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

sack. Simon turned to Johan and said, ‘Would you like to check one last time?’

Johan pulled at the chains, and as he did so Anna-Greta saw Simon lean forward and whisper something to him. Then Johan took a step back and nodded. The Stockholmer pulled the sack up around Simon and tied the top with a piece of rope.

It looked horrible. The brown sack right on the edge. It was a point of darkness, of finality. People seemed to sense this; the banter and the jokes had died away, and there was absolute silence now.

‘Throw me in,’ said Simon’s voice from inside the sack.

Five seconds passed. Then ten. Still there was silence, and no one volunteered. It wasn’t irrevocable yet. They could open the sack, undo the chains. But once the sack was in the water, there wasn’t much anyone could do. The sea was six metres deep off the jetty.

If Simon failed, the person who had pushed the sack into the water would be responsible. People looked at each other, but no one stepped forward. Simon was moving inside the sack, they could hear the chains squeaking slightly as the links rubbed against one another. A couple of cameras clicked. Still no one.

‘Throw me in the sea.’

Presumably it would have been easier if Simon had said something ordinary and amusing, such as ‘Am I supposed to stand here all day?’ or ‘The chains are starting to get rusty in here’, but obviously he wasn’t interested in relieving the dramatic tension.

And yet it seemed he might have to. After a minute, still no one had come forward. People were beginning to feel uncomfortable. Perhaps this was how it felt when Jesus told the person who was without sin to cast the first stone.

Suddenly the muscular man from Nåten cleared his throat, and without further ado he stepped forward and shoved the sack. It hit the water with a dull splash, and a collective gasp ran through the crowd. People pushed forward to look, and Anna-Greta had to fight to avoid being nudged into the water by the surge.

There wasn’t much to see. A stream of bubbles rose from the sack as it sank, but after thirty seconds the last bubble had burst on the surface, and there was only the dark water to be seen. Those who had been hoping to see something of Simon’s struggle were disappointed; it was impossible to see beyond a depth of three metres.

When one minute had passed, people began muttering to each other: did anyone know how long a person could actually hold their breath? Would it be possible to bring the man up if he didn’t succeed? Did anyone have the keys to those padlocks?

Another minute passed, and now a large number of people were becoming anxious. Why hadn’t anyone attached a safety line to the sack, why hadn’t a time limit been set, after which they should try to rescue the man, why…?

The man who had pushed the sack into the water appeared to be the most anxious of all. He was staring down into the water, and thebody that had been so confident in its strength and authority now seemed to have sunk in on itself; his movements were jerky, his eyes were flicking here and there, his hands constantly rubbing against each other.

Anna-Greta stood there motionless, hugging herself. Hard. All around her people were looking from their watches to the surface of the water, back and forth, but Anna-Greta had fixed her gaze on Gåvasten lighthouse, far away in the distance. She stared at the lighthouse and waited. Waited for the splash as Simon’s body broke the surface, the sudden intake of breath.

But it didn’t come.

When three minutes had passed, someone shouted out, ‘But he’s going to die!’ A murmur of agreement was heard, but still no one did anything. Anna-Greta tore her gaze away from the lighthouse, and couldn’t help herself from looking down at the surface of the water. It was black and empty. Nothing was moving.

Come on. Come on now, Simon.

She could see it right in front of her, she could see right through the water, past the limit of normal visibility, right down to the bottom where Simon lay battling among the mud and rusty bits of metal. She saw him escape, saw the sack open and saw him push away from the seabed, up towards the light.

But that wasn’t what happened. What did actually happen took place inside Anna-Greta. Something that had been sunken and thrown away freed itself down there in the darkness, broke the chain she had wound around it and swam towards the surface. It rose up through her body and fastened in her throat in a lump. She wanted to cry.

I love this bloody man.

She started to tremble.

Love. Don’t disappear.

Her eyes filled with tears when someone behind her shouted, ‘Four minutes!’ and she clamped her hands together, pressed them against her heart and cursed herself because it was already too late, itwas going to happen again, it was going to…

Then she felt a hand on her arm. Her vision was blurred as she looked up and saw that the hand belonged to Johan. He winked and nodded. She didn’t understand what he meant, how he could be so calm.

The man who had pushed Simon in pulled off his shirt and dived into the water. Anna-Greta squeezed Johan’s hand as the crowd surged forward once again. The man broke the surface of the water. He shook his head, took a deep breath and dived once more.

Then they heard a voice from inland.

‘Is it me you’re looking for?’

There was a rustling noise as fabric rubbed against fabric and the whole crowd turned around as one. Over by the boathouse stood Simon. A pattern of red lines left by the chains criss-crossed his body. He walked over to Göran and gave him the locked handcuffs.

‘I thought you might want these back.’

Simon pulled on his bathrobe, and someone next to Anna-Greta shouted to the man