She suddenly broke off and ran back down to the caravan. She returned with a black and white photograph.
‘The Ocean of Emptiness,’ she said. ‘This is what it looks like.’
I sat there for a long time holding the picture. Louise left me and wandered around the patch of grass that she was intending to transform into something resembling the image in my hand.
I didn’t understand what she had found so captivating about the garden in Kyoto. Gravel, stone, maybe sand, a few small mounds that looked like petrified bubbles on the smooth ground.
My life seemed to be full of rocks and stones at the moment, I thought. There was nothing left of my house apart from the foundations. The previous day I had taken Lisa Modin to Vrångskär, where remnants of rock had reminded us of the people who had tried to survive there in spite of unimaginable poverty. I had talked about the fact that I sometimes believed that the stones that had been used to build houses on the skerry all those years ago were on their way back to the places from which they had come.
And now this.
I tucked the photograph in my inside pocket. Louise came and sat down beside me.
‘What was it you saw?’ I asked. ‘A picture can’t convey what you actually experienced.’
‘You’ll understand when I’ve made my garden here.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘I’m always serious.’
‘I know, but are you going to make this garden before we build a new house?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Well, it’s your decision.’
She nodded without saying anything, then she bent down and picked up a piece of stone that had splintered away from the rock on which we were sitting. She got up and placed it in the middle of the grass.
‘My garden begins with a single stone,’ she said.
‘You need to decide what you want to do with the house.’
‘Tonight. Let’s go.’
Louise sat in the prow, facing forward. I reflected on what she had told me about the Japanese garden. I was struck by a thought that came out of nowhere. I was so taken aback that I slowed down. She turned and looked enquiringly at me. I slowed down even more, until the engine was idling.
‘Why have we stopped?’
I moved to the middle seat in order to get closer to her.
‘Did you say the Japanese garden was something to do with Buddhists?’
‘They believe it was created by a monk called Soami.’
‘And he was a Buddhist?’
‘A Zen Buddhist.’
‘I don’t know the difference.’
‘I can explain when we get home, if you like.’
‘I’m just wondering if you’re intending to turn our island into a Zen Buddhist temple? Have you become a Buddhist?’
Her reaction to my questions was an outburst of rage. She picked up the plastic bailer and threw it at me. It contained rainwater, which splashed all over my face. I threw it straight back at her, and we sat there attacking one another with the bailer flying between us until she accidentally threw it overboard, and I had to fish it out with one of the oars.
‘I’m not religious,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to be religious to make a garden.’
I didn’t reply, I simply accelerated towards the harbour.
The shower block was locked. Louise tugged at the door several times, then we went into the chandlery. Nordin was unpacking a box of heavy-duty gloves when we walked in.
My wellingtons hadn’t arrived. And of course Louise lost her temper when Nordin told her that the showers wouldn’t open until May next year. He understood that our need was great, but at the same time he couldn’t go against the council’s decision. I wished Louise wasn’t so fiery. I have rarely, if ever, found that anger helps to solve a problem. Sometimes it seemed to me that my daughter had a need to fly into a rage.
Nordin was astonished at her behaviour. He probably wasn’t used to people raising their voices because of something for which he wasn’t even responsible. I tried to intervene, to calm things down, but Louise pushed me away.
‘Who do I talk to at the council?’ she demanded.
‘I don’t know,’ Nordin replied. ‘Various people look after the showers.’
‘Who has the keys? Who makes sure there’s hot water?’
‘During the season it’s me.’
‘So that means you have the keys?’
‘I can’t hand them over out of season.’
‘People need a shower even though it’s autumn.’
Both Louise and I saw Nordin glance towards a key cupboard on the wall. That was enough for Louise to march over, open the cupboard and grab the key attached to a large piece of wood with SHOWERS written on it in luminous ink. Without a word she left the chandlery with her rolled-up towel under her arm.
Nordin was shaking. It was as if someone had robbed him, not of possessions but of an obligation that he had sworn a symbolic oath to defend and uphold. I realised that he needed a solace I was unable to provide.
‘She doesn’t mean any harm,’ I said feebly. ‘She just feels dirty. The sea is too cold for her. We’ll sort it out with a couple of big bowls, some buckets and an electric hotplate.’
I left him with his half-unpacked box of gloves and went over to the shower block. I could hear the sound of running water; Louise had brought soap and a bottle of shampoo wrapped in her towel.
As I stood there in the bitter wind, I thought that it might have been better if she hadn’t come back. I would have been able to handle the disastrous fire more easily without her. However, I knew that wasn’t entirely true. Without Louise I would never be able to make a decision about what to do with the remains of my life. My pipe dream about some kind of relationship with Lisa Modin was nothing but a way of escaping reality.
Louise emerged with wet hair, the towel wound around her head.
‘Did he die?’ she asked.
I felt a sudden urge to hit her, slap her hard across the face. Needless to say, I didn’t. I simply snatched the key, which was dangling from her fingers.
‘I don’t like you upsetting my friends,’ I snapped. ‘If you’d left it to me, Nordin would have given us the key. Stay here while I take it back and apologise. I’ll tell him you’re too embarrassed to do it yourself.’
She opened her mouth to protest. In a vain attempt to put an end to the impossible situation, I yanked off the towel, which was the same shade of yellow as my Chinese shirt. It landed on the wet quayside.
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ I said. ‘If you’re here, we’ll go and do some shopping. If you’re not, I’ll assume you’ve gone off on one of those trips you never bother to tell me about.’
I turned away and went into the chandlery. The box of gloves still hadn’t been unpacked. Nordin was sitting on his stool by the counter where he cut fishing line and mooring rope to the lengths customers wanted. He was clutching a pencil in one hand. He didn’t look at me as I put down the key in front of him, together with a fifty-kronor note, mumbling an apology on Louise’s behalf.
I have to admit I wasn’t entirely truthful. I said that Louise had been very badly affected by the fire.
Nordin put down the pencil, got up and replaced the key. I had a feeling that he wanted to be alone. I shut the door behind me and went up to Oslovski’s house to fetch my car. The gate and the front door were closed. There was no sign of Oslovski.
As I was about to pull out onto the road, I glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw a curtain move. I caught a glimpse of Oslovski’s face before the curtain fell back into place. So she was at home. And she was still afraid.