The Cruel Stars of the Night - Kjell Eriksson [88]
The woman grasped the pen clumsily. She formed an A with a great deal of effort, thereafter an L and an O. Then she stopped.
“ALO,” Laura read. The woman handed the pen back without a word and pushed the pad away. The letters were printed in a sprawling, childish style, like that of a first grader. There were several centimeters between the letters, it was hardly a word, and looked more like three squiggles that were leapfrogging across the white paper.
There was shame, anger, and repudiation in the woman’s actions as she, with the help of a knotted stick and with labored movements, stood up and pointed out over the landscape. Laura, who did not understand what she meant, quickly got up and looked out over the exquisite valley that surrounded the village, but the woman waddled off without a word.
Laura woke up at this point and she, in her half-wakened state, searched in front of her with her hand, as if to convince the old woman— messenger from a bygone age—to return.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember anything like this from her real life, but in vain. She had never worked with documenting old habits and customs in the countryside, quite the opposite. She had been focused on the future and her academic research had concerned theoretical models for the direction of companies with a high innovation capacity but with faltering sources of capital. Her dissertation was something that few people had the ability or interest to even try to understand.
When the dissertation arrived from the press Laura had given her father a copy. After having read some ten pages of it he had put the book away without commenting on it.
She got up, stretched into the fireplace and took out the candelabra, walked into the hall, and put it into a trash bag.
The cleanup of the house had slowed down. The whole upstairs was left. She glanced at the staircase but did not go up. She knew what was up there. It looked like the garage, a storage facility for old clothes, furniture, books, and other things.
Ulrik and Laura Hindersten had almost exclusively lived on the first floor the past twelve years. It was as if their energy had not been sufficient for two floors.
Driven by a gnawing ache in her gut she walked out into the kitchen. She had not eaten breakfast or lunch and it was almost two o’clock in the afternoon. The refrigerator was empty except for some shriveled tomatoes and a package of ricotta.
Suddenly the doorbell rang. Laura jumped, returned to the hall, and stared uncomprehendingly at the door. The sound was so unfamiliar that she thought she must have misheard. But then there was a new ring.
She took a couple of hesitant steps with her hand outstretched but then paused. A third ring, short this time, made her pull back. The door handle was pushed down but Laura always locked the door from the inside.
After half a minute she heard someone walk down the exterior steps. It struck Laura that it might be Stig. She hurried over to the window and apprehensively peeked out between the curtains, but saw the back of the policewoman Lindell disappearing between the bushes.
For the first time Laura felt an anxiety that she would not have time to do everything that she had planned. Time was running out. Everything was required of her. Everything. She was the one who had to do everything alone.
A sudden flash of inspiration had her throw open the front door, but then she heard Lindell’s car already driving down the street. It would have been better if she had received answers to her questions and would then be gone for good. Now she would most likely turn up again.
There was only one thing left to do: follow through. She had an idea of how it should be done, but she wavered. Stig had not been in touch with her. Laura imagined him standing in front of her with that