Flora had begun to make noises. She threw her head around; the high-pitched wail intensified to a muddled, long drawn-out howl. They had come into the room with the washtub. Justine climbed carefully up onto the cement block where the tub was standing. She lifted Flora slightly into the air and then lowered her gently into the tub.
Then she went to get the bird.
She was at the funeral director’s when the telephone rang. They had a fine, thorough conversation, the coffin had been ordered and they had chosen some beautiful songs that the old woman would have liked. It would be a simple ceremony, simple but dignified. The director had promised to sing, and he knew someone who played the flute.
“And how would you prefer the obituary?” he asked, right as she stood up to go.
She gave him a weak, sorrowful smile.
“Let’s not bother with it. I’ll write to those concerned. It will be more personal that way.”
But the telephone rang. She had long since given up hope.
“I got your little note,” he said, and happiness flowed into her like honey. But she was silent.
“Justine? Are you still there?”
Everything broke through; she had to place the receiver to one side. She heard his voice, how he called and pleaded.
“Yes, I’m here,” she said at last.
“You don’t have to ask for forgiveness! Like you wrote in your note. Not at all, it’s me…”
“You just disappeared,” she snuffled.
“I called before, but you weren’t home. Or maybe you’d taken the phone off the hook.”
“You could have called again.”
“It wasn’t easy… you understand.”
“What happened? I even called the hotel.”
“My mother. I had to go right away.”
“Your mother?”
“She’d always been so healthy. But… she just had a heart attack.”
“Oh no, that can’t be true!”
“Yes… but things are going better now. She’ll come through. We’ve been staying at the hospital, Pappa and me. You have to know… I’ve missed you and have been longing for you, too.”
“Are you sure she’s going to be all right?”
“Oh yes, yes. At least for a while.”
She was crying again, had to go get some kitchen towels.
“What’s going on with you, Justine?”
“You must come over, I’ll explain everything.”
He arrived at her house within a half an hour. He embraced her, kissed her, rocked her back and forth. She let herself be heavy and limp.
“Come,” she whispered. “Let’s go upstairs.”
She opened the door to the bedroom.
“We can be in here. I’ve redecorated a bit. This used to be my parents’ bedroom. I think it’s better that I have it now.”
She crept onto the bedspread. He lay behind her with his clothes on.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he whispered. “I’m here now. Why are you so despairing?”
“It’s just that… you must understand, Hans Peter… that bad luck follows me around… evil deeds.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A policeman was here last Monday. He told me that. Everyone around you seems to encounter bad things, he said. Oh, Hans Peter, I’m so frightened. What if it’s true? What if something bad happens to you?”
She felt his lips on her neck, but his breathing was shorter. He was on guard.
“Why did a policeman come visit?”
“The man I’d been with, Nathan, I mentioned him to you; he just disappeared in the jungle. We never found him. We had to leave without him… it was… terrible. And then… when we were going to return home to Sweden, a crazy guy burst into our hotel room and a girl who was traveling with us, we were sharing a room, she and I… he stabbed her to death… she died immediately. You probably read about it in the newspapers. And now… now a classmate of mine has disappeared. She was here visiting me, you know, a week ago Saturday… She never arrived home. The policeman was here searching for her… but now… now I really don’t know anymore… last Tuesday… I took my foster mother here. She is old and paralyzed. She lives in a nursing home, and I thought she would be happy to come home…”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“Suddenly she was just sitting there dead. We were in the basement. The bird came. I watched him fly, and suddenly… she was just dead.”
“Dearest little Justine.”
She turned toward him, cried into his blue shirt.
“Leave me if you must. I understand completely.”
“These must just be unhappy coincidences. It’s not your fault, little silly.”
“But why did he say that, the policeman?”
“Yes, well, it wasn’t a smart thing to say. We know he’s wrong, don’t we?”
“Yes…”
He was breathing normally again. He took hold of the plaid bedspread and wrapped it around them both.
“You’re not working tonight, are you?”
“No, Justine, I’m with you. I’m staying here.”
He stroked her hair, kissed her neck, her ears.
“You’re not going to just disappear?”
“I’m sorry, Justine, forgive me. I should have tried to call you again, but Pappa was beside himself. I’ve always been their support in life.”
They lay pressed against each other for a while. He embraced her. He was heavy, living. She felt calm returning, like sleep, but without sleeping.
“Do you have a handkerchief?”
He searched in his pocket, took out a wrinkled tissue. “It’s clean,” he whispered. “Even if it doesn’t look like it.” “I believe you,” she said and blew her nose.
Then she let her hands go toward his narrow, hard hips. “Hans Peter,” she said, in order to massage his name into the room.
About the Author
INGER FRIMANSSON was born in 1944 in Stockholm and grew up in various places in the middle of Sweden. Today she lives in Södertälje, a town not far from Stockholm, with her husband Jan. As a young girl Inger Frimansson won a number of literary competitions, among them, the so-called Little Nobel Prize in 1963. She started her career as a working journalist, and she made her debut as a writer of serious fiction in 1984 with her novel The Double Bed (Dubbelsängen). In 1997, she published her first full-fledged psychological thriller, I Will Fear No Evil (Fruktar jag intet ont).
A significant breakthrough in her writing career occurred in 1998 with the publication of Good Night, My Darling (Godnatt, min älskade), which was voted Best Mystery Novel of the Year by the Swedish Academy of Mystery Authors. The jury’s citation included this appreciation: “A psychological thriller about senselessness and revenge that doesn’t loosen its grasp of the reader’s attention for the length of the book.”
In autumn 2002, The Island of Naked Women (De nakna kvinnornas ö) was published, a thriller about vehement passion and unprovoked manslaughter. Hidden Tracks (Mörkerspår), 2003, followed with more rave reviews from the critics, as did the recent The Shadow in the Water (Skuggan i vattnet), awarded with The Swedish Academy of Mystery Authors Award for Best Swedish Crime Novel 2005. She is the only female crime author ever to receive this award twice.
Inger Frimansson’s novels are translated into several languages and are published in various editions in Norway, Latvia, Holland, Finland, Denmark, Spain, Bulgaria, and Germany.
