Rites of Spring by Anders Motte (hardest books to read txt) 📕

She held out an envelope. He took it, felt the square card inside.

‘Are you ready for tonight?’

He nodded. Nelson did a little pirouette, his hooves digging into the soft ground. He was a thoroughbred, the most difficult horse to ride, but also the most beautiful, the fastest, the strongest.

‘What’s that?’

The young man pointed with his crop to the paint tin by the oak tree. As usual he kept his sentences short so that his speech impediment would be less noticeable.

‘A little offering.’

She smiled in a way that irritated him. He’d opened up to her, confided his deepest secrets to her, and yet she insisted on teasing him.

‘To whom?’ His voice sounded more brusque than he’d intended. Nelson snorted. Performed another little pirouette.

Elita’s smile broadened. She pointed up at the nodular growths on the tree trunk that resembled a face.

‘To him. The Green Man.’

She tipped her head back and laughed. Her teeth were so white, so perfect. Like his mother’s pearl necklace.

For a brief moment the young man wished he could own her. Lock her up in a box, as his father had done with the necklace. Preserve the memory of her, equally untainted and precious.

‘Are you worried?’

The young man shook his head, but as usual she saw straight through him. She grabbed the reins, stroked Nelson’s forehead, which instantly calmed the stallion. Then she looked up at him with those eyes that reminded him so much of his mother’s.

‘Don’t worry, Hubert,’ she said softly. ‘Everything will be fine.’

30

Thea gets Bertil to sit down on one of the stones. Her father-in-law is still as white as a sheet. His lips are constantly moving, whispering the same two words over and over again. She leans closer to hear what he’s saying.

‘Poor girl, poor girl, poor girl . . .’

‘What girl? Do you mean Elita Svart?’

The name makes him fall silent. He lowers his eyes.

‘What are you doing here, Bertil?’

No response.

‘Does Ingrid know you’re out on your own?’

Nothing.

He’s wearing a shirt, jacket and checked pyjama bottoms. Wellingtons on his feet. No coat, in spite of the cold morning air. His legs are shaking, his lips turning blue.

Thea takes off her own coat and wraps it around his shoulders, then gets out her phone and calls David. It rings six times, then goes to voicemail. She tries again, with the same result. His phone is clearly switched on, so either he can’t hear it or he’s ignoring her.

She finds Ingrid’s number; her mother-in-law answers almost right away.

‘Hi, it’s Thea. I’ve got Bertil here; he seems to have gone off by himself.’

Ingrid doesn’t waste any time on her own reaction. ‘Where are you?’

‘In the forest, at the stone circle.’

A brief pause. ‘Where’s David?’

The question takes Thea by surprise; surely Ingrid should be asking how Bertil is?

‘He said he had an early meeting. He’s not answering his phone.’

Another pause. ‘Where can I meet you?’

Thea looks around the glade. Trying to drag Bertil back the way she came doesn’t seem like a good idea; the terrain is too difficult. Obviously he cycled here by a different route, but she doesn’t know the back roads to the village.

‘I can take him to the hunting lodge – it can’t be far, I’m sure I can find it.’

A third pause, a fraction longer this time.

‘Do that,’ Ingrid says, and ends the call.

*

The sun disperses both the darkness and the mist, helping Thea to locate the muddy canal quite quickly. They follow it to the left. Bertil is exhausted, and has to stop to catch his breath every couple of minutes. He says next to nothing during the walk, he merely continues to move his lips silently as if he’s fully engaged in some internal dialogue. However, he follows her instructions, and seems to have an idea of where he is.

The roof of the hunting lodge appears through the trees. There is smoke coming out of the chimney, which suggests that Kerstin is up and about.

A freshly cut strip of weeds that must be Jan-Olof’s work marks the boundary between the forest and the property. They pass the paddock; as they approach the house Thea can’t help glancing at the figure of the Green Man on the wall. She thinks about the dream she had last night. About Ronny and her father.

The door is flung open before they reach it and Kerstin comes out onto the steps.

‘What’s happened?’

Her voice makes Bertil look up, and his face breaks into a smile.

‘Kerstin,’ he murmurs. ‘Dear Kerstin. There was something I had to do. Something important. But I must have got a little bit lost.’

The two of them shepherd Bertil into the kitchen, wrap him in a blanket and settle him on the sofa next to the wood-burning stove. Kerstin pours tea; the hot drink make Thea realise how cold she’s got without her coat. She examines Bertil as best she can. The colour has returned to his cheeks, his pulse is steady and she can’t find any sign of injury.

‘Dear Kerstin, I really am sorry to be such a nuisance,’ Bertil says.

‘No problem. It’s a good job Thea found you.’

‘It is. She found me in the forest. By the stone circle.’ He looks anxious again, and shakes his head. ‘Poor child . . .’

‘Drink your tea, you’ll soon feel better,’ Kerstin says, gently rubbing his back.

He nods and does as he’s told. The anxious expression disappears. After just a few sips his eyelids grow heavy. Thea helps Kerstin to pile cushions behind him so that he can have a nap.

‘He’s worn out. I added a little camomile to his tea; it’s very calming.’

Kerstin signals to Thea to sit down at the table. The kitchen has a different smell this time, probably thanks to the bunches of fresh nettles hanging above the stove. Kerstin follows her gaze.

‘Nettles are good for the immune system, and they’re at their most nutritious now, in the spring. Another of my tea blends.’ She frowns. ‘It really was a stroke of luck that you found Bertil. Things could have