The Cruel Stars of the Night - Kjell Eriksson [148]
“I put on some coffee. Maybe you want some cognac?”
“Did you know about this thing with Alice?”
“What?” Lars-Erik asked and took a bottle out of a cupboard.
“That she had many men.”
“What are you saying?”
“You don’t need to keep up appearances any longer,” Laura said.
He sat down, put out two cognac glasses and a bottle. His gaze lingered on the bottle as if there was something in it that could explain Laura’s state of mind.
“I didn’t know anything about it,” he said. “Alice and you lived your life and we ours.”
“But surely you must know that Mårten and Alice fucked?”
He winced.
“I don’t believe that. My father wasn’t like that. Alice was married.”
Laura let out a laugh and rose up from the table. One of the glasses tipped over but Lars-Erik immediately turned it back up. Laura poked her head in the other room, then turned around and looked at the back of her cousin’s head where the thin neck hair stuck out like a brush.
He looks like an old man, she thought, as she raised her right hand and made a fist. He poured out two drinks and turned around with a smile on his lips but stiffened when he saw her expression and the raised fist.
“What is it?” he asked.
She lowered her arm.
“She probably fucked everybody,” she said.
“Did it really say that Father and Alice, that they . . .”
“Not exactly,” she admitted.
“It’s a lie,” Lars-Erik said calmly. “Mårten never spoke between the lines. When he talked it was direct, unveiled, and never with hidden intentions. You are welcome to come here, I am glad to see you, but you are not allowed to speak ill of my father.”
“Cheers,” he said and raised his glass. “Let us forget about the past and think about the future.”
“I caught her in the act,” Laura said. “It is so ugly. She became ugly. Ul-rik knew but he shrank down to a little shit. Then when I called that bastard he cried.”
Laura let out another laugh.
“Who did you call?”
“I caught up with him. He said he was tired of living. Should he be allowed to take his own life without punishment? Would that have been right?”
Lars-Erik had been sitting with the glass in his hand. Now he moved it up to his lips and drank.
“But he ruined everything,” Laura sobbed.
“Have a little cognac,” Lars-Erik urged.
“She fucked everyone,” Laura mumbled and sat down at the table.
“Alice was unhappy,” Lars-Erik said, “you can’t blame her for everything.”
Laura stared at him, raised the brandy snifter, and threw it onto the wall above the sink so the glass sprayed over the kitchen.
“I don’t want alcohol,” she said, “I want . . .”
She leaned her head in her hands. Lars-Erik stretched out a hand and patted her on the cheek.
“You aren’t feeling so well,” he said tenderly. “Maybe you should rest a while and then we can talk more tomorrow. Maybe you’re tired? I remember a time when we were picking lingonberries up on the heath. Do you remember? You were tired and cheated, put moss in the bottom of the pail. How Father laughed. He said you were like a forest troll. What could you have been, twelve, thirteen? Father was pretty funny about that. The berries and everything. He wanted me to tag along. He always said it was so we could check out the elk trails at the same time. Janne also came along. Martin was probably out with some girl. I remember how quick Alice was. It was the same with my mother. They had that in the blood. Their arms went like sawmills. Do you remember? I sometimes go up there when it’s all red with lingonberries and then I think about you and . . . well, you remember . . . how it was.”
Lars-Erik finished with a sigh. Laura had removed her hands from her face and looked at him.
“Alice died with a jar of lingonberries in her hand,” she said. “They said I wasn’t supposed to look but I knew what she looked like. Like a whore with her ass in the air and that farmer going at her from behind.”
Lars-Erik’s dismayed expression made her laugh.
“Of course I remember the heath. I wished I had died there. That everyone had died. Ulrik asked me once how I was doing. One