That was more or less Simon's reasoning earlier in the day when he had failed to give Anders the assurances about his daughter's goodness that Anders had sought. In the current situation it was no longer possible to do that.
Anders twitched on the deck and Simon placed his fist on Anders' forehead, sending another pulse of warmth through his blood. Anders was still clutching the red snowsuit tightly in his left hand, the suit that Simon also recognised.
How can this be?
Simon had been standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom holding items of clothing up in front of him when he heard the cry, 'Stop, you bastards! Stop!' He had thrown down the clothes and rushed to the kitchen window.
It wasn't easy to see in the moonlight, and what he saw down by the jetty flew in the face of reason. However, he recognised an emergency when he saw one and began to hobble as quickly as he could to the outside door, then down to the jetty.
By the time he got in the boat, Anders had stopped far out in the bay.
Spiritus, Spiritus…
Fortunately Simon had had the matchbox in his pocket, and as his fingers closed around it he thought he could see how things stood. Anders also had a Spiritus, but like Simon he hadn't said anything about it. How else could the strip of ice lying in a black line across the sea be explained?
Simon had pumped petrol into the engine, pulled out the choke and started her up. In his agitated state he had forgotten to push the choke back in when he accelerated, and the engine died. It had taken a while to get it going again, by which time Anders had turned for the shore and started sinking.
When Simon saw the headlight of the moped heading straight for Anders across the water, he had realised that another Spiritus might not be the right explanation. That nothing he knew applied any longer. He had managed to get so far in his thoughts before the mooring ropes were untied and he set off at full speed towards the flock of birds falling from the moon.
Anders coughed a couple of times and opened his eyes. He looked at Simon and nodded slightly. Then he pulled the snowsuit close and clutched it to his chest, saying, 'They tricked me.'
For a long time he said nothing more. He lay still on the deck, twisting and turning the snowsuit in his hands. Then he hauled himself into a sitting position and leaned his back against the central seat. He looked down at his body, pulled at his shirt.
'Why aren't I…wet?' He looked at Simon and frowned. 'How did you get me out of the water?'
Simon scratched his neck and studied the patch on the snowsuit. Bamse had a pile of honey jars. Presumably he was very happy but the moonlight wasn't bright enough for Simon to see what mood he was in.
Anders turned his head and looked back at the bay, towards the spot where Simon had picked him up. 'Didn't it happen? Was it just… didn't it happen?'
Simon closed his eyes tightly, opened them again, cleared his throat and said, 'Oh, it happened. And I think…you need to be told. Quite a few things.'
The television was on up at Anna-Greta's, even though she wasn't watching. This was an occasional habit, or vice, of hers, so it was against a backdrop of people yelling and shouting at each other that Simon sat Anders down at the kitchen table, wrapped a blanket around him and poured him a glass of brandy.
When Anna-Greta went into the living room to switch off the television, Simon followed her. A sweaty man standing in front of a steel-grey skyscraper vanished from the screen and Simon said quietly, 'He has to know. Everything.'
Anna-Greta's expression didn't change. She looked closely at Simon's face, then gave an almost imperceptible nod and said, 'Then he will also be-'
'I know,' said Simon. 'But that doesn't matter. It's already after him. He has to be told what it is.'
He told Anna-Greta very briefly what had happened out in the bay. Then they went into the kitchen together, sat down opposite Anders and told him the whole story.
Left
Tempered by fire. Anders had never really understood the concept, something being tempered by fire in order to change it. He still didn't really know what it meant, but he had an idea of how it felt.
He had despaired and been nothing, then he had chased after a burning hope. He had gone from the depths of cold to a rapid warming process in the course of just a few minutes, the opposite process to tempering steel, and that was just how it felt. He had been softened. Every nerve was on the surface, and his body was as loose as a rotten pear. If he didn't hang on to the edge of the table he would dissolve into a puddle. With every glass of water he drank, he felt more and more diluted.
Anna-Greta and Simon talked and told stories. Of Domarö's past, of the pact with the sea and the people who had disappeared. Of the island that had persecuted his father, and the recent change in the sea.
Anders listened and understood that he was being told astonishing facts. But it wasn't really hitting home, it was passing him by. His gaze returned over and over again to the red snowsuit, hanging up to dry in front of the kitchen stove.
He listened as attentively as he could, but it still seemed like any old story, a story in which he had no part. His story had been about Maja, and that story was over now. It was that thought which kept on going around and around in his head like the whine of a dentist's drilclass="underline" They tricked me. They. And Maja.
Maja had been a participant in all of this. She had left him and gone back to them. She was one of the evil spirits now, one of all those horrible people who had been put to death, sacrificed, or gone to the sea of their own free will. Everything had been a game to trick him, to entice him.
To Gåvasten.
And he had gone. Presumably they would have taken him during the day if it hadn't been for the gulls. They hadn't been after him at all, they had protected him and formed a wall between him and the thing that wanted to take him.
You took me with you. And then you left me.
He had been aware of Maja's presence all the time. At first he had thought it was in the house, then he had realised it was inside his own body. It had left him now. He knew that. She had done what she had to do. And then she had left him.
The hours passed and he asked questions where necessary so that the narrative continued. He was afraid of being left alone with his thoughts.
Gåvasten.
Which means the stone of the gifts. Which gave. And took. And took.
Now it had taken everything. Anders could no longer hear Simon and Anna-Greta's voices. He stared at Maja's red snowsuit, and it really was the end now. There was, to put it bluntly, nothing to live for any longer.
Why should I live?
With the voices buzzing in the background he made an effort to come up with one reason why he should continue to crawl around between heaven and earth. He couldn't find one. A person is given a certain number of opportunities, and certain number of roads to follow. He had reached the end of every single one.
All that was left was the fear of pain.
He didn't notice that Simon and Anna-Greta had stopped speaking as he went through the alternatives.
The last thing he wanted was to drown himself. Hanging was horrible, and by no means foolproof. He had no tablets. Drinking himself to death would take too long.
For a brief moment he saw himself from outside, as it were, and found that these thoughts brought him peace. He had finally made his mind up, and it felt…not good, but less painful. There was even a hint of tingling anticipation deep inside.
Things will be better.
That last, faintly flickering possibility that something really did exist on the other side. A place or a state where there was joy, happiness. A place that was made for him. That wasn't his belief, but…