dark outside by now. When he listened he could hear the sea far away. The wind was getting up. A tickling sensation ran down Simon's spine.
When he opened his eyes he discovered that everyone was sitting looking at him. These were not anxious, enquiring looks, there was no sense of you do believe us, don't you? Just a silent wait for what he might say. He decided to respond in the same vein; he cleared his throat and told them what had happened during his escape. When he had finished, Margareta Bergwall said, 'Yes, Anna-Greta told us about that.'
Johan Lundvall snorted and wagged a finger at Simon, 'So you did have a picklock after all. Just as I thought.'
So Anna-Greta had told the others his story, which she had simply dismissed when he told her.
'So this is historical fact?' Simon asked, turning to Anna-Greta.
'Yes. There are records from the interrogations. And from the interviews before…Satan entered the picture.'
'And you don't think it's him? Satan?'
A salutary wave of sniggers and giggles swept through the group. People smiled and shook their heads. Their reaction was answer enough.
To the right of Simon sat Tora Osterberg, an elderly woman who was very active within the mission, and who lived in almost total isolation on the southern side of the island. She patted his knee and said, 'The Devil exists, you can be sure of that. But he has nothing to do with this.'
For once Gustav Jansson had kept quiet until now. In his heyday he had been the leading accordion player in the village, a legendary toper and an inveterate joker. Now he just couldn't stop himself. 'Maybe he's been to visit you, Tora?'
Tora's eyes narrowed. 'Yes, Gustav, he has, and he looked exactly like you. Although his nose wasn't quite as red.'
Gustav laughed and looked around, as if he actually had the nerve to be pleased about being compared with the Evil One. Simon realised that a normal human mechanism was coming into play. This was a closed group where everyone had a set role. Now they had a new audience, and immediately began to overplay their roles. Or perhaps they were just trying to get away from the subject under discussion.
'But why all this secrecy?' asked Simon. 'Why can't everyone who lives here know about this?'
The more relaxed atmosphere that had been about to join the company stopped dead in the doorway. The heaviness returned like a physical force, making shoulders droop and bodies slump on their chairs. Anna-Greta said, 'I think you've realised this is not something
that belongs to the past. That it's something that's going on right now.'
'Yes, but-'
'We no longer give people to the sea, but it takes them anyway. Perhaps not one per year anymore, but it takes many. Summer or winter.'
The objection that had been bubbling inside Simon throughout Anna-Greta's narrative, making him so furious with the original population of Domaro, also applied to the group sitting here cowering in the mission house, and at last he could put it into words. 'But all you have to do is move! They could have done it, and you…we can do it. If the sea really is taking people in a way that isn't natural, if everyone is walking around in fear of becoming the next victim, why don't we just move, and leave this island?'
'Unfortunately it's not that simple.'
'Why not?'
Anna-Greta took a deep breath and was about to answer, when Karl-Erik straightened his back and said, 'Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought we were meeting today to discuss this business of Sigrid and what it might mean, not to go over things we already know.' He looked at his watch. 'And I don't know about you, but I'd like to get home in time for the news, at least.'
Watches were examined, with some people expressing concern that it was so late; Simon was the target of some sideways glances, since it was his appearance that had led to the whole thing being so drawn out.
Simon couldn't believe it: they were sitting here discussing terrible forces, how they should be dealt with, and their own survival. And yet this paled in comparison with the risk of missing the news on TV. Then he realised it was only to him it looked that way. For them the threat had become a part of their everyday life, a depressing fact, not something that needed to be discussed. Like people in a war zone or a city under siege, they clung to the small elements of happiness that still exist in life. If the news can be regarded as a component of happiness.
Simon raised his hands to show that he was giving up, that he wasn't going to make any more demands on their time. For now.
Anna-Greta nodded to Elof. He looked bewildered, then realised that he was expected to carry on from where he had left off a couple of hours earlier.
'Right, well, as I said before…before we were interrupted…I can only think that this is a positive development.' Simon noticed that several of the others were shaking their heads, but Elof went on, 'It's never happened before, no one has ever…come back. I would say this is an indication that…it's getting weaker. Somehow.'
His lips moved but he couldn't work out how to proceed. Anna- Greta helped him out, 'And what do you think we should do about that?'
'Well…'
He didn't get any further before he was interrupted by a noise. At first Simon thought it was a distant foghorn, but then he remembered what it was. It had been heard that time when some idiot from Stockholm had set fire to some brushwood at the end of June, and almost set the whole of Kattudden alight.
Everyone was on their feet immediately.
'Fire!'
Jackets and coats were pulled on, and within a minute the room was empty. Only Simon and Anna-Greta remained. They looked at each other without speaking. Then Simon turned on his heel and went out.
After the light inside the hall, the autumn darkness was dense. The little megaphone in the alarm bell tower was sending out its pulsating tone, but there was no sign of a fire down towards the village. In any case, the wind was coming from the south-west. He should have been able to smell the smoke on the breeze if the fire was in that direction.
There was a fire service, but it was focused on the area around the harbour, the original settlement. A powerful pump next to the jetty was connected to a four-hundred-metre pipe, and in an emergency this could be used to hose sea water over most of the buildings in the central part of the village.
But the fire wasn't in the central part of the village. When Simon's eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, he could see the outlines of the others from the meeting. They were heading for Kattudden. The low- lying clouds to the east were tinged with pink. When he had gone a few steps in that direction, Anna-Greta appeared by his side. She groped for his hand, and Simon pulled it away.
After about fifty metres they caught up with Tora Osterberg. Her gumboots creaked slowly in the darkness as she moved along with the help of her wheeled walker. She was dangerously close to the edge of the track and the ditch. Anna-Greta grabbed her arm and stopped her from tipping over the edge.
'Go home, Tora,' said Anna-Greta. 'You're not needed here.'
'It's got nothing to do with being needed,' snapped Tora. 'I want to see what's going on.'
Simon took the opportunity to put some distance between himself and Anna-Greta. He strode out as fast as he could, and slowed down only when Tora's indignant voice was far behind him. He was so disappointed in Anna- Greta, and he just didn't know what to do.
The purely symbolic rent he had been paying for so many years had enabled him to put quite a bit of money away, and he could probably afford to buy a house. Perhaps he could buy the house he lived in from Anna-Greta?
He smiled bitterly. No. For one thing he wouldn't be able to pay what a house so near the shore was worth, for another he might not want to live close to Anna-Greta any longer, for another…for another it would be like paying back the rent he really owed.
Suddenly the ground fell away beneath his feet and he tumbled over. The darkness in the forest, the darkness in his head had led him to the ditch. As he landed he grazed his hand on a rock. Tears of pain and fury welled up
