Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The - Stieg Larsson [124]
“Certainly I am. Come in. You should have given me some warning so I could buy some good food or something.”
“I stopped on impulse. I wanted to welcome you home from prison, but you never called.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s OK. Mamma told me how you’re always getting lost in your own thoughts.”
“Is that what she says about me?”
“More or less. But it doesn’t matter. I still love you.”
“I love you too, but you know…”
“I know. I’m pretty grown-up by now.”
He made tea and put out pastries.
What his daughter had said was true. She was most assuredly no longer a little girl; she was almost seventeen, practically a grown woman. He had to learn to stop treating her like a child.
“So, how was it?”
“How was what?”
“Prison.”
He laughed. “Would you believe me if I said that it was like having a paid holiday with all the time you wanted for thinking and writing?”
“I would. I don’t suppose there’s much difference between a prison and a cloister, and people have always gone to cloisters for self-reflection.”
“Well, there you go. I hope it hasn’t been a problem for you, your father being a gaolbird.”
“Not at all. I’m proud of you, and I never miss a chance to brag about the fact that you went to prison for what you believe in.”
“Believe in?”
“I saw Erika Berger on TV.”
“Pernilla, I’m not innocent. I’m sorry that I haven’t talked to you about what happened, but I wasn’t unfairly sentenced. The court made their decision based on what they were told during the trial.”
“But you never told your side of the story.”
“No, because it turned out that I didn’t have proof.”
“OK. Then answer me one question: is Wennerström a scoundrel or isn’t he?”
“He’s one of the blackest scoundrels I’ve ever dealt with.”
“That’s good enough for me. I’ve got a present for you.”
She took a package out of her bag. He opened it and found a CD, The Best of Eurythmics. She knew it was one of his favourite old bands. He put it in his iBook, and they listened to “Sweet Dreams” together.
“Why are you going to Skellefteå?”
“Bible school at a summer camp with a congregation called the Light of Life,” Pernilla said, as if it were the most obvious choice in the world.
Blomkvist felt a cold fire run down the back of his neck. He realised how alike his daughter and Harriet Vanger were. Pernilla was sixteen, exactly the age Harriet was when she disappeared. Both had absent fathers. Both were attracted to the religious fanaticism of strange sects—Harriet to the Pentecostals and Pernilla to an offshoot of something that was just about as crackpot as the Word of Life.
He did not know how he should handle his daughter’s new interest in religion. He was afraid of encroaching on her right to decide for herself. At the same time, the Light of Life was most definitely a sect of the type that he would not hesitate to lambast in Millennium. He would take the first opportunity to discuss this matter with her mother.
Pernilla slept in his bed while he wrapped himself in blankets on the bench in the kitchen. He woke with a crick in his neck and aching muscles. Pernilla was eager to get going, so he made breakfast and went with her to the station. They had a little time, so they bought coffee at the mini-mart and sat down on a bench at the end of the platform, chatting about all sorts of things. Until she said: “You don’t like the idea that I’m going to Skellefteå, do you?”
He was non-plussed.
“It’s not dangerous. But you’re not a Christian, are you?”
“Well, I’m not a good Christian, at any rate.”
“You don’t believe in God?”
“No, I don’t believe in God, but I respect the fact that you do. Everyone has to have something to believe in.”
When her train arrived, they gave each other a long hug until Pernilla had to get on board. With one foot on the step, she turned.
“Pappa, I’m not going to proselytise. It doesn’t matter to me what you believe, and I’ll always love you. But I think you should continue your Bible studies.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I saw the quotes you had on the wall,” she said. “But why so gloomy