Harbour

approached the Shack he saw a column of smoke rising up into the sky.

His father was crouching by the smoker, pushing juniper branches into the fire. The last box of herring was by his side, but he hadn't started threading the fish yet. He looked surprised when he caught sight of Anders.

'Back already?'

'Yes,' said Anders, tilting the wheelbarrow to show him the empty box. All gone.'

His father got to his feet and looked. First at the box, then at Anders. 'You've sold…sixty kilos?'

'Yup.'

'How come?'

Anders told him about Torgny Ek. How he had come walking along, how he had swum out to sea. All the people who had gathered in the harbour. His voice became more and more tentative as the story went on, since he noticed that his father was very upset by the whole thing, for some reason. He was sitting on the bench by the smoker, staring at the ground.

'And then the coastguard arrived…' Anders' voice died away and silence fell. There was only the crackling of burning juniper branches from inside the smoker. 'Three hundred and twenty kronor. That's how much I've taken. It's a bit less because I did a special offer.'

His father nodded heavily. 'Well done.'

Anders picked up a metal skewer and threaded a couple of herring on to it. His father made a slow, dismissive gesture. 'You can leave that. I don't think we'll do any smoking today.'

'Why not?'

'Well, you've…sold such a lot.'

The heavy feeling in his stomach came back, and Anders was drawn down towards the ground. He lowered the skewer he'd started. 'But…it's always good to have buckling.'

His father slowly got to his feet, and said, 'I'm just not in the mood.' He made an effort and drew the corners of his mouth up into a kind of smile. 'It's really good that you've sold such a lot. Now you can afford that boat. Take it easy for a while.'

Without saying any more he went towards the house, his shoulders drooping. Anders waggled the skewer in his hand. The two herring hung there, threaded through the eyes. The eyes themselves were dangling from their heads, attached by thin membranes. Anders pushed the herring right to the end of the skewer, drew back his arm, flicked his wrist. The herring flew off in a wide arch, landing in the sawdust by the woodpile.

That's that, then.

He washed his hands in the rainwater barrel and went back up towards the shop. He didn't know what had happened, but there had been something wrong with this catch from the start.

Except for one thing.

He felt at the bundle of notes in his right-hand pocket, the clump of coins in his left. He might have a funny feeling in his stomach, and maybe the day could have been better in many ways. But there was no denying one thing: he had made plenty of money.

Find the one you love

As long as just one of her young remains, the female scoter

appears to be quite contented, and behaves normally. But it

often happens that the entire brood is wiped out during their

very first hour of life. When this happens, it can be clearly

seen that she is overcome by neurosis. She spins around on the

spot where the young disappeared, returns to the same spot

and searches for them, day after day, and she searches for them

along the route she followed with them-as if their scent were

still there on the surface of the water.

Sten Rinaldo -To the Outer Archipelago

Instead of Las Vegas

Simon was woken by a tickling sensation on his upper lip. The next moment two lips were pressed against his forehead, and he opened his eyes. Anna-Greta drew back, and the strand of hair that had been tickling him was gone.

She was sitting on the edge of his bed with her hand on his hip. 'Good morning,' she said. Simon nodded in response, and Anna-Greta lowered her voice, as if someone might hear.

'How did it go? This morning?'

When Simon came ashore he had simply told Anna-Greta that he was too tired to talk about what had happened, then he had gone straight home and fallen asleep immediately.

He still didn't want to talk about the morning's outing, so he just said it had gone as well as it could, and asked what time it was.

'Half-past eleven,' replied Anna-Greta. 'I didn't know whether to wake you, but…I have a suggestion. You might not like it. In which case, feel free to refuse.'

'What kind of suggestion?'

Simon thought he'd probably had enough surprises to last for some considerable time. Anna-Greta's posture, the way she was picking at her cuticles, suggested she was about to ask a difficult question. Simon sighed and flopped back on the pillow; he was about to say that the answer to all suggestions at this particular moment was No, when Anna-Greta asked, 'Do you still want to marry me?'

The no would have to wait a while. Simon gave the opposite answer, but added, 'Why do you ask?'

'Do you want to marry me now?'

Simon blinked and looked around the room as if to check whether there was a priest hiding somewhere. There didn't appear to be. He didn't understand the question.

'Now} What do you mean by now}'

'As soon as possible.'

'Is it…urgent?'

Anna-Greta rested her chin on one hand. There was sorrow in the look she gave Simon, her eyes fixed on his for a while until she said, 'Perhaps it is. You never know. And I want to be married to you if… if anything happens.'

'What do you mean?'

Anna-Greta traced the lifeline on her palm with her index finger, not looking at Simon as she replied, 'You know I'm not particularly religious. But still. There's something in all that. I want us to be…' She took a deep breath and expanded her chest, as if she had to make an effort to get the big words out, '…to be married in the sight of God. If anything should happen.' She looked at Simon apologetically. 'So there.'

'OK,' said Simon. 'I understand. What's the suggestion, then?'

Anna-Greta had made a number of calls that morning. In order to marry, it was necessary to have proof that there was no impediment to the marriage. That had to be obtained from the national registration office in Norrtalje. It would normally take a week or two to receive the papers, but it was possible to obtain them more quickly if it was urgent. The same day, in fact.

'I said we'd booked the church for tomorrow,' said Anna-Greta. 'But that we'd forgotten this one detail.' She