Until Thy Wrath Be Past

Hjalmar shakes his head.

“But what’s the matter with my little boy? Poika, mika sinulla on?”

He can’t help smiling at the way she still calls him her little boy.

She grasps the iron rail with her bird-like claws and manages to stand up.

Then he says it.

“Forgive me.”

That wasn’t much of a voice. You can tell how unaccustomed he is to using it. And how unaccustomed he is to that phrase. His voice is hoarse as it stumbles out of his mouth. As if it were written on a piece of paper that he’s had in his mouth for so long that it’s become all scrunched up.

The last time he said it must have been very long ago, when he’d been thrashed by Isak. And in those days it meant “Have mercy”.

“For what?” Anni says.

But she knows what for.

She looks at him and she knows.

He realizes that she knows.

“No!” she shouts so loudly that the ravens in the tree beat their wings together.

But they don’t fly away.

She clenches her bird’s claws and shakes them at Hjalmar. No, she will not forgive him.

“Why?” she shouts.

Her body might be skinny, but the air around her on the front steps is vibrant with powerful forces. She is a priestess with damnation in her clenched fist.

Hjalmar reaches out with one hand and leans awkwardly against his car. He holds the other hand against his heart.

“They were going to go diving, looking for an old aeroplane,” he says. “But Father heard about it. That was when he had his heart attack. You shouldn’t poke around in the past.”

He hears what that sounds like. As if he were defending himself. That would be wrong. But he doesn’t know what else to say.

“You?” Anni shouts. “On your own?”

He shakes his head.

“It’s not true,” Anni says.

Her voice has lost all of its strength. It’s as if she has an animal in her throat. And once the animal has bellowed out its lamentation, it turns on Hjalmar. Her eyes are blazing. The words tumble out in a rush of gurgling fury.

“Get away from here! You swine! Don’t ever, ever come here again. Did you hear me?”

Hjalmar gets into the car. He holds both hands in front of him like a bowl, and places his face in the bowl. He will go. But first he must pull himself together.

Then he drives away from Anni’s house, heading north. As soon as the lump in his throat has subsided, he will ring the police station. And ask to speak to that prosecutor, Rebecka Martinsson.

Isak Krekula is lying on his back in the little room off the kitchen. His feet are ice cold. He is freezing. The wall clock is ticking ponderously in the kitchen. Like a death machine. It first hung on the wall in his parents’ house. When they died it ended up with him and Kerttu. When he passes on, Laura will take it to her and Tore’s house: they will listen to it ticking and wait for their turn.

He shouts for Kerttu. Where the devil is the woman?

“Hey there! Get yourself in here, woman! Tule tanne!”

She turns up eventually. He moans and groans as she pulls the covers over his feet.

He has been shouting for her for ages. How come she has not heard him? Stupid cloth-eared bitch!

“I’ll put the coffee on,” Kerttu says, and goes back to the kitchen.

He continues fanning the flames of his anger. That woman has to come the moment he shouts for her. Can she not understand that? He is lying here helpless.

“Can you hear me?” he shouts. “Are you listening? Bloody whore.”

He adds the last comment in a somewhat quieter voice. He has always made such remarks without a second thought. He is the one who has paid for the food served up at mealtimes, and he has always been the boss in his own house. But what can you do when you are confined to bed like this? Dependent on others?

He closes his eyes, but he cannot sleep. He is freezing. He shouts to his wife, telling her to bring him another blanket. But nobody comes.

Inside his head it is August 1943. A hot day in late summer. He and Kerttu are in Lulea. They are standing outside the German military depot next to the cathedral in the town centre, talking to William Schorner, the S.S. man in charge of security. A fleet of lorries is being loaded with sacks, all marked with an eagle, as well as some exceptionally heavy wooden crates that need to be handled with care.

Schorner is always smartly dressed, clean-shaven, dignified. He does not even seem to sweat in the hot sun. The depot commander, Oberleutnant Walther Zindel, who is stationed in Lulea, sticks two fingers inside his collar and gives every appearance of being on the warm side. The only times Isak Krekula has seen Zindel raise an arm in a Hitler salute have been when Schorner has been in the vicinity.

It is plain that Sicherheitschef Schorner and depot manager Zindel are under pressure.

The tide has turned against the Germans. Everything is changed now. Sweden is accepting more and more Jewish refugees. Public opposition to the German trains passing through Sweden has increased during the spring and summer. The writer Vilhelm Moberg has published articles about these trains, claiming that they contain not only unarmed soldiers going on and coming back from leave but also soldiers armed with bayonets and pistols. At the end of July the Swedish government cancelled the transit agreement with Germany, and Swedish Railways will soon stop transporting German soldiers. People have started to hate Hitler. Four Swedes have been sentenced to death in Berlin for espionage. The Swedish submarine Ulven was sunk in April, and news is emerging of another Swedish submarine, Draken, coming under fire from the German transport vessel Altkirch. In July the Germans sank two Swedish fishing boats off the north-west coast of Jutland, and twelve Swedish fishermen died. People are furious when Berlin responds to the Swedish protests by claiming that the fishermen had been sabotaging German light buoys.

Both depot manager Zindel and Sicherheitschef Schorner have noticed that their reception in Lulea has become cooler. The atmosphere in the post office, in restaurants and everywhere else is different now. People avoid looking them in the eye. They receive fewer dinner invitations from local middle-class families. Zindel’s Swedish wife spends most of her time at home, alone.

When Krekula drove down to Lulea, he had in mind that it was time to renegotiate the fee he was being paid for his transport services. Now that Swedish Railways have terminated their arrangements, the Germans will be totally dependent on road-haulage companies to supply their troops in Finnish Lapland and northern Norway. Krekula is also feeling the effects of people’s objections to the way he is placing his lorries at the Germans’ disposal. He wants compensation.

But the moment he jumps down from his lorry outside the depot, he realizes that there will be no renegotiation. Sicherheitschef Schorner is in Lulea. Krekula prefers not to have dealings with him, but when Schorner is in Lulea, which is often, he takes charge of every detail. The last