Harbour (27 page)

The loveliest place on earth.

It wasn't the first time he had thought that. Particularly in the autumn, he had often been brought to a standstill in admiration of the beauty of Domarö. How could this be a depopulated community, why didn't everyone want to live here?

He walked a little way along the track, drinking in more of the autumn's miracles: the clear water in the rock pools, the wet tree trunks, the moss saturated with green dampness. The white-painted tower of the alarm bell, stretching up towards the sky. He wasn't thinking about anything other than what was before his eyes. He knew he could think about something else, about the change that was perhaps about to take place, but he refused. Maybe he was saying a kind of goodbye.

He had been ambling about in this way for perhaps five minutes when the mission house door opened. Anna-Greta came out and waved him over. He couldn't tell from her face what the decision was, and she turned away before he reached her.

When Simon walked back into the warmth he had no need to ask. An extra chair had been drawn into the circle, between Johan Lundberg and Märta Karlsson, who used to run the shop before her son took over. Simon didn't know if it was deliberate, but he had been placed opposite Anna-Greta.

He took off his jacket, hung it over the back of the chair and sat down with his elbows resting on his knees. Karl-Erik was two seats away to the left, sitting as if he were holding a barrel of nitro-glycerine on his lap. If he moved or slackened his grip, he would explode.

Anna-Greta looked around the group and licked her lips. She had obviously been nominated as chair. Or perhaps she always had taken that role.

‘First of all,' she said, ‘I want you to tell us how much you know. And how you know.'

Simon shook his head. ‘So that you can work out what to tell me? No. It seems as if you've decided…' Simon glanced briefly at Karl-Erik. ‘…that I'm allowed to know. So tell me.'

Anna-Greta looked at him in that way again. But there was a difference. It took Simon a moment to work out what it was. Then he realised: she was embarrassed. All this was her fault, because she was the one who was Simon's partner. He was her responsibility.

Elof Lundberg slapped his hands down on his knees and said, ‘We can't sit here all day. Tell him. Start with Gåvasten.'

So she did.

GÃ¥vasten

It was a hazardous business, being a fisherman in the olden days, before meteorology. There were no forecasts to consult, nothing to tell you how much of its better nature the sea was planning to show; or whether it was intending to whip itself into winds that would smash both people and vessels to pieces.

And if things went very badly, if the fragile boats that had set out to gather in the nets ran into a strong wind, what chance was there for the crew to communicate the fact that they were in distress? The most they could hope for was that God would hear their cries, and his readiness to help was somewhat capricious.

But they did their best. When it seemed as if all hope had gone, when the crew were lined up along the gunwale to stop the waves crashing over the deck, they would sometimes make lists of the promised collections that would be taken up when they came ashore, if they ever came ashore. Sometimes God allowed himself to be persuaded, and the lists would be read out in church the following Sunday and the collection would be taken.

But it wasn't a reliable method. Many notes detailing extensive promises of contributions to the glory of God sank to the bottom with those who had made them. Incomprehensible, one might think. But Our Lord is no businessman.

Yes, life as a herring fisherman was a risky business in the olden days, but sometimes it could be very rewarding. Entire families moved to the outer islands during the summer, spending a few months laying, gathering in and checking their nets. The herring were salted in barrels and stored away, and later in the autumn they would be transported home and sold.

Sweden is built on salt herring. What did they use to feed the army, what did they give to the foreigners who came to build churches, and to other workers? Herring, that's what! And what kept those who lived on the coast alive during the dark winter months?

Exactly. Herring.

People were so afraid of upsetting this valuable fish that the official document of the harbour guild states, ‘Any person who shows disrespect towards any fish, and calls it by an incorrect name in a spirit of contempt will pay a fine of 6 marks'.

The silver of the sea. It had to be brought up, and that involved risk. But people looked for opportunities to stack the deck, so to speak. To reduce the risks and be able to feel secure.

Anna-Greta's story took place many hundreds of years ago. The area that today comprises Nåten was still partly under water. Domarö with its surrounding archipelago made up the outermost islands. This was also the site of the rock that used to be called Gåfwasten even further back in time. This was the place where people were in the habit of leaving gifts for the sea, after, for example, a successful trip across to Åland and back.

Exactly how the next phase began is shrouded in darkness. It is possible that someone might have got stranded on GÃ¥vasten and been swept away into the waves, or simply disappeared. At any rate, people noticed that after this event the catches improved significantly, and the sea remained obliging all summer long.

It made people think.

The following summer, an insolent young man who had no time for superstitious nonsense declared that he was willing to be left on GÃ¥vasten. He was provided with sufficient food and drink for a week, and if nothing had happened during that time, someone would come and rescue him.

They left the young man on the bare rock, rowed back to the fishing grounds a nautical mile or so away, and carried on laying their nets as if nothing had happened. The very next day they had the record catch of the summer, and the herring continued to pour into their nets in the days that followed.

When they returned to GÃ¥vasten after a week, the young man was gone. They inspected the leftover food and drink, and found that it was virtually untouched. He couldn't have spent many hours on GÃ¥vasten before the sea took its tribute, and gave them herring in return.

And so the situation was clear. The problem was how to proceed in the future.

The catches were enormous that summer, and during the October market they were able to sell more than twice as much fish as in previous years. Come the winter, discussions were held, and this was the decision they made: since no one was willing to offer themselves as a gift to the sea, they would simply vote. Women and children were not allowed to participate, but nor were they at risk of being sacrificed. This was a matter for the men.

Now, it would be nice to be able to tell of the heroic resignation with which the chosen person received the verdict. Unfortunately this was not the case. The voting was carried out with no mercy, and simply turned into a vote as to who was least popular in the fishing community. It was usually some angry and unreasonable individual who was selected, and the dubious honour didn't make him any more amenable.

The victim would be hauled off to GÃ¥vasten with something of a violent struggle, then his companions would row away as fast as they could with his curses echoing across the bay. Everybody kept their eyes down.

It came to be common practice simply to bind and fetter the victim before depositing him on GÃ¥vasten. As the years passed, the custom was rationalised even further. No one really wanted to set foot on GÃ¥vasten, and it turned out it was enough to chain up the victim and drop him in the sea. The desired effect was still achieved. The herring poured in, and the sea did not seek any further sacrifices.

By this stage people had settled permanently on Domarö. The pact with the sea made the population as rich as it is possible to be from fishing, and the houses were in no way inferior to those on the mainland. And yet it was not a happy island.

The annual sacrifice took its toll on the souls of the people. It wasn't many years before they stopped excluding women and children from the sacrificial duty. Since it was still only the men who voted, it was, shamefully, the women and children who ran the greatest risk of being selected.

It's unlikely that anyone was exactly happy at having to tie up a child, and then, as it sobbed and pleaded for its life, to throw it over the gunwale and watch it sink. But they did it. They did it, because that was the custom. And it ate away at the people.

No one was pleased when spring arrived, because spring was merely a forerunner of the summer. The leaves burst into life late in the archipelago, and when the trees became flecked with green it was not long to the summer solstice, and the whole of Domarö lived in fear of that day, the day when the vote traditionally took place.

You might imagine that the risk of being voted out would make people amenable and less inclined to use harsh words, for fear of being regarded as difficult. You might certainly imagine that. However, that wasn't how it turned out.

Instead of friendliness, a climate of ingratiation flourished; instead of honesty, falseness blossomed. The kind words lost their way and turned into whispers and conspiracies, people gathered in clandestine groups and formed alliances. It had been bad enough when the vote was a matter of excluding the person who brought least joy to the group. That time was now past. Now they drowned the person who had failed in the game of intrigue.

There were heroic gestures, of course, born out of a kind of love. A mother or father took the place of their child, a brother allowed himself to be put in chains instead of his sister. But after a few years that love also disappeared. Someone whose life was spared one year could be the victim the following year. People sank into apathy, brought home their plentiful catch of herring and took no pleasure in anything.

At this time, Domarö was virtually isolated. The only contact with the outside world was in connection with selling the fish in autumn. However, as the years went by, rumours inevitably began to spread. The odd visitor reported on the oppressive atmosphere on the island, and the people from Domarö always kept themselves to themselves at the market. Spoke to no one unless it was a matter of business, never ventured a smile. And after all, people kept disappearing. That couldn't be concealed in the long term.

In 1675, a thorough investigation was finally carried out into the situation on Domarö. A delegation of aldermen, priests and members of the constabulary from Stockholm were conveyed to the island to see if the epidemic of heresy and devil worship that had taken root in the capital had also spread to the archipelago.

They found that indeed it had. Accustomed as they were to slandering each other and conspiring, the residents of Domarö were not slow to denounce others when they were under pressure. There was no end to the confessions that spilled out behind closed doors, but always about the neighbours. Always about the neighbours.

The members of the delegation found it impossible to untangle the skein of accusations and counter-accusations with which they were confronted, and they decided that as an interim measure they would have a number of men arrested—those who seemed to be the most compromised. These men were transported to Stockholm and held in custody.

Under questioning the men admitted that the sacrifices had been made with the aim of gaining material benefits, but they refused to admit there had been any kind of pact with the Evil One. After a couple of weeks of intense interrogation involving pincers and thumbscrews, most of them changed their minds. It seemed, when it came down to it, people had not only prayed to the Evil One but danced with him.

The torturers and the scribes between them finally managed to produce a comprehensive document that was completely in line with what the authorities had feared they might find. Domarö was a cauldron where the Devil's stinking juices were slowly stewing, and the island was a danger to the entire archipelago.

They were somewhat surprised when they returned to Domarö to call the rest of the population to account and found that nobody had fled. They interpreted this as obduracy and a stubborn belief that the powers of evil would stand by them. Therefore, they would be shown no mercy. Domarö was emptied of its people, and a long drawn-out investigation began.

After a whole year, the verdict was delivered. There was better evidence here than in many other trials going on at the time. This was not merely a question of a fleeting word that might have sullied the honour of God, or ambiguous confessions from children and servants—no, in this case human sacrifices had definitely taken place, and evil surrounded the accused like a cloud. They wanted to make an example of the people of Domarö.

All the men were sentenced to death, along with a number of women. For reasons that are unclear, some individuals were accorded the privilege of being beheaded first. Perhaps they had been particularly assiduous in denouncing others. The rest were burned alive.

The women who were left were sent to work in spinning workhouses, the children were distributed around different institutions. On Domarö the nets rotted on the drying racks, and the winter ice crushed the boats to matchwood. No one wanted anything to do with the island, and ideally they would have liked to erase it from the maritime charts if not from the surface of the earth.

To some extent their wishes were granted. The following summer, a few days after the solstice, a storm passed over the archipelago. Its effects were felt everywhere on the inhabited islands, large and small, but nowhere was the devastation greater than on Domarö.

As already stated, no one was keen to step ashore, but when the storm had abated and people dared to venture out in boats again, they could see from a considerable distance what had happened. The magnificent houses that the residents of Domarö had built and paid for with their evil trade were gone. Their boats were gone and the jetties off which the boats had been moored were gone.