shall leave as soon as I've finished my last reports.'

  'Are you happy about your child?'

  'I'm indescribably happy about my child,' he said.

  'You got a new daughter to replace the one that fell over the cliff.'

  He did not say anything, just nodded. Then he went outside and invited Angel and the maid to a celebratory drink. As it was already late, they stayed overnight.

  He spent the night in a hollow covered by his oilskin coat.

  He thought about his two daughters, both called Laura.

  Laura Tobiasson-Svartman.

  The younger sister of Laura Tobiasson-Svartman.

  They'll live their lives in ignorance of each other. Just as their mothers will never meet.

  CHAPTER 180

  A few days after Sara Fredrika had given birth, Tobiasson-Svartman found something extraordinary next to the rocks on a headland at the extreme eastern edge of Halsskär.

  He could see something bobbing up and down close to the edge of the rocks. When he clambered down to the water he saw that it was a collection of military-issue boots, tied together to form a chain. He tried to find some marking or other that would reveal if they were German or Russian boots, but there was nothing.

  There were nine boots in all, four left ones and five right. They had been in the water for a long time. Somebody had tied them together and sent them drifting over the sea.

  He threw them up on to the rocks.

  He had the feeling that once again he had been surprised and challenged by the dead.

  CHAPTER 181

  Their daughter cried a lot and kept them awake at night.

  For Tobiasson-Svartman it was like being exposed to an agonising pain. He cut pieces of cork and stuck them in his ears when Laura was crying at her loudest, but nothing seemed to help. Sara Fredrika was immune to all noise, and he observed her love with envy. As for him, he had difficulty in feeling any connection with the child.

  But with Sara Fredrika, it was as if he had finally understood what love was. For the first time in his life he felt terrified of being abandoned. He was scared by the thought of what would happen if one of these days it dawned on Sara Fredrika that there was no plan to leave the skerry. That the only things in existence were the barren island and all the new reports that had to be written for a secret committee.

  CHAPTER 182

  Sara Fredrika took every opportunity to talk about leaving.

  Her questions now made him feel profoundly desperate. He wanted to be left in peace, he did not want to talk about the future.

  'I'm scared,' she said. 'I dream about water, about the depths that you measure. But I don't want to see that. I want to see Laura growing up, I want to get away from this hellish skerry.'

  "We shall. Soon. Not just yet.'

  It was early one morning. Their daughter was asleep. It was raining. She looked long and hard at him.

  'I never see you touching your child,' she said. 'Not even with your fingertips.'

  'I daren't,' he said simply. 'I'm afraid that my fingers will leave a mark.'

  She said no more. He continued to balance on the invisible borderline between her worry and her trust.

  CHAPTER 183

  At the beginning of October Tobiasson-Svartman could see that Sara Fredrika's patience was close to breaking point. She did not believe him when he said that soon, not just yet, but soon he would have finished writing his reports.

  One night she started hitting him while he was asleep. He defended himself, but she kept on hitting.

  'Why can't we go away? Why do you never finish?'

  'I'm nearly finished. There's not much left. Then we can go.'

  He got out of bed and went outside.

  CHAPTER 184

  A few days later. Drizzle, no wind.

  He walked round the skerry. He suddenly had a flash of insight. All these rocks formed a sort of archive. Like books in a library with infinite holdings. Or faces that will eventually be picked out and examined by future generations.

  An archive or a museum, he could not be quite specific about his insight. But autumn was creeping in. Soon this archive or museum would close down for the winter.

  CHAPTER 185

  Nights now brought frost with them. As day broke on 9 October, the baby started to cry.

  That same day Angel Wester sailed out to the skerry to check up on Sara Fredrika and the baby. She was satisfied, the baby was growing and developing as it should.

  He accompanied her down to the inlet when her visit was over.

  'Sara Fredrika is a good mother,' she said. 'She is strong, and she has plenty of milk. And she seems to be happy as well. I can see that you are looking after her properly. I think she has forgotten her husband, the one that drowned.'

  'She will never forget him.'

  'There comes a day when the dead t
urn their backs on us,' she said. 'It happens when a new being enters our lives. Make the most of the opportunity. Don't let there be a distance between you and the baby.'

  He pushed the boat out as she raised the sail.

  'Will you be staying here over the winter?' she asked.

  'Yes,' he said. 'Maybe not.'

  'What kind of an answer is that? Yes and no, and maybe something in between?'

  'We haven't decided yet.'

  'Autumn has hit us early this year, as the old men say when they see the clouds and feel the winds. Early autumn, long winter, rainy spring. Don't wait too long before leaving.'

  He watched the dinghy disappearing round the headland. He could hear his daughter crying in the distance.

  Angel's words had hit him with full force. All his life he had been keeping things at a distance. But distance did not matter, it was closeness that was significant.

  He realised that he would have to tell Sara Fredrika the truth, that he had belonged to somebody else, that he had been kicked out of the Swedish Navy and one of these days would be penniless. Only then could they start again from the beginning, only then could they really make plans to leave.

  With great effort he had built walls around Halsskär. Now he would have to demolish them, in order to get out.

  He was overcome by a strong sensation. Surprised and confused, he said to himself: I think my sounding lead has reached the bottom.

  He was in the habit of rounding off the day by taking his telescope and climbing up to the highest point on the skerry. There was a north-easterly wind, fresh and squally. He pulled his jacket more tightly round him and gazed out towards the mainland.

  A sailing dinghy was approaching. The sail was straining hard, but the boat was sitting well in the water. He did not recognise it, he did not need the telescope to tell him that. It was longer than the boats used by the fishermen in the archipelago.

  He aimed his telescope and focused it.

  There was a woman at the helm and she was steering straight for Halsskär.

  The woman was Kristina Tacker, his wife.

  PART X

  Angel's Message

  CHAPTER 186

  He thought it was an optical illusion.

  But the boat was real. Kristina Tacker was sailing resolutely, the sail straining in the wind. She was heading for Halsskär because she knew that was where he was hiding.

  He searched for a way of escape. But there was none. He had nowhere to escape to.

  He set off in a hurry for the inlet when he saw her turning the boat into the wind. All the time he was trying to find an explanation. Could he have left a trail by way of his sea charts? He had never imagined that she would start to interpret them. Or had somebody given him away, somebody who knew where he was?

  He could not find an answer. There wasn't one.

  By the time he reached the shore the boat was inside the inlet. Kristina Tacker had already dropped anchor when she noticed him, stood up and started yelling. In order to shut her up he waded out into the cold water until it was chest-deep.

  'Stop shouting,' he said. 'Everything can be explained.'

  'Nothing can be explained!' she screamed. 'Why do you keep lying to me? Why are you hiding here? How can you explain that away?'

  She had moved into the bows and started hitting him over the head with a piece of rope. He tried to defend himself, but she went on hitting him, he would never have imagined her capable of such fury. This was not the wife he knew, this was somebody else, somebody who smashed china figurines every time she moved them around on their shelves.

  The only way he could shut her up was to pull her out of the boat. He took hold of her and dragged her into the water. She resisted, but he kept hold of her, pushed her down under the surface. Every time she came back up again she continued shouting at him. He smacked her face, once, twice, harder. She went quiet in the end. Her wet hair was sticking to her cheeks. He could no longer smell her fragrance, nothing of the wine nor the subtle perfume.

  'I can explain everything,' he said. 'Provided you stop shouting.'

  He had never felt as scared as he felt at this moment. If Sara Fredrika were to turn up now all the walls would crumble around him. Nothing would survive.

  Kristina Tacker looked at him in disgust.

  'Behind a secret there can be another secret,' he said.

  She lurched at him and scratched his face. She did it perfectly calmly, without taking her eyes off him.

  Blood ran down his cheek.

  'I don't want to hear any lies about what you are doing and why you are here,' she said. 'I just want you to explain the only thing that is important. Why did Laura have to die? That's all I want to know.'

  He took a step backwards, stumbled over a piece of rock and fell. She grabbed hold of his arm.

  'Don't you try and run away again. You're never going to do that again. I'll find you no matter where you hide. All your lies leave a clear trail that I can follow, wherever you go.'

  He was punch-drunk. It felt as if the cold water was penetrating his skin and making his body swell up.

  'We can't stand in the water like this,' he said. 'It's too cold.'

  'This is only water. Death is cold. Laura is cold, not this water.'

  'What happened?'

  She took hold of his head and pulled it towards her. She had tears in her eyes, he recognised her now. There were glimpses of the woman he was married to behind all the wet hair.

  'After you went off I stayed in hospital for a few weeks. Laura grew as she ought to do. She grew bigger and stronger. But then one night I was woken up by her screaming. It wasn't the usual sort of scream, it was something different. Dr Edman came. He thought it was colic and would die down of its own accord. But it didn't die down, it wasn't colic, it was ileus, an obstruction of the intestine. Laura died in terrible agony. There was nothing I could do, and where were you? I thought you were on an important mission, I thought that you were with me in spirit, I thought about all the sorrow we would have to bear together. But the baby's death exposed all your lies, that was the terrible price I had to pay in order to discover who you really are.'

  She leaned even further forward into his face.

  'Was it you who attacked my father?'

  'Of course it wasn't. But will you stop shouting, I can't bear such loud noises.'

  She slapped the water with her hand so that it splashed into his face.

  'What do you know about noises? You have no idea what a dying baby sounds like. Do you want to hear? I can imitate exactly what she sounded like just before she died.'

  He shook his head.

  'I'm devastated,' he said. 'I don't understand what you're saying. Is Laura dead?'

  'On 22 August at 4.35 in the afternoon Dr Edman said that he could only express his sympathy. She is dead. But you are alive. What can't you understand?'

  He did not answer. He tried to picture the dead child, but all he could see was a black hole.