When he read through what he had written, he had the sense that what he was putting into the envelope was a packet of silence. The words had no meaning. He had written about the storm, but nothing about the night on the skerry. He wrote about life on board ship, the food and the outstandingly good cook, and nice things about Lieutenant Jakobsson. But none of it was true, none of it about what he was thinking. He was mapping navigable channels so that other people would be able to travel in safety, but the charts he was mapping for himself led to chaos.
When he sealed the envelope he had the vague idea that he was lying to avenge himself, to get his own back because his wife never dropped any of her china figurines.
Chapter 64
Captain Rake had a very nasty case of eczema on his cheeks and forehead. Tobiasson-Svartman felt uncomfortable when he saw Rake’s face. Red patches fused together forming raised islands; yellow abscesses seemed on the point of bursting in this archipelago of spots.
Rake himself appeared unconcerned. He spoke enthusiastically about the war. The German invasion of France was going exactly as intended under the so-called Schlieffen Plan.
‘It’s one of the most detailed war strategies ever made,’ Rake said. ‘General Schlieffen devoted the last part of his life to working out the best way for Germany to crush France once and for all. He found the solution in the end. The route through Belgium, the closing in on Paris by armies forming an extensive right flank. Every eventuality is covered in this unique plan. How many railway wagons are needed to transport the troops, horses, guns and stores; precise calculations of how fast each train must travel so as to avoid jams. A great many military engineers have been turned into advanced railway administrators. Sadly, Schlieffen died some years ago and so is unable to see his strategy realised. Everything is going well. Too well, some might think. There’s just one thing missing in Schlieffen’s plan. Recognition of the fact that not everything can be planned. No war can be won without a moment of improvisation. Just as no significant work of art can be created without that element of irrationality that is in fact the artist’s talent.’
They were drinking brandy. The cryptographer collected the main record book, Rake continued talking about the war and took Tobiasson-Svartman’s letter. He had no letter from Kristina Tacker to deliver.
They shook hands on the port wing of the bridge. It was cold, and dead calm. The sky was clear.
‘Sweden will probably stay out of the war,’ Rake said. ‘Only time will tell if that’s the best thing that could have happened.’
Tobiasson-Svartman negotiated the steeply sloping gangway on to the deck of the Blenda. He was about to go into his cabin when he noticed the smell of pipe tobacco. He turned and saw Lieutenant Jakobsson standing by one of the gun turrets. His face was in shadow. His pipe glowed. Tobiasson-Svartman found himself feeling uneasy. The shadow of the commanding officer alarmed him.
Chapter 65
Four days before they were due to complete the soundings at Sandsänkan he rowed out to Halsskär again. He did not know why he wanted to see her again: the smell of sweat and urine was a kind of barrier between them. Nevertheless, he was tempted by it.
The sea was calm, dark clouds came rolling in from the south-east, the thermometer was falling. The water had an acrid smell to it, as if it were secreting some unknown substance.
He moored the tender in the inlet. The nets were hanging on the drying rack, damp and smelling of fish. He lifted the lid of a corf kept firmly in place by some stones at the side of her boat. There was a thrashing and splashing inside. He stuck down his hands and felt the scales of the writhing fish. Something stung him in the palm of the hand, a dorsal fin or a pair of teeth. He pulled his bleeding hand away. Reacting in fury, he struck out like a reptile. He overturned the corf and let the fish wriggle their way to freedom.
He remembered the drift net he had seen on one of the first mornings as he leaned over the Blenda’s rail. That was in the distant past now, a vague memory of an image standing for the impossible terms of freedom.
He stood the corf up again and walked away. He went to rinse his hand in the spring water, and then he lay down behind the usual rocks and aimed his telescope at the cottage. There was no smoke coming out of the chimney, the door was closed. It started to snow, a faint white glimmer in the air.
She had made no sound, but she was immediately behind him when he turned round. She was looking him straight in the eye, as if ready to pounce.
‘Why are you lying here? What do you want? What have I done to you?’
‘Nothing. I was looking for you, I lay down here to wait.’
‘With a telescope?’
‘I like to study details.’
‘What have I done?’ she repeated.
‘Nothing. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
‘You don’t frighten me. What could frighten me, after all I’ve been through?’
She grabbed hold of his arm.
‘Help me get away from here,’ she said.
Her voice was hoarse, almost snarling. He could see the change in her face.
‘I’m dying here,’ she said. ‘Help me to get away. Let me come with you on the ship. Take me anywhere, as long as it’s away from here. I can’t live here any longer.’
‘I can’t take you on a warship. Don’t you have any family?’
She shook her head impatiently.
‘My family is at the bottom of the sea. I row around and fish feed at the site of my husband’s grave. I sometimes expect bits of his body to come up with the nets. An arm, a foot, his head. I can’t put up with that thought. I have to get away.’
‘I don’t think I can help you.’
Her face was close to his. It was like during the night. All the smells had gone.
‘I’ll do absolutely anything to avoid having to stay here.’
She ran her hands over his body. He pushed her gently away and stood up.
‘I’ll come back,’ he said. ‘I must think this over. I’ll come back. In a few days. Three days, four at most.’
He hurried down to his boat. There was still snow in the air. He rowed away from Halsskär and could see her on a rock, watching him go.
She would have to wait for four days. After the fifth day the ship would already have left.
He rowed with long, vigorous strokes and longed to be back at home. Kristina Tacker sat on the stern seat, smiling at him.
His mission would soon be over.
Chapter 66
The next day he completed the last of the soundings.
All that was left to be done now was a final check of the area sounded. It would take two days if the weather stayed fine.
The barometer was climbing, the worst of the snowy weather had moved away southwards.
For the last time he sent his lead plunging down to the bottom. Once again he had the overwhelming hope that this would be the moment when he discovered the place where there was no bottom, the point where the whole of his life would be dismantled and changed, but also be given a meaning. The lead stopped at nineteen metres. He made his final note. He had sent his lead down to the seabed 5,346 times since they started work on this mission.
They rowed back to the Blenda. The ratings seemed exhilarated, and rowed at full speed. Tobiasson-Svartman knew that for ages they had spent much of their free time cursing under their breath this boring task they had been ordered to perform.
Mats Lindegren, the sailor Tobiasson-Svartman had hit, still sat as far away from him as possible. His lip was no longer swollen, but he never looked Tobiasson-Svartman in the eye.