“Just look at the moon,” he said with a smile. “I should be out there hunting foxes.”
In Meijer & Ditzinger’s offices Rebecka Martinsson took the telephone from Maria Taube.
A Moomin troll, Maria had said. But there was only one Moomintroll. The image of a snub-nosed face suddenly materialized on the inside of her eyelids.
“Rebecka Martinsson.”
“It’s Sanna. I don’t know if you’ve heard it on the news already, but Viktor’s dead.”
“Yes, I heard it just now. I’m sorry.”
Without thinking, Rebecka picked up a pen from the table and wrote, “Say no! NO!” on a yellow Post-it note.
On the other end of the phone Sanna Strandgard took a deep breath.
“I know we haven’t kept in touch lately, but you’re still my closest friend. I didn’t know who to call. I was the one who found Viktor in the church, and I… but perhaps you’re busy?”
Busy? thought Rebecka, and felt confusion rising in her like mercury in a hot thermometer. What kind of question is that? Did Sanna seriously think that anybody could answer that question?
“Of course I’m not busy when it involves something like this,” she answered gently, pressing her hand to her eyes. “Did you say you found him?”
“It was terrible.” Sanna’s voice was quiet and flat. “I got to the church at about three in the morning. He was supposed to have come over to me and the girls for a meal in the evening, but he never turned up. I just thought he’d forgotten. You know what he’s like when he’s alone in the church, praying; he forgets what time it is and where he is. I often tell him, ‘You can be that sort of Christian when you’re a young guy, and you’re not responsible for any kids. I have to take the chance when I can, and say a prayer sitting on the toilet.’ ”
She was quiet for a moment, and Rebecka wondered whether she had realized that she was talking about Viktor as if he were still alive.
“But then I woke up in the middle of the night,” said Sanna, “and I had the feeling that something had happened.”
She broke off and began to hum a psalm. The Lord is My Shepherd.
Rebecka fixed her eyes on the flickering text on the screen in front of her. But the letters jumped out of their places, regrouped and formed a picture of Viktor Strandgard’s angelic face covered in blood.
Sanna Strandgard was talking again. Her voice was like thin September ice. Rebecka recognized that voice. Cold black water swirled under the shining surface.
'They’d cut off his hands. And his eyes were, well, it was all so strange. When I turned him over the back of his head was completely… I think I’m going mad. And the police are looking for me. They came to the house early this morning, but I told the girls to be as quiet as mice, and we didn’t open the door. The police probably believe I murdered my own brother. Then I took the girls and left. I’m so scared of cracking up. But that’s not the worst thing.'
“No?” asked Rebecka.
“Sara was with me when I found him. Well, Lova was too, but she was sleeping in the sledge outside the church. And Sara is in total shock. She won’t speak. I’ve tried to reach her, but she just sits and stares out through the window and tucks her hair behind her ears.”
Rebecka could feel her stomach tying itself in knots.
“For God’s sake, Sanna. Get some help. Ring the Psychiatric Service and tell them it’s an emergency. Both you and the girls could do with some support at the moment. I know it sounds dramatic, but-”
“I can’t, you know I can’t,” wailed Sanna. “Mum and Dad will say I’ve gone mad and they’ll try to take the girls away from me. You know what they’re like. And the church is totally against psychologists and hospitals and all that. They’d never understand. I daren’t talk to the police, they’ll just make everything worse. And I daren’t answer the phone in case it’s some reporter; it was difficult enough when the revival first started, with everybody ringing up and saying he was hallucinating and he was crazy.”
“But you do understand that you can’t just stay away,” pleaded Rebecka.
“I can’t cope with this, I can’t cope with this,” said Sanna as if she were talking to herself. “I’m very sorry I rang and disturbed you, Rebecka. You get on with your work now.”
Rebecka swore to herself. Shit, shit, shit.
“I’ll come,” she sighed. “You have to let the police interview you. I’ll come up and go with you, okay?”
“Okay,” whispered Sanna.
“Can you manage to drive the car? Can you get to my grandmother’s house in Kurravaara?”
“I can ask someone to give me a lift.”
“Good. There’s never anyone there in the winter. Take Sara and Lova. You remember where the key is. Get the fire going. I’ll be there this afternoon. Can you manage until then?”
Rebecka stared at the telephone when she had put the receiver down. She felt empty and confused.
“Unbelievable,” she said to Maria Taube in an exhausted voice. “She didn’t even have to ask me.”
Rebecka looked down at her watch. Then she closed her eyes, breathed in through her nose and straightened her head at the same time, then breathed out through her mouth and let her shoulders drop. Maria had seen her do it many times. Before negotiations and important meetings. Or when she was sitting working in the middle of the night with a deadline hanging over her.
“How do you feel?” asked Maria.
“I don’t think I want to find out.”
Rebecka shook her head and let her gaze fly out through the window to avoid Maria’s troubled eyes. She bit her lips hard from the inside. It had stopped raining.
“Listen, kid, you shouldn’t work so bloody hard,” said Maria gently. “Sometimes it’s a good idea just to let go and scream a bit.”
Rebecka clasped her hands on her lap.
Let go, she thought. What happens if you find out you keep on falling? And what happens if you can’t stop screaming. Suddenly you’re fifty. Pumped full of drugs. Shut up in some mental hospital. With the scream that never stops inside your head.
“That was Viktor Strandgard’s sister,” she said, and was surprised at how calm she sounded. “Evidently she found him in the church. It seems as if she and her two daughters could do with some help right now, so I’m going to take some time off and go up there for a few days. I’ll take my laptop and work from up there.”
“This Viktor Strandgard, he was something big up there?” asked Maria.
Rebecka nodded.
“He had a near-death experience, and then there was a kind of religious explosion in Kiruna.”
“I remember,” said Maria. “It was in the evening papers. He’d been to heaven, and he said that if you fell over, it didn’t hurt; the ground just sort of received you into its embrace. I thought it sounded lovely.”
“Mmm.” Rebecka went on, “And he said he’d been sent back to this earthly life to tell everyone that God had great plans for Christianity in Kiruna. A great revival was coming, and it would spread from the north over the whole world. Wonders and miracles would happen if the churches would only unite and believe.”
“Believe in what?”
“In the power of God. In the vision. In the end all those who believed in everything joined together to form a new church, The Source of All Our Strength. And then the whole of copper red Kiruna turned into one big revivalist meeting. Viktor wrote a book that was translated into loads of languages. He stopped studying and started preaching. They built a new church, the Crystal Church; it was supposed to make people think of the ice church and the ice sculptures they build in Jukkasjarvi every winter. Above all, it wasn’t meant to remind anyone of the Kiruna church, which is really dark inside.”
“And what about you? Were you part of all this?”
“I was already a member of the Mission church before Viktor’s accident. So I was there from the start.”
“And now?” asked Maria.
“Now I’m a heathen,” said Rebecka with a mirthless smile. “The pastors and the elders requested that I leave the church.”
