“If you knew how I’ve longed to be here,” said Ann quietly.
“Edvard is in the woodshed,” said Viola. “He goes there when he gets nervous. So he won’t hear us.”
“How are you?”
“I want to die at home,” said Viola, and Ann knew that there was no point in protesting, but instead nodded and squeezed the old woman’s clawlike hand.
“I’ve done my part, always taken care of myself, haven’t been a burden to anyone. I was born when the bells were ringing in the war and I’m leaving in evil times. You should know how afraid they were of the Russians here on the island. We didn’t know any better. Can you understand how badly they steered us? But here on the island we didn’t care that much. The old men sat in Stockholm and gave orders, but we took care of ourselves,” she ended the harangue with a grin.
It was Viola’s showpiece, the incompetence and lack of common sense of anyone from Stockholm, whether it was the government or summer visitors. It was an understanding she shared with generations of refractory islanders.
“Does it hurt?”
The old woman shook her head.
“It aches a little in my hip, but it’s done that a long time.”
Ann could not really understand why Viola was preparing to die, she seemed the same. She had been thin as a rake as long as Ann had known her, and Ann had heard the complaints about her hip before. The explanation came immediately.
“Viktor passed away,” said Viola.
“No,” Ann exclaimed, squeezing the old woman’s hand.
“Three weeks on Monday,” said Viola. “He was buried a week ago. There were a hundred and twenty people at the funeral.”
Viktor had been Viola’s life partner. They never had a regular relationship. It hadn’t turned out that way, Viola said one time when Ann asked, but they had been schoolmates in the 1920s, neighbors their whole life, and saw each other basically every day. It was Viktor who came over, helped her with small chores. They had sat in her kitchen for eighty years.
“We never got engaged,” said Viola, “but he was a fine man. We were born the same year. He just dropped dead. He was going down to the lake to make sure that Edvard brought his boat up.”
“So Viktor had his boat in the water?”
Viola chuckled.
“He and Edvard were out all the time. That was the life for Viktor. He was so fond of Edvard, that they could go out.”
How I’ve missed this! Ann thought desperately.
“That he was,” said Ann, “a fine man.”
“He used to talk about you,” said Viola. “Most of all when he’d had a drop.”
“I have longed to be here,” Ann let slip again.
“You should have been here,” said Viola. “But it’s not too late yet.”
Don’t say that! Ann wanted to cry out. Don’t entice me with a life that no longer exists! But she didn’t say anything. If Viola wanted to believe that Ann could come back, that’s the way it was.
“He’s not seeing anyone?”
Viola snorted.
“He’ll be like Viktor, the old bachelor here in the village,” and Viola made it sound like it was Ann’s business to change that.
“But didn’t he…?” Ann persisted.
She wanted to know. She wanted to hear the old woman say that of course there had been women, and hint that perhaps there was someone he was seeing now.
The response was another snort.
“I’ve seen you in a picture in the newspaper,” said Viola. “Edvard usually reads out loud when there’s a story.”
Ann could see them in the twilight at the kitchen table. Edvard with his reading glasses and Viola with her eyes toward the farmyard.
“And then a woman adds a little charm,” said Viola, who never stopped being amazed that women could be police officers. “It’s like an extra… but listen…”
She fell silent and closed her eyes, lying so still that Ann got scared. The covers did not move, her hand was cold.
“Bye-bye, Ann,” Viola said suddenly, opening her eyes. “Now I’m going to sleep a little, I’m so happy we had some time to talk. Take care of yourself and Erik. Do well.”
Ann felt Viola grasp her hand. She squeezed back. Their eyes met. Viola smiled her usual old smile before she closed her eyes again. Ann sat awhile before she carefully released her hand and got up.
She closed the door behind her, but regretted it immediately and opened it again. Perhaps Viola would call for something. She took a last look at the old woman and then let her eyes slowly register what was in the room. She got the impulse to take something with her.
In the kitchen it was quiet. The woman, Ann recalled that her name was Greta, was sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee cup in front of her. Edvard was nowhere in sight.
“I set out a cup for you too,” said Greta.
Ann looked at the clock, there was still time to exchange a few words. She declined the coffee but sat down.
“I didn’t know that Viktor had passed away,” she said. “I really would have liked to be at the funeral.”
“Edvard was pallbearer. There’ll be another one soon,” said Greta. “Viola wants to follow Viktor, but I’m sure you understood that.”
Ann nodded. She could not be upset by the woman’s frank manner. That’s just the way it was, so why pretend?
“I’ve met you before,” said Ann.
“I’ve known Viola my whole life. She took care of us sometimes, Agnes and me, when we were little. Yes, I ran into you when you were going with Edvard, but then you only had eyes for him.”
“And then your sister,” Ann said. “The world really is small.”
“So what is happening at Ohler’s?”
Ann was happy to be able to talk about something besides her time on Gräsö and told what had happened with the Nobel Prize winner. She suspected that Greta wanted to have a different version than her sister’s. Greta listened without interrupting her and then sat silent for some time. Ann recognized the atmosphere from many interrogations, there was something bothering the woman.
“It’s no wonder that people wish him harm,” Greta said at last.
“What do you mean?”
“May God forgive me, but he is a bad person.”
She pushed aside the coffee cup and looked out the window. Ann followed her eyes, she was afraid that Edvard was approaching.
“Perhaps I should check on Viola,” said Greta.
“She’s sleeping,” said Ann. “I can tell that something is bothering you. Are you worried about your sister?”
“No, not anymore,” said Greta with bitterness twisting her mouth. “They have always treated people like whores, everyone who worked there.”
“You too?”
Greta nodded. With her fingers she twined a thread that was hanging loose from a small lace tablecloth. Ann guessed that she was the one who put it on top of the oilcloth.
“I got away,” she said. “But Anna didn’t. Do you know that she lived with Viola for a while?”
“Who is Anna?”
Greta looked up in surprise.
“My oldest sister. She had to live here. Our parents were very strict. They couldn’t bear that Anna gave notice at Ohler’s, so when she came back to the island she was not welcome. Papa was convinced that she had behaved badly and had to quit for that reason. So he sent me as a replacement to Ohler’s. I was only fourteen. It was during the war. I lasted for nine long years. Then it was Agnes’s turn.”
“What had Anna done?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Anna was the most peaceful creature you could imagine.”
“So she had to stay here?”
“Viola took pity on her. She never forgave Papa. Or Mama either. Viola said that a mother who did not defend her children was not a true Christian. Anna lived here almost a year. She did not visit Mama and Papa a single time. It’s only a kilometer or so through the pasture and Lövgren’s hill.”