Without really thinking, I picked up the anchor and threw it overboard. My arms carried out the movement of their own accord. The last thing I saw was his head being dragged down into the cold, dark water.
Afterward it was as if there was a kind of white winter’s mist surrounding that day. It almost felt as if it had never happened. But then Krister’s body washed ashore. I knew at once that it was my nephew. I didn’t know what to do. Night after night I lay awake, thinking.
And then Kicki Berggren turned up. One day she was just standing there, knocking on my door. She was a greedy woman, and she claimed that she was Krister’s cousin. According to her, his death meant that she would inherit in his place. If I didn’t agree to give her half the house, she would force me into it.
I heard myself offering her a cup of tea before we continued our discussion. It was as if someone else was speaking.
As I was getting the tin containing my homemade tea blend out of the pantry, I spotted the bottle of rat poison. It had been on the top shelf for years. With trembling hands, I picked it up. The red label with its skull and crossbones seemed to glow in the dim light.
Then I knew what to do. When the tea was ready, I poured it into two mugs and added a significant amount of the poisonous liquid to one of them. Then I put some homemade jam tarts on a plate and took them into the other room. After Kicki had finished her tea, I asked if she could come back the following day. In an unfamiliar, hollow voice I asked for some time to think over the situation. The same unfamiliar voice promised to give her my decision within twenty-four hours. We arranged to meet the following day at twelve o’clock. But Kicki never came back.
Helge’s old medication is standing here beside me on the kitchen table as I write this letter. It’s morphine; I got it from the hospital when he was dying. Now it is needed one last time.
Kajsa is rubbing around my legs, whimpering uneasily. She’s a clever girl; she knows that something is wrong. She is looking at me with such a pleading expression that I can hardly go on writing. But Nora is locked inside Grönskär lighthouse and must be rescued as soon as possible. We were there together this evening, and she knows what I have done. I couldn’t risk her stopping me from doing what I must do, so I had to lock her in. I don’t know how I managed it, but somehow I found the strength to jam the door with the big, heavy spanner I found in the corner. Then I took her boat and came back.
Tell Nora that I really am very sorry I locked her in.
A few final words: This is my own decision. No one has the right to take my home away from me. This is where I was born, and this is where I will die. Signe Brand
With a little sigh Signe put the pen down. She folded up the letter, placed it in an envelope, and propped it up against a candlestick on the kitchen table. Then she took another piece of paper, scribbled down a few lines, and slipped it in an envelope. Slowly she got to her feet, crossed the kitchen, and got out a box of matches.
“Come along, Kajsa,” she said, patting the dog on the head.
She picked up the kerosene lamp from the kitchen table, the lamp that Grandfather Alarik had bought in Stockholm, to the delight of the entire family. She had been just a little girl at the time, but she still remembered how beautiful the lamp had been when Grandfather had brought it home.
Carefully, she lit the wick and adjusted it so that the lamp spread a warm glow all around.
With the lamp in one hand and the morphine in the other, she went out into the greenhouse. With practiced movements she prepared two syringes of morphine; her experience of looking after Helge during his illness had not gone to waste.
Kajsa had settled down at her feet, on her favorite rug.
As she injected the dog, the tears poured down her wrinkled cheeks. She stroked Kajsa’s soft, velvety fur and tried to hold back the sobs. Kajsa whimpered but didn’t move; she made no protest as Signe injected the morphine.
Signe sat motionless with Kajsa’s head resting on her knee until the dog stopped breathing.
Then she tipped out a handful of tablets and swallowed them with some water. She picked up the other syringe and emptied it into her left arm. She wrapped a blanket around herself, one that she had crocheted many years ago. She was a little bit cold, but it didn’t really matter anymore. Her final action was to turn off the kerosene lamp.
She could just about make out the horizon and the familiar outline of the islands in the night. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair for the last time.
SUNDAY, THE SIXTH WEEK
CHAPTER 80
The August moon rose behind the trees on Telegrafholmen, round and dark yellow, so close that you could almost touch it. The children had fallen asleep in their beds without too much fuss for once. Henrik and Nora were sitting down by the jetty.
There was just the hint of a chill in the air.
Nora shivered. She didn’t know whether it was the coolness of the evening or the events of the past few weeks. There were a lot of things she didn’t have answers for at the moment.
She kept turning her teacup around in her hands as she gazed at the sea mist where the sun had just gone down.
There was an immense distance between her and Henrik.
Nora could feel herself retreating into her shell, but she had no need for closeness. Her grief and shock over Signe’s death were almost tangible. She still felt frozen and exhausted after her ordeal, but she had refused to stay in the hospital any longer than absolutely necessary. All she had wanted was to get back to Sandhamn and her children.
She had sat there with the boys on her knee for a long, long time.
The doctors at the hospital had said that her guardian angel must have been watching over her. One more hour and she probably wouldn’t have survived, at least not without permanent brain damage. Thomas and Henrik had found her at the last possible minute.
Signe Brand hadn’t been so lucky. She had slipped away not long after she had been admitted to the hospital.
When the police searched Signe’s house, they found two letters on the kitchen table. One contained an account of what had happened. The other was Signe’s will. Thomas had entered the house through the greenhouse, so he hadn’t seen the letters.
Signe had assumed that someone would find Nora the following day. She’d had no idea that a night spent in the lighthouse would lead to hypoglycemia, thus endangering Nora’s life.
Thomas had come by the previous day to tell them that a witness who had spoken to Jonny on the ferry to Finland had been in touch with the police.