“Shh, Erik. Don’t swear. The priest.”
“He swears, too, you know.”
Sander went over and gave each of them a tentative hug. His mother smiled weakly. “Good to see you. We were hoping you would come, that it wouldn’t be like with Linda.”
When Killian’s mother died, they let Sander know, of course, and wondered if he would come to her funeral. He had said he would, but later, suddenly, he was unable to makeit.
“We’re heading home now,” she went on, “but you’ll drop by, won’t you, before you leave?”
“Well, I’m heading straight back.”
“Oh, you are. I see.” She looked disappointed but embraced him again. “But we’ll see you in August, right, when you’re back with the kids?”
Sander nodded. Olivia, her name was. She and Sander had two children, a boy and a girl. They lived on Backavägen in Snöstorp, asleepy residential neighborhood on the east side of Halmstad. It was the kind of place you dreamed of: a classic wood-frame house with a big lawn, flowerbeds, and a small pool in the back. There he lived a calm and quiet life, at an appropriate distance from his childhood.
His father patted him on the shoulder and hobbled after his wife. He really should have had his cane. Last winter he’d taken a bad fall and his broken leg hadn’t healed properly. He only used the cane when he was at home, since he didn’t like the way he looked when he tried to walk withit.
Sander looked over at one of the fields of grass swaying gently in the summer breeze and gazed thoughtfully at the edge where the forest took over and the shadows began. He gently turned the worn leather bracelet on his wrist as though it were on wrong and he wanted to adjustit.
Jakob Lindell came out of the chapel to stand beside Alice, but then he excused himself and slowly came Sander’s way.
“It’s been ages. How are you?”
“I could use a drink. But I suppose that would just be adding fuel to the fire.”
They remained a few meters apart as though it would be risky to get too close. Over the years, Jakob had grown broader shoulders, a barrel chest, and a little round belly. For an instant they could see their teenage selves again, and they smiled faintly in mutual understanding. The moment for a longer conversation came and went.
“I’m heading back again,” Sander said. “But it was nice to see you. Say hello to Pierre. And Alice.”
“You’re not coming to the reception?”
Sander couldn’t tell if Jakob was relieved or disappointed. “I only came for the service, wasn’t planning to stay long.”
“Did the two of you keep in touch, you and Sten?”
Sander shook his head. “We stopped to say hello if we passed on the street, of course. But it was rare. And that was all.”
Jakob scratched an unshaven cheek. “Sure you don’t want to come along after all? I’m sure I’m not the only one who’d like to see you.”
A memory returned to Sander, swift and hot like a spark in a darkened room. An image, was all, and when it faded again it left old feelings behind.
“What do you say?” Jakob asked. “Just for a little bit?”
Sander looked puzzled.
“To the village hall,” Jakob clarified.
57
Everything was unfamiliar somehow, as if it weren’t Sander himself but some other person who had once been here, grown up here, lived here. At the same time: the smells rising from the road and the bushes, the trees and the ground, everything he could see was already inside him, somewhere, deep down.
The mourners moved on foot down the gravel path, scattered groups dressed in dark clothing. It took some time to get to the village hall; it was a few kilometers away. They sweated in the heat.
It was picturesque, the hall, resplendent in classic red siding with white trim and windows that had been fashioned by real carpenters a long time ago. Inside, savory sandwich cakes and sweet princess cakes waited on a long table, tastefully decorated. Folks wondered who had arranged it all, but no one asked. A fan hummed in one corner.
The congregation entered in small groups, all these people who hadn’t gathered under the same roof for so long. They chatted and enjoyed coffee and treats. Isidor moved slowly from table to table. He stopped next to Filip, placing a hand on his shoulder and speaking softly to him before moving on to kneel laboriously in front of Lillemor. He took her hand between his own and patted it gently.
Soon they were all together, the boys from Skavböke—or what was left of them. The glances they exchanged said more than anoutsider would realize. Sander got up to refill his coffee. He was just about to set the pot back down when someone next to him stuck out a cup and said, as if in an astonished greeting:
