Harbour

been right, but it still didn't mean that Maja was on his side? The snowsuit. How had Henrik and Bjorn actually got hold of the snowsuit?

This was the last chance. He was balancing on the edge of a precipice, and only a touch as light as a feather, the right touch, could save him. If it didn't come, there was nothing but the downward plunge and the darkness.

Come. Touch me.

Inside his body was a hollow space that was much bigger than his body. A summer breeze off the sea wafted through the room, bringing with it a single fluffy dandelion seed that floated around on the air currents until it finally landed on the inside of his skin. It tickled and settled down. That was what it felt like. So faint. But he knew.

You are here.

After that first, microscopic touch it grew stronger. What the water had carried with it spread through his blood, into his muscles, and the tickle became a soft caress and a greater presence, as if the downy seed really had brought with it other seeds that had now taken root in his flesh, causing small dandelions to bloom. He couldn't see them, but beneath the horizon they lit up his world, and his eyes filled with tears.

Hello, sweetheart. I'm sorry I…forgive me. For everything.

He looked in cupboards and drawers and got out every bottle he could find, then filled them from the kitchen tap. He ended up with about ten litres of water in large and small bottles, which he stuffed into two carrier bags. He found room for the bottle of wormwood too.

Finally he fetched some Bamse comics from the bedroom and slipped the photographs from Gavasten into his pocket. Then he left the house. Before he even got to Anna-Greta's house he fished out one of the bottles and took a couple of swigs.

The newlyweds were sitting in the kitchen, and had changed into their everyday clothes. Everything was as usual, and everything was different. New bonds had been formed without anything changing on the surface. When Simon caught sight of the carrier bags, he asked, 'Is that…water?'

'Yes.'

'Can I have a look at one of the bottles?'

Anders dug out one of the bottles and placed it on the table in front of Simon. It was an old plastic bottle; the label had fallen off, and the slightly cloudy water was clearly visible through the plastic. All three of them gathered around the bottle as if it were a relic, a sacred object.

There was nothing special to see, Anders had already established that when he was filling the bottles. The water in the Shack had always been cloudy because of methane gas or chemical deposits, it had always had that misty, slightly ghostly appearance; it needed to stand in an open container for a while before it cleared.

Simon pulled a glass towards him, looked at Anders and asked, 'May I…?'

A pang of…a protective instinct ran through Anders, but before he could open his mouth Anna-Greta had said what he was about to say, 'You're not going to drink that?'

'I've drunk it before,' said Simon. 'But this time I was only intending to pour it out. Is that OK?'

Anders nodded, finding the situation slightly absurd. Simon was asking for permission to pour water out of a bottle. But it wasn't absurd. Not anymore.

Anders felt uncomfortable as Simon unscrewed the cap and poured the water. Maja was in that water, and Simon knew that, which was why he had asked for permission. It was like handling someone's ashes. The relatives must be consulted.

She isn't dead. She isn't gone. She…

Anders suddenly thought of something Simon had told him a long time ago, or was it just a few days ago? Time had lost its meaning as days and nights, hope and powerlessness slipped in and out of each other in strange ways.

He was about to ask, but Simon's experiment caught his attention. Simon had picked up the matchbox and tipped the insect into his left hand. He now moved his right hand towards the glass, glanced at Anders, then dipped his index and middle finger in the water. Closed his eyes.

There wasn't a sound in the kitchen as Simon waited. Thirty seconds passed. Then Simon removed his fingers from the glass and shook his head.

'No,' he said. 'There is something there. Particularly now that I know. But it's too faint.'

For a moment Simon didn't know what to do with his wet fingers. He was about to dry them on his trousers purely as a reflex action, but stopped himself and allowed them to dry on their own. Anders raised the glass to his lips and drank the water.

'Do you really think that's a good idea?' asked Anna-Greta.

'Grandma,' said Anders. 'You have no idea how good it is.'

It couldn't be helped, all that drinking had made him desperate for a pee. Presumably all the fluid that left his body, tears, sweat, urine, somehow made what was in the water…evaporate from him, but there it was. He would just have to drink some more afterwards.

On the way to the toilet he passed the closed door to the hidey- hole, and through the wall he waved goodbye to the shotgun inside. He made a mental note to take out the cartridge when he had the opportunity, so that nobody would come to grief.

He emptied his bladder while contemplating the framed picture above the toilet. A classic motif: a little girl with a basket over her arm is walking along a narrow footbridge across a ravine. Beside her hovers an angel with great big wings and outstretched arms, as if to catch the girl if she should fall. The girl is completely oblivious to both the danger and the presence of the angel, she is simply the roses in her cheeks and the sunshine in her eyes.

That's what it's like, thought Anders, that's exactly what it's like.

He had no idea what he meant, what this particular picture had to do with his story, but one thing he did know: the great stories were true, the timeless pictures portraying need, beauty, danger and grace were meaningful.

Everything is possible.

When he got back to the kitchen Anna-Greta was busy lighting a fire. Simon was still staring at the bottle as if he were gazing into a crystal ball, where a glimpse of something might appear at any moment. Anders sat down opposite him.

'Simon,' he said. 'What happened with Holger's wife? With Sigrid?'

Simon looked up from the bottle. 'I know,' he said. 'I've been thinking about that too.'

'What have you come up with?'

'Don't you remember what happened?'

Anders grabbed the bottle and drank deeply. 'No,' he said. 'There's so much that I…a lot of things have just disappeared. Those first days here on the island are very…foggy.' Anders smiled and had another drink. 'And I probably haven't…been myself, not really. If you know what I mean.'

'How does it feel now?'

Anders ran his hand over his chest. 'It feels…warm. And less lonely. What about Sigrid?'

Anna-Greta placed a steaming pot of coffee on the table and sat down between them.

'I have to say one thing,' she said, looking from Anders to Simon, then back at Anders. 'Bearing in mind what we know and what has happened, this might sound…harsh. But what I want to say is…don't try to do anything. Don't try to…challenge the sea. It's dangerous. It could go wrong. It could go very, very badly wrong. Much worse than we can imagine.'

'What do you mean?' asked Simon.

'I just mean that…it's bigger than us. Infinitely bigger. It can crush us. Just like that. It's happened before. And this is not just about us. Other people live here too.'

Anders thought about what Anna-Greta had said, and it certainly made sense, but there was one thing he didn't understand.

'Why are you saying this now?' he asked.

Anna-Greta's hand was unsteady as she poured coffee into her saucer and reached for a sugar lump. 'I thought it might be appropriate,' she said. 'To remind you.' She pushed the sugar lump into her mouth and slurped