‘It wasn’t Jan-Erik,’ Vendela says to her father. ‘It was you.’
Henry shrugs his shoulders. ‘It’s better this way … I mean, your brother is retarded, they can’t punish him.’
In spite of everything that has happened, Henry carries on working as a quarryman. He walks down to the coast with his head held high every morning, and comes home in the evening. Vendela dare not ask what he does there all day, because it’s hardly likely that he has any customers by this stage.
Vendela herself carries on walking back and forth to school, but now the long trek and the hours she spends there are one long torment. She is no longer Vendela Fors, she is just one of ‘that family who burnt down their own farm’, and at break and lunchtime Dagmar Gran sits in a circle with the other girls in their class without even looking at Vendela.
After a couple of weeks of silent waiting, both Jan-Erik and Henry are summoned to the court in Borgholm where the case will be heard.
Henry puts on his black Sunday-best suit and combs his hair carefully. He gets out clean clothes for his son and goes upstairs.
He raises his voice. Vendela realizes that Jan-Erik is refusing to go. Eventually Henry comes downstairs carrying his son. Jan-Erik is clinging to his father.
‘Right, we’re off to catch the train,’ says Henry.
Standing in the porch, Vendela notices that her brother is wearing a new shirt, but his face is just as dirty as it was before.
‘Shouldn’t Jan-Erik have a wash?’
‘Yes, but they’ll feel more sorry for him if he looks like this,’ says Henry as he walks out of the door.
Vendela is left at home. She sits down in the kitchen and stares blankly into space.
Late that evening, Henry and Jan-Erik return with a verdict from the court: Henry will serve eight months in prison in Kalmar for insurance fraud. In addition, in view of Henry’s current financial state, the farm and all its contents are to be sold at auction.
‘That’s just the way it goes,’ he says when he has carried Jan-Erik upstairs and come back down to Vendela in the kitchen. ‘Man proposes, God disposes. We just have to get used to it.’
He is smiling grimly at her across the kitchen table, as if the end of his farm is somehow good news.
‘And Jan-Erik?’ Vendela asks. ‘Will he go to prison too?’
‘No.’
‘So he’s free?’
Henry shakes his head. ‘Things didn’t turn out quite the way I’d hoped … he’s going up to Norrland.’
‘Norrland?’
‘To a place called Salberga. It’s a mental hospital for the socially maladjusted.’
‘How long for?’
‘I’ve no idea … Until they let him out, I suppose.’
The silence in the kitchen grows heavier and heavier, until eventually Vendela asks, ‘And what about me?’
She is expecting to hear that she will be left alone in the house, but Henry says, ‘You’re going to Kalmar as well. You’ll be living with your aunt and going to school there.’
‘And what if I don’t want to?’
‘You have no choice,’ says Henry.
Vendela says nothing. Did she stand by the elf stone and wish for this, wish that she could go and live in the town? Did she wish that everything would end like this?
She doesn’t remember; she has wished for far too much.
The time comes when the little family is to be dispersed. Henry is to begin serving his sentence, Vendela will go to stay with her aunt, and Jan-Erik will be picked up in Kalmar by two care workers from Vanersborg. The day before is a Sunday in the middle of May, overcast and gloomy.
In the morning Henry packs a suitcase for himself and a rucksack for Jan-Erik. He makes coffee and drinks it. Then he sits in the kitchen staring silently at the rectangle of ash outside. Vendela sits opposite him, staring equally silently at her thin hands.
Her father is restless. He stands up at about ten o’clock and picks up the coffee pot, then seems to remember that he has already drunk his coffee. He turns to Vendela. ‘I’m going to do some work … day of rest or no day of rest.’
‘You’re going to the quarry now?’
‘Yes. I’ll be back this evening,’ says Henry, ‘when your aunt and uncle arrive. They’re taking the three of us to Kalmar.’
Then he sets off down towards the coast to work, perhaps for the last time. Vendela hears him start to sing an old familiar Oland song as he reaches the gate. The song gradually fades into the distance, and Vendela remains sitting in the kitchen, feeling like the loneliest person in the whole world.
But she has no intention of waiting for Aunt Margit and Uncle Sven. Once Henry has disappeared in the direction of the sea, she goes into his room, opens the cupboard and takes out the jewellery box.
The last large piece of her mother’s jewellery that is left is a gold heart on a fine silver chain. Vendela puts it in her pocket. Then she goes upstairs. The only sound is a monotonous voice reading the weather forecast on the radio in Jan-Erik’s room. Vendela opens the door without knocking.
He is lying on the floor on the bloodstained blanket, listening to the radio; he seems to be waiting for her. He smiles.
Vendela kneels down in front of him and looks into his sea-blue eyes. ‘Father has gone, Jan-Erik,’ she says, slowly and clearly. ‘He’s gone down to the quarry, where he works.’
Jan-Erik blinks.
‘They’re coming to fetch you, and me … but we’re not going to wait for them. Do you understand?’ Vendela points in the direction of the alvar. ‘We’re going to the elves.’
He smiles at her.
‘Come on then.’
But Jan-Erik remains on his blanket, holding his arms up to her. He wants to be carried, she realizes. There is no hesitation in him, but she is aware of the acrid smell in the room, and holds up her finger.
‘First you need a wash.’
She drags out the tin bath in the kitchen, pumps up several bucketfuls of water and warms it on the wood stove. Then she carries her brother downstairs. It’s quite easy; he is not much more than skin and bone.
Jan-Erik giggles nervously as he lowers himself into the water. It is almost black after just a few minutes. Vendela lets him wash his body himself, but helps him with his face. She puts plenty of soap on a tea towel and rubs gently, washing away all the dried pus and congealed blood. Underneath there are scratches and self-inflicted wounds that have healed, but the skin looks healthier than she had expected. Jan-Erik is beginning to look human.
When he is dry, she cuts his nails. He doesn’t seem to have any clean clothes of his own, so she borrows some of Henry’s, turning up the sleeves and trouser legs to make them fit.
‘Right, time to go.’
Vendela carries him out of the house and feels him rest his chin on her shoulder. She puts him down, then goes upstairs to fetch the wheelchair; they set off along the cow path.
She talks quietly to her brother. ‘The elves will help us, Jan-Erik … It will be better when we’re with them.’
Jan-Erik just smiles. He leans back in the chair and draws up his legs as she takes hold of the handles and pushes him along.
Vendela chooses the route through the trees so that no one will see them. She has walked here behind the cows so many times.
It is only when they are crossing the meadow and are several hundred metres from the house that it occurs to Vendela that she should have brought more than just a gift for the elves. She should have brought food and blankets as well, but it’s too late now.
