It was almost three o’clock by the time Linda swung into the drive and had to slam on the brakes in order to avoid running into Baiba’s car. Wallander always thought she drove far too fast, but on the other hand he was relieved whenever she didn’t use her motorcycle. He frequently told her so, but the only response he ever got was a loud snort.
Baiba had woken up and had a sip of water and another cup of tea. She spent a long time in the bathroom. When she came out she seemed to be less tired than before. Without her knowing, Wallander had watched her injecting herself in the thigh. For a brief moment he glimpsed her nakedness and felt despondency welling up inside him at the thought of all that was now over, never to be repeated, never to be experienced again.
It was an important moment for him when Baiba and Linda greeted each other. It seemed to Wallander that he could now see the Baiba he had met so many years ago in Latvia.
Linda embraced her as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and said she was pleased to meet the love of her father’s life at long last. Wallander felt embarrassed but also pleased to see them together. If Mona had been there, despite his current anger with her, and if Linda had been carrying Klara in her arms, the four most important women in his life, in a way the only ones, would have been gathered in his house. A big day, he thought, in the middle of summer, at a time when old age is sneaking up closer and closer.
When Linda heard that Baiba still hadn’t had anything to eat, she sent Wallander into the kitchen to make an omelette and went with Baiba out to the garden. He could hear Baiba laughing through the open window. That made his memories even stronger, and his eyes filled with tears. He worried that he seemed to be growing sentimental - a state he had virtually never experienced before, except when he was drunk.
They ate outside, moving with the shade. Wallander spent most of the time listening as Linda asked questions about Latvia, a country she had never visited. Just for a short time, a family is being resurrected, he thought. It will soon be over. And the question, the most difficult question of all to answer, is what will be left?
Linda stayed for just over an hour before announcing that she needed to go home. She had brought a photo of Klara with her, and she showed it to Baiba.
‘She might grow up to look just like her grandfather,’ Baiba said.
‘God forbid!’ said Wallander.
‘Don’t believe him,’ said Linda. ‘There’s nothing he’d wish for more. I hope to see you again,’ she said as she stood up to go home.
Baiba didn’t reply. They hadn’t talked about death.
Baiba and Wallander remained in the garden and started talking about their lives. Baiba had a lot of questions to ask, and he answered as best he could. Both of them still lived alone. Some ten years earlier Baiba had tried to enter into a relationship with a doctor, but she had given up after six months. She had never had any children. Wallander couldn’t tell if she regretted that or not.
‘Life has been good,’ she said forcefully. ‘When our borders finally opened up, I was able to travel. I lived frugally, wrote several newspaper articles, and I was a consultant for a firm that wanted to establish itself in Latvia. I earned the most money from a Swedish bank that is now the biggest in the country. I went abroad twice a year, and I know so much more about the world we live in than I did when we met. I’ve had a good life. Lonely, but good.’
‘My torture has always been waking up alone,’ said Wallander, then wondered if what he had just said was really true.
Baiba laughed as she replied.
‘I’ve always lived alone, apart from that short time with the doctor. But that doesn’t mean I’ve always woken up alone. You don’t need to be celibate simply because you’re not in a steady relationship.’
Wallander felt pangs of jealousy at the thought of strange men lying by Baiba’s side in her bed. But he didn’t say anything.
Baiba suddenly started talking about her illness. As ever, she was objective.
‘It started with my feeling constantly tired,’ she said. ‘I soon suspected there was something more ominous behind the weariness. At first the doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with me. Burnout, old age; nobody had the right answer. I eventually visited a doctor in Bonn that I’d heard about, a man who specialises in cases that other doctors have failed to diagnose. After a few days giving me various tests and taking samples, he was able to tell me that I had a rare cancerous tumour in my liver. I travelled back to Riga with a death sentence stamped invisibly in my passport. I admit that I leaned on all the contacts I had and was operated on remarkably quickly. But it was too late; the cancer had spread. A few weeks ago I was told that I now have metastases in my brain. It’s taken less than a year. I won’t last until Christmas; I’ll die in the autumn. I’m trying to spend the time I have left doing what I want to do more than anything else. There are a few places in the world I want to visit again, a few people I want to see again. You are one of them - perhaps the one I’ve wanted to see most of all.’
Wallander burst into tears, sobbing violently. She took his hand, which made matters even worse. He stood up and walked round to the back of the house. When he had pulled himself together, he returned.
‘I don’t want to bring you sorrow,’ she said. ‘I hope you understand why I was compelled to come here.’
‘I have never forgotten the time we spent together,’ he said. ‘I’ve often wanted to relive it. Now that you’re here, I have to ask you a question. Have you ever had any regrets?’
‘You mean that I said no when you asked me to marry you?’
‘It’s a question I think about all the time.’
‘Never. It was right then, and it must remain right now, after all these years.’
Wallander said nothing. He understood. Why should she have considered marrying a foreign policeman when her husband, also a police officer, had just been murdered? Wallander remembered how he had tried to persuade her. But if the roles had been reversed, how would he have reacted? What would he have chosen to do?
They sat for a long time in silence. In the end Baiba stood up, stroked Wallander’s hair and went back into the house. Since he could see that her pain had started again, he assumed she was giving herself another injection. When she didn’t come back, he went inside to investigate. She had fallen asleep on his bed. She didn’t wake up until late in the afternoon, and once she had overcome her initial confusion about where she was, her first question was if she could stay the night before catching a ferry to Poland the next morning and driving back to Riga.
‘That’s too far for you to drive,’ said Wallander firmly. ‘I’ll go with you, drive you home. Then I can fly back.’
She shook her head and said she wanted to go home on her own, just as she had come. When Wallander tried to insist, she became annoyed and shouted at him. But she stopped immediately and apologised. He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘How long does she have? When is Baiba going to die? If I had the least suspicion that my time was up now I wouldn’t have stayed. I wouldn’t even have come in the first place. When I feel that the end is imminent and unavoidable, I won’t prolong the torture. I have access to both pills and injections. I intend to die with a bottle of champagne by my bed. I’ll drink a toast to the fact that, despite everything, I was able to experience the singular adventure of being born, living and one day disappearing into the darkness once again.’
‘Aren’t you afraid?’
Wallander immediately wished he could bite his tongue. How could he put a question like that to someone who was dying? But she didn’t take offence. He realised with a mixture of despair and embarrassment that she had no doubt long ago grown used to his clumsiness.
‘No,’ said Baiba. ‘I’m not afraid. I have so little time. I can’t waste any of it on thoughts that would only make everything worse.’
She got out of bed and made a tour of the house. She paused at the bookcase, noticing a book on Latvia that she had given him.
‘Have you ever opened it?’ she asked with a smile.
‘Lots of times,’ said Wallander.
It was true.
Afterwards, Wallander would remember the time spent in Loderup with Baiba as a room in which all the clocks seemed to have stopped, all movement ceased. She ate very little, spent most of the time in bed with a blanket over her, occasionally injecting herself, and wanted him to be near her. They lay side by side, talked now and then, were just as often silent when she was too tired to converse or had simply fallen asleep. Wallander also dozed off from time to time but woke up with a start after a few minutes, unused to having somebody so close to
