The Double Silence (6 page)

No, he shouldn’t think like that. It clouded his vision and made his head burn. He had to put out the fire. Take control. Think clearly. Not let anything distract him. He needed to concentrate and focus on his goal. The people around her were nothing but hazy shapes. They were completely superfluous. She was the only one he was interested in. Just her. He didn’t let her out of his sight. She thought it was over and done with, but that was only her imagination. She didn’t understand what was best for her. He was the one in charge. He tossed his cigarette butt on the ground, grinding it under the sole of his shoe. Then he turned to look at her again. She tossed her head back and laughed. He didn’t hear her.

Just watched. Biding his time.

HER FLAT WAS
at the very top of the building, with a view over Visby’s multi-coloured rooftops and the sea beyond. Karin Jacobsson sipped at her evening cup of tea, peering through the dormer window. The usually expansive view was partially obscured right now because the town was swathed in a grey mist after the rain.

Her cockatoo, Vincent, was chattering happily along with the tunes coming from the radio. But Karin was feeling gloomy. She was facing a decisive moment in her life, and she had no idea how to handle it. Time had caught up with her, and she realized that she was going to be forced to deal with the problem. Otherwise she would go mad. It had to do with the daughter she had given up for adoption, the child who was now grown up and probably lived somewhere in Sweden. She would be twenty-five in September. There had been no contact between them in all these years, but now Karin had made up her mind. She had to look for her. Find out who she was.

Karin closed her eyes, summoning up memories from that brief time right after giving birth. The baby at her breast, that warm, sticky creature who was her own flesh and blood. Her little girl. Sometimes she regretted the fact that the midwife had allowed her to hold the baby for those few minutes; it had haunted her ever since. Her parents had decided that the baby would be given up for adoption. There had been no question of doing anything else, and initially Karin had offered no objections. She’d simply wanted to be rid of the evil, to forget that the rape had ever happened.

But the moment she felt the baby’s body against her own, she had
changed her mind. She had loved her from the first second. In secret she had named the child Lydia.

Karin had no idea what her daughter’s real name was. She didn’t know where she lived or what sort of work she did or anything else about her. All her life, Karin had kept the secret to herself, refusing to share it with anyone. Her parents never mentioned the subject after that day in the maternity ward when the child was born. And she never saw the baby again. The yearning she had felt since then was like a hole in her heart.

The years had passed, and Karin had moved on with her life. She tried to convince herself that memories of those moments in the dimly lit delivery room would fade with time. She moved to Stockholm, entered secondary school, and made new friends. For many years she had no contact with her parents. What they had done seemed to her a terrible betrayal. They had refused to listen to her. They hadn’t told her that she was entitled to take six months to make up her mind, or that she wasn’t required to decide before giving birth. They had kept her out of the entire process and got away with it. She would never forgive them.

Then had come the police academy. When she was offered a trainee position in Visby, her first impulse had been to turn it down. She didn’t want to return to Gotland or all those memories. But eventually she changed her mind. She decided that it would be better to confront the trauma she’d been through. That was the only way to get beyond it. For the first time in many years she had visited her parents at their house in Tingstäde.

But the memory of Lydia had come back to her even more strongly. Whenever she walked around in Östercentrum, she was reminded of how she had felt when she went there with her ever-expanding stomach. How she’d had coffee with a friend, and how her friend had discovered that she was pregnant. They had been sitting in the Siesta pastry shop. Afterwards Karin had realized that the situation was untenable, that she could no longer conceal her condition. She stopped trying to hide her stomach, but she didn’t tell anyone except her parents about being raped. The shame was too much to bear.

At least now she’d made a decision, even though she was filled with
dread. She would look for her daughter. Lydia was no longer a minor; she was a grown woman. Karin could find out who she was without revealing their connection.

Maybe she should speak to the young woman’s parents first, find out their view of the matter? One step at a time, she thought.

One step at a time.

IT WAS AN
unusually warm evening with no wind. After the opening ceremonies, there was a party at Kuten, Fårö’s most legendary restaurant, a simple but acclaimed establishment right across from the inn.

The setting for Kuten was unique, to say the least, with a largely fifties feel to it. Originally it had been a petrol station, as evidenced by the red-painted pump that still stood on the forecourt. A Volvo PV was squeezed in between a Chevy Nova and a Cadillac from the same time period. A sign that said ‘Kuten’s Petrol’ hung above the entrance to the rather faded limestone building in which the restaurant was housed. Outside stood a row of rusty oil drums along with an old refrigerator reminiscent of the era when the Swedish welfare state was established. On the building’s façade were enamel advertising signs for Esso, Juicy Fruit, and Cuba Cola. The crowning jewel was a sickly green neon sign that said ‘Elvis’.

An outdoor bar with a Caribbean theme, decorated with coloured lights, provided a welcome break in style, along with the hard-rock music blaring from the stage. An American band had been hired for the evening’s entertainment.

The group of friends from Terra Nova found seats at a big table outdoors. The enticing aroma of grilled lamb drifted over the crowded restaurant.

‘Great,’ exclaimed Sam as he sat down. ‘What a perfect evening. Don’t you think so, sweetheart?’ He poked Andrea in the side. No one could avoid hearing the sarcasm in his voice, but Andrea pretended not to notice.

‘It certainly is,’ she replied, smiling at Sam. ‘Absolutely wonderful. And it’s so warm.’

‘It feels as if we’re in Greece or somewhere like that,’ said Beata, taking off her shawl, which offered only minimal coverage of her plunging neckline.

She always has to show off, thought Andrea. She just can’t help it.

Beata stretched her arms in the air and uttered a little chirping sound.

‘Oh, how lovely. But now I want some wine.’

They ordered several bottles and then went to get food from the chef, who stood next to the grill, serving lamb and vegetable gratin and working so hard that he was dripping with sweat.

Soon they were all seated with plates of food in front of them, their glasses filled with red wine. The discussion immediately turned to Bergman.

‘Which of his films are your favourites?’ asked Sam eagerly, glancing around at everyone.

‘I like
The Magician
best,’ Beata told him.

‘Are you serious?’ Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise.
The Magician
was one of Bergman’s earlier films, a suggestive drama that was not among his more accessible works. ‘Why do you think it’s so special?’

Andrea gave Beata a look of distaste. She probably just wanted to draw attention to herself. Beata took another big sip of her wine.

‘The eroticism,’ she said, casting a mischievous glance at Sam. ‘There’s so much repressed lust in that movie, and such an erotic undercurrent. And the love scene between Lars Ekborg and Bibi Andersson, in the hamper with the freshly washed linen … don’t even mention it!’

She laughed with pleasure. Stina and Andrea exchanged looks. John joined the discussion.

‘Personally, I like
Summer with Monica
the best, but I’m sure that’s mostly because I love the Stockholm archipelago, and I think Harriet Andersson is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Well, except for Beata, of course.’

‘I thought as much,’ laughed Beata, unconcerned. ‘You little rascal. Didn’t she show her breasts in that movie? Was that what you fell for?’ Then she let loose such a peal of laughter that the glasses on the table clattered. Beata was always referring to sex in one way or another. Andrea didn’t know why.

An embarrassed silence ensued. Everyone made a show of drinking more wine and praising the food, then talking about the weather and the music.

‘To be honest, I’ve never really understood why Bergman is considered so great,’ said Håkan. ‘I think he’s overrated. He’s so strange and difficult. To me, the movies are mostly a hotchpotch, a bunch of disconnected scenes of fear, dark looks, screams and hysterical people.’

His remarks were met with boos.

‘You’re out of your mind,’ exclaimed Beata indignantly. ‘Bergman is world famous, for Christ’s sake.’

‘So what?’ countered Håkan. ‘He wouldn’t be the first person to become famous because of his eccentricities.’

‘You’re hopeless,’ said Stina with a sigh. ‘Everybody here should realize that they’re listening to a man whose role model is Arnold Schwarzenegger.’ She shook her head. ‘My favourite, at any rate, is
Persona
. In any category. It beats them all.’

‘Why’s that?’ asked Sam with interest.

Stina leaned forward with an intent expression.

‘You remember
Persona
, don’t you? With Liv Ullmann as the celebrated actress Elisabeth Vogler who runs away from the spotlight and escapes into silence? She simply stops talking. And Bibi Andersson as her nurse, Alma, who accompanies her to the remote house where she seeks refuge? Alma thinks she’s found a soulmate in Elisabeth, even though she doesn’t say a single word. Alma gradually opens up more and more to Elisabeth – in fact, she bares herself completely, stripping herself naked, revealing her innermost thoughts and darkest secrets. But in the end it turns out that Elisabeth has just been toying with Alma, that she means nothing to her. Elisabeth utterly betrays her. I don’t know, but I think the whole film is one big desperate scream. A cry for help.’

‘Exactly,’ muttered Håkan. ‘That’s just what I was saying. They’re all about nothing but screaming.’

Sam, on the other hand, seemed impressed by what Stina had said. He opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind.

THE DAY STARTED
off fine. The grey skies had cleared and the sun was shining through the thin curtains. Andrea had slept well all night long, except that just after 3 a.m. she was awakened by the young girls in the next room who giggled as they came stumbling up the stairs in the small inn. The wooden floorboards creaked; there was a thud as one of them dropped something, followed by stifled laughter. In addition to film showings, discussions and lectures about the master director, the Bergman festival included a lot of late-night partying.

She had fallen asleep quickly, only to be awakened this morning by Sam’s snoring. He lay in bed with his mouth open, sound asleep. With every inhalation, a gurgling sound issued from deep in his throat and then rose up to his mouth, where it was transformed into a low growl before exploding into a roar that made his chin tremble. She turned over to study his face. With his eyes closed his dark lashes looked even thicker under his heavy brows. Although he was over forty, his hair was just as thick and dark as when they met twenty years ago. In fact, she thought, he looks even more handsome after all these years. The few wrinkles that he had at the corners of his eyes gave his face character. His nose had a strong curve and sensitive nostrils that quivered whenever he was nervous or upset. At the moment his full lips were open to allow the snoring sounds to escape with a regularity reminiscent of the lapping of the waves outside.

She woke Sam and a short time later they went down to breakfast, which was served in the dining room on the floor below. As soon as Andrea stepped in the door she was struck by the hushed atmosphere of the room.
It was like entering a different century, far from the modern world. And the silence seemed to be affecting everyone. They automatically lowered their voices, breathed more calmly, moved slower. The pace was languid.

Their chairs scraped a bit on the floor as Sam and Andrea sat down.

Although the long room had big windows facing the garden, it seemed dimly lit. Heavy drapes and great quantities of knick-knacks on the window ledges also contributed to keeping out the light. The centre of the room was dominated by a rectangular table made of dark-stained oak, with an assortment of mismatched chairs: one with a high back, another with a plush seat, a third with beautifully curved legs.

Various objects had been placed along the walls: a tiled stove, an Indian elephant made of cloth, an old wind-up gramophone, a shop mannequin draped in a floral-printed dress with a black bowler on its head, a glittery theatre mask, an old sewing machine, a vinyl LP by Maurice Chevalier. The table had been set with care, covered with bowls, platters, and plates – all made of different materials and colours. Next to each place setting was a lovely ornate, stemmed crystal bowl, filled to the brim with vanilla yoghurt, topped with fresh raspberries and a little sprig of mint. There was also a glass plate shaped like a leaf which held fruit salad, a coffee cup decorated with blue flowers, and a silver spoon. In the centre of the table bowls and platters had been lined up, holding bread, cheese, ham, salami, caviar and marmalade. There were eggs in a basket, milk in a silver pitcher, and orange juice in a glass carafe. Almost every centimetre of the table surface was occupied.

From the gramophone came the gentle tones of Bob Dylan as Andrea reached for a piece of freshly baked bread. The inn was so original and so different from the settings she was used to that she found herself letting go of her need to control everything and actually started to relax. While she filled her plate, she glanced around at the others seated at the table.