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

women of the same age sat fiddling with something on her dress. Anders looked quickly around the room. No Simon.

‘How do I look?’ asked Anna-Greta.

‘Wonderful,’ said Anders honestly. ‘Has Simon been here?’

‘No.’ The sparkle in Anna-Greta’s eyes dulled a little. ‘Hasn’t he arrived?’

Anders shook his head and Anna-Greta made a move to go out and check for herself, but one of the women held her back and said, ‘Don’t worry, he’ll come. Now stand still.’

Anna-Greta flung her arms wide in a helpless gesture as if to show that she was a captive. ‘Go and wait with the others,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he’ll be here.’

Anders backed out of the room and left her in the hands of her guards. He had done what he could. It was no longer his problem. And yet he felt sorry for Anna-Greta. So pretty, so dressed up, so full of anticipation. His little grandma.

Because he knew that Simon would not come. That somehow or other he had been captured by the forces that were on the move. End of story. Simon was gone, and Anders intended to catch the three o’clock boat back and put an end to all his sorrows.

It was quarter to two when Anders walked up to the church and looked in through the open door. Some thirty people were seated in the pews. The guests who had come over on the tender had been supplemented by people from Nåten and those who had come in their own boats. Up by the altar the priest was adjusting a bunch of white roses in a vase.

The slope drew Anders down to the churchyard, and he wandered among the gravestones. He stood for a long time in front of the family grave where both his father and his grandfather stood alone with their names beneath Torgny and Maja. Presumably Anna-Greta would make sure that his own name was added at the bottom of the column of lone men.

And Simon? Where will Simon end up?

At just after two, people started coming out of the church to see what was happening, or rather to see why nothing was happening. Anders carried on down to the water’s edge to avoid being spoken to. He stopped in front of the huge anchor and read the plaque.

IN MEMORY OF THOSE LOST AT SEA

Anders ran his hand over the rusty cast iron, over the treated wood. It would be more fitting for him to be buried here, beneath the anchor, because he had been lost at sea and then wandered around pointlessly on dry land for a couple of years. He followed the chain that ran from the top of the anchor down into the ground.

Where does that go?

He saw the chain disappearing deep underground or out across the bottom of the sea; in his mind he hurled his body in the direction of the chain and followed it downwards…

…burrowing down into the slime on the seabed, down into the mud and the blue clay, down to the point where nothing can live, where there is complete silence…

His thoughts were interrupted by shouts from the direction of the church. People were pointing out to sea, and when Anders turned around, his lips curved into a smile in spite of everything. A boat was heading towards them from out in the bay. A rickety fibreglass boat with a twenty-horsepower Evinrude engine. Simon’s boat.

The wedding guests poured down the slope like a flock of eager sheep and gathered on the shoreline as the boat approached. There were two people on board, and when the boat was about a hundred metres from land, Anders could see that it was Simon and Göran.Göran was driving, and Simon was sitting up in the prow with his hair blowing around his ears. People clapped and cheered.

The magician’s final entrance.

The boat didn’t head for the harbour, but made straight for the incline below the anchor. Göran put the engine into neutral and floated the last few metres into the shore. Simon climbed out, and the guests combined their efforts to haul the boat safely ashore.

Simon’s eyes sought out Anders and he started to say something, but the guests grabbed him by the arms and pulled him up towards the church, where Anna-Greta was now waiting for him, her arms folded across her chest. Without doubt the entrance was effective, but Anna-Greta could be forgiven for wishing that on this particular day there had been slightly less spectacle and slightly more solemnity.

Anders followed a couple of steps behind and waited until everyone else had disappeared into the church before he walked in and took a seat at the back.

Let love come

The description of the wedding has been omitted.

Strangely enough, descriptions of weddings aren’t all that interesting. I mean, two people promising each other eternal commitment and fidelity before God really ought to be something enjoyable, but actually it isn’t.

It’s like a horror story, but in reverse. When the monster shows its ugly mug at the end, it’s always a disappointment. It can never match up to our expectations. It’s the same with a wedding. The journey along the winding paths of love is spine tingling, the lead-up in some cases is a real battleground and the basic idea behind the whole thing is beautiful and mind blowing.

But the ritual itself?

You would have to call in Marc Chagall, Wolfgang AmadeusMozart and David Copperfield’s tech team to do the idea justice. People would hover above the ground, there would be flashes of lightning, waterfalls and a symphony that would make the plaster fall off the walls and swirl in flakes around the conjoined couple like confetti spiralling up to the ceiling.

Nothing like that occurred in the church at Nåten.

Suffice to say that Simon and Anna-Greta exchanged vows, that some appropriate music was played on the organ, and that many people were moved. However, there was one beautiful thing that happened. Anna-Greta was a radiant bride, and Simon was rather a mess. Despite the fact that