The Swarm (21 page)

He took the bottle from her and drank some wine. ‘No,' he said. ‘It would have been like tonight.'

‘But why?'

‘Because you love him.'

Lund wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘Kare?'

‘Who else?'

For a long time she stared silently into space. ‘I thought I could get away from him.' She paused, then went on, ‘You and I were always on the verge of something happening. Neither of us wanted anything serious so we were perfectly suited…But I never thought, it has to happen now. I wasn't in love with you. I didn't
want
to be in love. And then I met Kare and I knew I was…'

‘In love.'

‘I couldn't focus on my job, my mind was always elsewhere - and that's just not me.'

‘So you thought you'd cash in your chips before things got out of hand.'

‘Then you
are
angry with me!'

‘I'm not angry. I was never in love with you either.' He thought for a moment. ‘I wanted you - but only really since you started seeing Kare. It dented my pride…' He laughed. ‘There's a wonderful film,
Moonstruck
, with Cher and Nicolas Cage. Someone asks, “Why do men chase women?” And the answer comes, “Maybe it's because they fear death.” Why am I telling you this?'

‘Because it's all about fear - fear of being alone, fear of never being asked and, worst of all, the fear of having a choice and making the wrong one. You and I could have an affair, but with Kare…With Kare, it would be much more than that. I knew it from the start. When you find yourself wanting someone you don't even know, whatever the price. But
their life is part of the deal, and you have to take that too - so you get nervous.'

‘It might be a mistake.'

She nodded.

‘Have you ever been in a serious relationship?' he asked.

‘Once,' she said, ‘a long time ago.'

‘What happened?'

‘He finished with me, and I was a snivelling wreck.'

‘And then?'

She rested her chin on her hands. Sitting there in the moonlight, brow furrowed, she was utterly beautiful, but Johanson didn't feel a hint of regret about the way things had worked out. ‘I was always the one who ended it,' she said.

‘An avenging angel, then.'

‘Don't be ridiculous. Mostly they got on my nerves - too slow, too sweet, too stupid. Sometimes I ran away to make sure I escaped before I…'

‘So you're afraid of building a house in case a storm destroys it.'

‘Maybe.' She frowned. ‘But there's another way of looking at it. You build the house, then knock it down before anyone else can.'

Somewhere a cricket was chirping and another answered from the other side of the lake.

‘Well, you almost succeeded,' said Johanson. ‘If we'd slept together, you could have dumped him. Did you really think you could fool yourself like that?'

‘I told myself I'd be better off having an affair with you than throwing myself into a relationship that might stifle me. Sleeping with you would have confirmed it.'

‘So, you'd have screwed your way to safety?'

‘No.' She glared at him. ‘I was attracted to you, believe it or not. You weren't just there to help me escape. I didn't just—'

‘It's OK.' Johanson made a dismissive gesture. ‘You're in love.'

‘Yes,' she said sullenly.

‘Don't sound so grudging. Say it again.'

‘Yes!'

‘That's better.' He grinned. ‘And now that we've turned you inside out and upside-down, let's drink to Kare.'

She gave him a lopsided grin.

‘Still not sure?'

‘Yes and no.'

Johanson passed the bottle from one hand to the other. ‘I tore a house down once, a long time ago. The people were still inside. They both got hurt, but eventually it passed - for one of them, at least. I still haven't decided whether it was right.'

‘Who was the other?' asked Lund.

‘My wife.'

‘You were married?'

‘Yes.'

‘You never said.'

‘We're divorced.'

‘Why?'

‘That's just it. There was no real reason. No major dramas, no crockery throwing. Just the feeling that things were closing in. I was scared…of becoming dependent. I could see us starting a family. Soon there'd be children in the house and a dog in the yard, and I'd have to take responsibility.

‘And now?'

‘There are times when I see it as the only real mistake I've made.' He stared into the water. Eventually he straightened and raised the bottle. ‘Now for a toast! Whatever you want to do, go ahead and do it.'

‘But I still don't know,' she whispered.

 

To Johanson's astonishment they spent the whole weekend together by the lake. After their failed attempt at romance, he'd imagined she'd want to leave first thing in the morning, but in fact the air had cleared. Their flirtation was over. So, they went for walks, talked, laughed and forgot about the outside world with its universities, oil rigs and worms - and Johanson cooked the best Bolognese of his life.

On Sunday evening they drove home. Johanson dropped Lund at her place, then went on to his own. As he stepped into his house in Kirkegata Street, he was struck by the difference beween solitude and loneliness, but the feeling soon passed. He left it in the hallway: anxieties and melancholy were allowed that far but no further.

He took his case into the bedroom and turned on the TV. Zapping through the channels, he came across a concert from the Royal Albert Hall. Arias from
La Traviata
, sung by Kiri Te Kanawa. He started to
unpack, humming with the music and wondering what he might like as a nightcap.

The music stopped, but he was folding a shirt and didn't register that the concert had ended. In the background, the news took over.

‘…in Chile. It is not yet known whether the disappearance of the Norwegian family can be linked to similar incidents that are said to have occurred around the same time off the coasts of Peru and Argentina. In all three countries fishing-boats have disappeared or been found abandoned at sea. None of those involved have been traced. The conditions were calm and sunny when the family of five boarded the trawler on a deep-sea fishing expedition.'

He smoothed a sleeve and folded it to the middle.

‘Costa Rica is currently experiencing a jellyfish invasion of unprecedented proportions. The so-called Portuguese man-of-war, or “bluebottle,” has descended on the area, swamping coastal waters. Local media reports say that fourteen people have been killed by the highly poisonous creatures, while many others have been injured, including two British citizens and a German. The number of missing is still to be confirmed. The Costa Rican Foreign Office has called an emergency session of Parliament, but firmly rejects the suggestion that beaches should be closed, insisting that there is no real threat to swimmers.'

Johanson stopped what he was doing. ‘Those assholes,' he muttered. ‘Fourteen dead! They should have closed the beaches long ago.'

‘Swarms of jellyfish are also causing concern off the coast of Australia. This time the culprits are thought to be box jellyfish, another highly venomous species. The local authorities are urging people to stay out of the water. Over the past hundred years, box jellyfish have caused seventy deaths, making them more dangerous to man than sharks

‘In another story of marine tragedy, fatalities have been reported off the coast of western Canada. The exact cause of the accidents, which resulted in the sinking of several tourist vessels, is not yet known. Reports suggest that navigational errors may have caused them to collide.'

Johanson was gazing at the screen now. The newsreader had put down a piece of paper and was smiling emptily into the camera. ‘And now for a round-up of today's other stories…'

Johanson thought of the woman he'd seen in Bali, who'd flailed in the
sand, shaken by convulsions. He hadn't touched the creature and neither had she. She'd been walking along the beach when she noticed something floating in the shallows and had fished it out with a stick. Cautious by nature, she'd kept it at arm's length, turning it this way and that. Then she'd made a mistake.

The Portuguese man-of-war belonged to the genus
Physalia
, a type of hydrozoa that scientists still found baffling. Strictly speaking, it wasn't a jellyfish but a floating colony of tiny organisms, hundreds of thousands of polyps, grouped according to function. The main body, a jelly-like float tinted violet or blue, had a gas-filled crest that rose above the water, allowing the colony to sail across the surface. You couldn't see what hung beneath it.

But you knew as soon as it touched you.

A net of tentacles up to fifty metres long and covered with miniscule stinging cells swept beneath each Portuguese man-of-war. The structure and purpose of the cells was a masterstroke of evolution. Each consisted of a hollow sphere that curled in on itself to form a coiled tube tipped with a harpoon-like barb. At the slightest touch the tube would unfurl, bursting forth at a pressure equivalent to seventy exploding tyres. Thousands of barbed harpoons would penetrate the victim's flesh, injecting a mixture of phenols and proteins that attacked the blood and nerve cells. The victim's muscles would contract and pain would sear the skin. Shock would follow, then breathing difficulties and heart failure. Those fortunate enough to be close to the shore usually survived, but divers and swimmers further out stood little chance against the trailing tentacles.

The woman on the beach in Bali had dropped the hydrozoan but the stick had brushed her toe. It must have left a trace of venom - enough to ensure that she never forgot it.

But the Portuguese man-of-war was harmless compared to the box jellyfish -
Chironex fleckeri
, the deadly Australian sea wasp.

In the course of evolution, nature had developed an impressive array of toxins.
Chironex fleckeri
was the
pièce de résistance
. A single box jellyfish contained enough poison to kill 250 people. Its highly potent venom paralysed the nervous system, causing immediate loss of consciousness. Within minutes, or sometimes seconds, most of its victims suffered heart failure and drowned.

All this ran through Johanson's mind as he stared at the screen.

Fourteen dead and countless others injured in a matter of weeks. Had the death-count ever been so high on a single stretch of coastline from just a single species? And what about the disappearing ships?

Portuguese men-of-war in South America. Box jellyfish in Australia.

Bristleworms in Norway.

It's probably coincidence, he thought. Swarms of jellyfish appeared all over the world. The holiday season wouldn't be the same without them. They had nothing in common with worms.

He tidied away the last few items of clothing, switched off the television and went into the living room to listen to music or read. But he didn't put on a CD or pick up a book. For a while he paced up and down, eventually stopping at the window. The streetlamps lit the street outside.

The lake had been so peaceful…

It was peaceful here too…

When things were so peaceful, there was usually something wrong.

Don't be ridiculous, Johanson told himself.

He poured himself some grappa, took a sip, and tried to forget about the news.

Then he remembered Knut Olsen, a fellow biologist at the NTNU. He knew a lot about jellyfish, coral and sea anemones.

Olsen picked up on the third ring.

‘Were you asleep?' asked Johanson.

‘Not with the kids still up,' said Olsen. ‘It's Marie's fifth birthday today. How was the lake?'

Olsen was a perpetually cheerful family man whose cosy domestic life seemed like a nightmare to Johanson. They never saw each other socially, unless you counted lunch breaks, but Olsen was a nice guy with a decent sense of humour. With four children he needed it, thought Johanson. ‘One of these days, you should come with me,' he said, although they both knew it wouldn't happen. ‘Have you seen the news?'

There was a short pause. ‘The jellyfish, you mean?'

‘Right first time. What's going on?'

‘It's obvious, isn't it? Biological invasions happen all the time. Frogs, locusts, jellyfish…'

‘But Portuguese men-of-war and box jellyfish?'

‘It's unusual…'

‘In what way?'

‘They're two of the world's deadliest sea creatures. And there's something peculiar about what they're saying on the news.'

‘Seventy fatalities in a hundred years?' said Johanson.

‘Oh, that's rubbish.' Olsen gave a derisive snort.

‘Too many?'

‘Too few! The real death toll's much higher - ninety at least, if you count the Gulf of Bengal and the Philippines, not to mention all the unreported and unexplained cases. Australia has always had a problem with box jellies. They spawn in the river mouths north of Rockhampton. Almost all the accidents happen in the shallows - they can kill you in less than three minutes.'

‘Is it jellyfish season?'

‘In Australia, yes - October to May. In Europe they only really bother you when it's too hot to stay out of the water. We were in Menorca last summer and the kids were going crazy. The whole place was inundated with
Velella
.'

‘Sorry?'

‘
Velella velella
. By-the-wind sailors. Quite pretty, really, providing they're not rotting on the beach. Little violet-coloured jellies - the sand was covered with them. Everyone knows I'm a big fan of jellyfish, but there were too many even for me. The Australian story is seriously odd, though.'

‘In what sense?'

‘You find box jellies on the coastline, where the water's nice and shallow, not out to sea, and definitely not on the Barrier Reef - but they're saying they've been found there too. It's the opposite with
Velella
. They're an offshore species, and no one understands why they sometimes turn up on the beach.'