Harbor by John Lindqvist (classic novels for teens txt) 📕

still he made a slight bow to the mirror, said thank you for the divided life that had been given to him, in spite of everything.

Clap, clap.

Anna-Greta was leaning against the doorframe watching him, and she brought her palms together a couple more times. ‘Very elegant. Coffee’s ready.’

Simon followed her into the kitchen. Once he had drunk the first cup of coffee, his thoughts began to clear. He looked out of the window and his eye caught the spot on the grass where Marita had sat that time. When he had stood in front of her with a shotgun, considering whether to execute her.

On that occasion too he had felt as if he had been thrown outside himself, standing beside himself and looking on.

It’s all just excuses, he thought, pouring himself another cup. We talk about being out of our mind, that we weren’t ourselves, that we lost control. Different ways of saying the same thing. But we are always ourselves. There are no imaginary friends carrying out actions in our name.

Except…except…

‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Anna-Greta.

Simon told her what Anders had said to him in the boat. That Maja had entered into him and was influencing him, guiding his hands at night. That he was possessed, just as Elin had been.

When he had finished, Anna-Greta sat quietly for a while, looking over towards the Shack. Eventually she said, ‘Poor little soul.’

Simon didn’t know if she was referring to Anders or Maja, and it didn’t really matter which it was. Everything suddenly seemed utterly impossible, and Anna-Greta’s simple compassion merely intensified the feeling.

‘Do you really believe that’s what’s happening?’ he asked. ‘That the souls of the dead come up from the sea and…and…’

‘There’s no guarantee they’re dead. We know nothing. Nothing. Not for certain.’

‘But what can we do?’

Anna-Greta reached across the table and placed her hand on top of his. ‘What we can do right now,’ she said, ‘is to take the one o’clock boat over to Norrtälje and sign some papers so that we can get married.’

Simon glanced at the clock. It was twenty to one, and they would have to leave right away if they were going to get there in time. Hepicked up the matchbox from the windowsill and said, ‘Yes. This is our day. Let’s do it. Could you just…wait outside for me for a minute?’

Anna-Greta raised her eyebrows enquiringly, and Simon showed her the box. ‘I have to…’

‘Go on, then.’

‘I’d prefer to be on my own.’

‘Why?’

Simon looked at the white silhouette of the little boy on the box. Why? He could have come up with reasons, but instead he told the truth, ‘Because it’s embarrassing. It would be like…having an audience when you go to the toilet. Can you understand that?’

Anna-Greta shook her head and smiled. ‘If we’re going to grow even older together, there’s a good chance that one of us will have to wipe the other’s backside before it’s all over. Go on, do what you have to do.’

Simon hesitated. He hadn’t realised how suffused with shame his relationship with Spiritus was, and he felt dirty as he pushed open the box. He glanced at Anna-Greta and saw that she was kindly looking out of the window.

The insect really didn’t look healthy. It’s skin, once black and shiny, was dull and parchment-like. It was beginning to look more and more like the dead specimen he had seen in the great magician’s display case. Simon cleared his throat and gathered up spit.

The clock was ticking. Time was passing. The boat was getting closer.

Let go.

The bubble of spit emerged, fell and spread across the dry skin. The insect moved, absorbed the liquid and came to life a little. Simon looked up. Anna-Greta was watching him.

‘Shall we go?’ she asked, pointing at his chin. Simon wiped away a string of saliva, stood up and put the box in his pocket. When they got outside, Anna-Greta took his hand and said, ‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’

‘No,’ said Simon, and meant it.

They were going to get married. So it was probably time to embrace the words from the letter to the Corinthians, the words that form part of the promise of love, ‘When I became a man I put away childish things.’

Let go.

He followed Anna-Greta up on to the track, and the morning stiffness in his limbs began to ease. He looked out to sea and saw that the tender had covered half the distance between Nåten and Domarö. They hurried along, and Simon was worn out by the time they reached the jetty.

Anna-Greta stood in front of him and pushed back his hair, brushing a few loose strands from his shoulders.

‘Will I do?’ he asked.

‘You’ll do. In fact, you’ll more than do. Do you know which word suits you?’

‘No.’

‘It’s a beautiful word. You’re mysterious.’

The tender slowed down as it approached the jetty. Simon was just about to say something about glass houses and throwing stones when the angry roar of an engine came up behind them. Just as the prow of the boat touched the jetty and Roger came forward to throw the mooring rope, Johan Lundberg arrived beside them on his platform moped and pulled up.

‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘Good.’

However, his expression did not suggest that things were good—quite the opposite, in fact.

He ignored Simon and turned to Anna-Greta.

‘You have to come. Karl-Erik has lost it completely. You have to talk to him. He’ll listen to you.’

‘What do you mean, lost it?’ asked Anna-Greta.

‘We’re busy clearing up around the house that burned down and he…you have to come. He’s out of his mind.’

Roger came up to them with the mooring rope in his hand.

‘Are you coming? I have to go now.’

Anna-Greta nodded and turned to Johan. ‘Unfortunately I’m busy today. We’ll be back at six.’

Johan’s jaw dropped, as if Anna-Greta’s response had just revealed one of the great mysteries of the universe to him. Before he had time to come up with any objections, Simon and Anna-Greta stepped on board. Roger followed them