intending to give her any money, then?'
'No.'
Rolf sighed. Then he placed a hand on Simon's arm as if he were about to share a confidence. Before Simon had time to react, Rolf grabbed hold of his right hand, wrapped his fist around the little finger and bent it backwards. The finger felt as if it might actually snap off, and Simon was forced to his knees. Marita was already down there, and she glowered at him in a way that made it clear he couldn't expect any help from that quarter. She looked…greedy.
The finger was still being bent backwards, and Simon had no time to open his mouth to say he would give them money, or kill them or take them out for a boat trip, before Rolf jerked the finger and it broke. A spasm of pain shot up Simon's arm and came out of his mouth like a deep cough. For a fraction of a second all the things he would no longer be able to do with his hands went whirling by- the cards, the cloths, the ropes, the torn-up newspapers -before the dam broke and he screamed out loud. He saw his little finger hanging there like a pointless scrap of skin, filthy pain poisoning his blood as the tears filled his eyes. He screamed again, from despair more than pain. Marita sat quietly, watching him.
Then Rolf was on top of him. He sat on Simon's chest and forced his arm out to the side, pressing his hand against a rock. Out of his jacket pocket Rolf took a big clasp knife, which he managed to open using one arm and his teeth. He rested the tip of the blade on the rock just above Simon's useless little finger.
Once again, Rolf seemed to need time to formulate his next utterance. He looked at Simon's face, his hand. He looked as if he couldn't quite work out how things had ended up like this, and needed some thinking time before he could proceed.
Simon lay still, watching a little cloud drift by above Rolf's head. For a moment it looked as if Rolf had a halo. Then it tilted, freed itself from him and drifted on. A gull was calling out at sea, and for a couple of seconds Simon experienced absolute peace. Then Rolf spoke. 'You're a magician. So you need your fingers, right?' Simon said nothing, didn't move. He listened to the waves lapping against the pebbles on the shoreline. It sounded… wholesome. He was terribly thirsty. Rolf had found the right train of thought, and went on, 'I'm going to cut off your little finger now. Then I'm going to get hold of…what's that one called? The ring finger. And I'm going to break it. Then I'm going to cut it off. And so on.'
Rolf nodded at his own statement, pleased that he had expressed himself so clearly. He summarised, 'And that will be the end of your magic. Unless…'
He looked at Simon and raised his eyebrows, encouraging Simon to fill in the rest. When Simon didn't oblige, Rolf sighed and shook his head. He turned to Marita, sitting curled up on the grass, following the course of events through half-closed eyes.
'You said this would be easy.'
Marita made that wavy movement with her head that could be interpreted in any number of ways. Rolf grimaced and said to Simon, 'Well, you've only yourself to blame. You leave me no choice.'
He turned his attention to Simon's hand on the rock. One cut and the finger would be gone.
'Stop that!'
Anna-Greta's shrill voice broke through the paradoxical calm that had reigned for a moment or two. Rolf turned his head, looking tired more than anything. Anna-Greta was coming towards him with a double-barrelled shotgun in her hands.
'Get away from him!' she yelled.
There was a long pause. Anna-Greta was standing a metre away from Rolf, pointing both barrels straight at him. Rolf had once again become enmeshed in a careful analysis of the course of events. His lips were moving and he was gazing out to sea. Then he stood up. The barrels of the gun were pointing right at his chest.
'Drop the knife,' said Anna-Greta.
Rolf shook his head. Then he very carefully folded up the knife and put it in his pocket. The gun barrels shook as Anna-Greta waved them in the direction of the steamboat jetty.
'Get out of here! Now!'
Only now did it occur to Simon that he was actually present. That he could take an active role in what was going on. His arm was numb and when he had pulled it towards him he had some difficulty in getting up. He had only got as far as a sitting position when the lawn started moving from side to side like the deck of a boat.
Rolf took a step towards Anna-Greta, and she moved backwards, raising and lowering the gun at the same time.
'Stop! I'll shoot you!'
'No,' said Rolf quite simply, and reached for the gun. Anna-Greta backed away still further and the battle was lost. When Rolf once again made a grab for the barrels, she moved them to one side instead of pressing the trigger. Rolf quickly stepped forward and slapped her across the side of the head with the flat of his hand. Anna- Greta fell sideways. The shotgun flew into the hazel bushes and Anna-Greta collapsed in a heap on the grass, whimpering as she pressed a hand to her ear.
As Simon attempted to get to his feet, he heard Marita's voice. 'Isn't he just incredible?'
Anna-Greta was lying a few metres away, with Rolf leaning over her. Simon's brain wasn't working properly, he couldn't decide whether to try and grab the spade or just hurl himself forwards.
Before had finished thinking it through, he heard a buzzing noise behind him, like some huge insect. There was a click and Rolf went down. Simon got to his feet and saw Johan standing by the lilac arbour with his air rifle in his hands. He was just lowering the gun, and was biting his lower lip.
Rolf got up. A dark spot had appeared on his temple, and a small amount of blood was oozing out. His eyes were crazy and he no longer hesitated, he didn't require any thinking time now. He took out his knife and opened it as he moved towards Johan.
Simon was right behind him, but instead of trying to stop him, he dived into the hazel bushes and grabbed the shotgun. Before he had even got hold of it properly he yelled, 'Stop, you bastard!' but Rolf took no notice.
Johan had dropped his air gun, which was useless after firing its single shot, and was running up towards the house. Rolf was after him, with the knife in his hand. With a grimace of pain Simon lifted the shotgun to his shoulder, just as Rolf disappeared behind the lilac hedge fifteen metres away.
Simon had never fired a shotgun before, but he knew that the whole point of them was that the shot covers a wide area. He aimed at the lilac hedge and pulled the trigger.
Then a number of things happened in less than a second. There was a deafening bang and the recoil hit Simon so hard that he fell backwards into the hazel bushes, but before he had even begun to fall a hole opened up in the lilac hedge and fragments of leaves flew up like a flock of frightened butterflies. The first hazel twigs were just scratching Simon's back through his shirt as Rolf began to roar.
Simon was still pressing the stock of the shotgun to his shoulder as the branches closed around him and he fell into shimmering greenery. Rolf carried on bellowing. The thicker branches further in stopped Simon falling any further, and he could feel blood on the skin of his back. He clutched the wooden stock and breathed; he stayed where he was and one thought went through his mind in time with his panting breath, in and out:
It was only a few seconds later, when he had disentangled himself from the branches and saw Anna-Greta sitting with her hands covering her mouth and Marita rocking back and forth that other thoughts began to force their way through:
Rolf had stopped roaring. Simon swallowed, but without any saliva.
A drop of sweat trickled down into his eye, obscuring his vision. He wiped it away and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again, Anna-Greta was standing next to him. She was squinting, and looked as if she were in pain. She pointed at the hand holding the butt of the gun and tried to say something, but no words came.
Simon looked at the shotgun. Only now did he discover that there were two triggers one behind the other, one for each barrel. He had only pressed the outer trigger. There was one cartridge left. Anna-Greta nodded and put her hand over her ear. She walked towards the lilac hedge and Simon followed her with the shotgun raised.
Rolf clearly wasn't dead, because he was moving. Quite a lot, in fact. He was hurling himself back and forth on the ground as if he were trying to shake off some invisible nightmare. His jacket was ripped and covered in blood
