What scared him was not death. It was the thought of having to be dead for so long. And even longer if he was buried here in the mud, by the church where Hallén preached. Kiko and Be would never find him. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than lying dead surrounded by strangers. Who would he talk to? Who would he have for company when he set out on the long migration through the desert?
The most important thing of all was the antelope that had never been completed.
He couldn’t leave it. Kiko had said that he was the one who had to finish it, see that it lived on. The gods would also abandon him if he died here in the mud.
He no longer believed that he would be able to learn to walk on water. The death he carried inside him made him too heavy. He also didn’t believe that he would be able to find his way back to the harbour where the ship was waiting.
The thoughts he was thinking were so heavy that he could barely manage to carry them. He was still too little for all that was loaded on his shoulders. And the weight wasn’t only on his shoulders, it was inside him too.
One night as he was sitting on the hill he realised that he would never succeed if he didn’t get some help. The only ones who could help him were Alma and Sanna. Maybe Edvin too, but Edvin was afraid of Hallén. He almost never dared look up at the sky. His gaze was always fixed on the ground. He was afraid of everything that was unexpected. Even the fact that he had taken Daniel in might be a sign of fear about staying in Dr Madsen’s good graces: some day the doctor might refuse to help him or Alma if they fell ill. But Alma was different. The only thing she was afraid of was that Daniel might be treated badly. But he couldn’t ignore the fact that she was old. She had pain in her back and her legs were stiff.
That left only Sanna. And she had disappeared. Despite the fact that he had left signs for her on the hill, she didn’t reply.
Maybe she was dead. Maybe the man who had dragged her by the hair had killed her. Sanna wasn’t like anyone else. She might have done something dangerous and then been punished with death. Maybe Hallén had nailed her up on the boards instead of Daniel.
He had to find out whether Sanna was still alive. Without her he might as well lie down and die. Then he would vanish into the depths of the brown fields, and anyone who searched for him would search in vain.
And the antelope would weep.
That night he walked up the long path to the church. The big door was locked, but he managed to prise open a window to the sacristy and climb in. He lit a candle and shivered with cold. Hallén was there in the darkness, breathing towards him. Daniel growled like an animal and Hallén’s shadow disappeared. He went into the sanctuary. He found no boards anywhere with Sanna nailed up on them. For the first time he dared go inside the altar rail. He stood on tiptoe and stroked the chipped knee of the figure hanging there. When he felt it with his fingers he noticed that a sliver of wood was coming loose. He carefully pulled it out and put it in his pocket.
He blew out the candle and left the church.
It was already starting to get light. Mist was drifting across the field.
He ran as fast as he could along the road. Somewhere in the distance he heard a cock crow. When he reached Alma and Edvin’s house it was still quiet. He turned off the road and continued along the cart track until he reached the top of the hill. He could see at once that Sanna hadn’t been there. He took the piece of wood out of his pocket and buried it. As he ran all the way from the church he had decided to make use of his memories. Memories from the time when he was so small that Be still carried him bound to her back; the memories of her movements when she danced. With his bare feet he drew a circle around the place where he had planted the piece of wood from Jesus’ broken knee. Then he began to search in his body for Be’s rocking motions. Even though he started to cough, he danced around the circle. He also wanted to sing, but thought that Edvin would hear him. A hare sat motionless out in the field watching him. He danced until the coughing fits were about to choke him.
When he rubbed his hand across his mouth he found blood on it. The cold wind from the grotto of death had come all the way out to his mouth. He squatted down and spat onto the ground. Now both the piece of wood and his blood were there. He sat on the ground and fought for breath. It ripped and tore at his chest, but now he was sure. Sanna would come back. And she would understand that he was searching for her.
As he came down from the hill he was struck by a sudden weakness that made him collapse. He lay there on his back and looked up at the sky, which was covered by low clouds. His heart was beating fast, and his lungs were fighting to take in air. I have to make it, he thought. I can’t die here in the mud.
After a while he got up and continued home. There was still no smoke coming out of the chimney. He went into the barn, curled up in the straw, and fell asleep.
He woke up when the hired hand poked him.
‘Vanja is sick,’ said the hired hand. ‘Alma is taking care of her. Here’s your food.’
Daniel didn’t reply. He merely took the dish and began to eat his porridge. He didn’t like the hired hand. Jonas had never dared look him in the eye. Even when he said his name it sounded as though he were saying something that wasn’t true. Daniel assumed that Jonas hated him because his skin was a different colour. Jonas had red hair and his skin was almost as white as snow. Several times he had heard Edvin complaining about him to Alma, that he was lazy.
Vanja was the older of the two milkmaids, and the fatter one, compared to Serja who was very thin. As he ate he thought that Vanja must be seriously ill for Alma not to bring him his food. Serja had always been the one who stared at him, the one who most often made Alma cross. Vanja moved slowly and heavily, and would suddenly break out in violent laughing fits that no one understood and then sit silently and rub her hands over her heavy breasts. The hired hand always wanted Daniel to pull the covers off her when she lay alone in bed. It was her big body that he most wanted to see.
Daniel put down the dish. The cows were waiting impatiently to be milked. A hen came near his blanket pecking the ground. The door slammed. It was Serja coming in. She had pails in her hands and stopped before Daniel with tears in her eyes.
‘Vanja sick,’ she said in broken Swedish. ‘She raving.’
Daniel didn’t know what raving meant, but he could tell that Serja was scared. He decided to break his silence.
‘Does she hurt?’
‘It is in her throat. She cannot breathe.’
‘Does she hurt?’
‘She cannot breathe! Hurt can one. But if one cannot breathe one die.’
Then she began to clank the pails against each other as if she were losing her mind.
‘I have to milk!’ she screeched. ‘But Vanja sick. And I am afraid. I sleep in same bed. Maybe it catching.’
She vanished among the cows. Daniel could hear her crying. Late in the afternoon Jonas came back with more food.
‘She’s even sicker now,’ he said, and Daniel could see that his shivers of fear were somehow mixed with glee.
‘The doctor has come,’ he went on. ‘But not even Madsen can do anything.’
Jonas left. Daniel pushed the plate away. He wasn’t hungry. Nearby lay someone who was very ill, who might die. And he knew that it had something to do with him.
That evening Alma came out to the barn. She was pale and moved with extreme difficulty.