The Shapeshifters (22 page)

Börje nodded.

‘You're telling me it's serious. Damned serious.'

He dropped into a chair and after a short silence said:

‘Lennart wants us to move him.'

Seved looked up from the newspaper.

‘Mattias?'

‘No, the little old man. We've got to drive up there and fetch him. He'll have to live here for a while until all this fuss about the boy has died down.'

‘But why? There's no chance . . .'

‘He doesn't know people are looking for him,' Börje said in a low voice. ‘Someone might catch sight of him up there. If we're really unlucky, the police will get wind of it. Torsten doesn't want a visit from the cops.'

He cleared his throat before continuing:

‘We'll have to try and get hold of as many of those little shapeshifters as we can today because Torsten wants them back. He goes on about it non-stop, so I thought the boy could help out. It'll be quicker that way. And it's good if he stays in there. Let him keep that little one if he wants to, but all the others have got to go back. You can drive up with them. I don't feel up to it. You'll have to go.'

Seved nodded.

‘I haven't repaired the window on the Isuzu yet, so you'll have to take Lennart's car. He's coming here this evening.'

 

 

Torbjörn stood holding the coffee-filled glasses, glaring at the sofa. Three girls had taken the place where he and Susso always sat. Between them glowed the display of a mobile phone. Their hair fell into the fur-trimmed hoods of their jackets in glossy coils. They seemed to pick up on Torbjörn's expression, though, because all of a sudden they gathered together their belongings and stood up.

When they had left Torbjörn put the glasses down on the table, removed his jacket, threw it onto the sofa and unwound his military-green knitted scarf.

Susso checked her pockets for her mobile before hanging her jacket on the back of a chair and pulling the phone out. She sat down and brought the hot coffee to her lips.

As Torbjörn settled into the sofa, moving to the corner where he always sat, where the dip in the seat cushion was shaped to fit his bony backside precisely, he knocked against the unsteady table with his knee, spilling some coffee.

‘Do you know who Mattias Alkberg is?' he asked, lifting up the glass that was dripping brown milky froth. ‘You know, the singer in the Bear Quartet?'

Susso nodded and then shrugged.

‘Well, I know his name, but I don't know who he is,' she said.

‘I got to know him when I lived in Luleå and we keep in touch.
I spoke to him yesterday and he said he knows a guy in Jokkmokk called Magnus. Magnus Ekelund. And he told Mattias that his mum knows who that dwarf is—or at least where he lives. That everyone down there knows.'

‘Seriously?'

Torbjörn nodded.

‘They reckon there's some place down there that's completely bloody mental. Some sect or whatever.'

‘And the Vaikijaur man lives there?'

‘That's what they're saying,' he replied, drinking his coffee.

‘Well then, surely someone's phoned the police and told them?'

Torbjörn shook his head.

‘That's the thing. It doesn't look as if anyone has. Mattias said that when things like this happen—you know, something nasty like this—people in general always assume that someone else has already done what they should be doing themselves. And I think he's right. But he didn't know for sure.'

‘What else did he say? How far from Vaikijaur is it?'

‘I don't know,' said Torbjörn. ‘But we could drive down there, if you want, and talk to Magnus's mum, because she's the one who knows. I need to go to Gällivare anyway, so we can do it at the same time.'

Susso stared blankly ahead for a few moments before nodding.

‘Have you heard any more?' Torbjörn asked. ‘From the police?'

She shrugged.

‘I don't know any more than anyone else.'

‘I mean, because it's your photo.'

She leaned forwards, stirring with the long spoon.

‘I haven't spoken to them since I was there for questioning. Or whatever you want to call it.'

She sighed before continuing:

‘I'm torn, really. If he is mixed up in it, then it's good I got a picture of him, no question. But if he
isn't
involved, then the picture has only made things harder for the police. They might be spending time looking for him when they should be looking elsewhere.'

‘Of course he's involved,' Torbjörn said. ‘He has to be.'

Susso shrugged.

‘It's just such a massive responsibility. It feels like it all depends on me.'

‘It's not like that,' said Torbjörn. ‘They were the ones who wanted to have the photo, weren't they?'

‘Yes, I know, but . . . everything got so serious all of a sudden.'

‘Do you regret going down there? Putting up the camera?'

‘Yes,' she said, nodding. ‘At times I do.'

‘Then don't think like that. Think instead that if it wasn't for you and your photo, then the police would have sod all to go on.'

They stayed until the place closed, and afterwards stood in their creaking boots under a street light outside the cafe. Light streamed down from a couple of globe-shaped lamps suspended from iron hooks at the top of the post. Wreaths of fragile icicles had formed around the metal fittings.

The swishing sound of ski trousers came down the hill. A man and a woman strode past, their arms swinging. The woman was wearing a zigzag-patterned ski hat, and the man a fleece headband. Through the cloud that billowed from her mouth Susso watched as the couple disappeared beyond the town hall. She was freezing cold and moved reluctantly. In the icy air her face had set to a mask. Her cheeks felt stretched tight.

‘It's so cold,' she said, rocking up and down on her heels.

Torbjörn sniffed and nodded.

They began to walk. Neither of them wanted to be the one to lead, or perhaps neither of them wanted to decide how fast they should walk. Slowly they moved towards Meschplan and the shops that surrounded it. As they crossed the square Susso threw a melancholy look at her own dark shop window. It was as if the grouse and the dolls and the moose and the bears behind the glass were watching her pass. She always felt like that.

‘What do you want to do?' asked Torbjörn, as they reached Susso's front entrance and stood there in the darkness. ‘Shall we go tomorrow?'

‘To Jokkmokk?'

He had tucked his chin into his scarf, and he nodded.

‘Okay,' she said. ‘What time will you be here?'

‘Can we take your car?'

‘Sure. If you pay for the petrol.'

 

 

He tugged at the padlock a couple of times before returning to the car and slumping down behind the wheel. He gazed at the dashboard, stupefied. Why the hell had they not told him the barrier would be locked? It had to be at least two kilometres up to the farmhouse from the barrier, and the surface was icy. Worse than that, it was cold out. He couldn't very well slither all the way up carrying the box of shapeshifters and then drag the little man back behind him—what would that look like?

Then it struck him that this was Lennart's car. The key might be inside. He leaned across, opened the glove compartment and pulled out ice scrapers, papers and the instruction manual. He stretched out across the seats, put his hand into the passenger-door compartment and found a key ring. Ten keys threaded onto a length of twisted steel wire. Of course. Lennart would never get out himself and unlock the barrier. That is what he had Jola for.

He was lucky. There was only one key that matched the manufacturer's name engraved on the padlock.

He had to kneel for a long time on the icy crust of the road, blowing on the frozen steel, before he dared to grab hold of the key and turn it all the way.

As he pulled the key from the lock he noticed it had buckled. That was bad. He pulled on his gloves and moved the creaking
barrier aside. He decided to leave the barrier open because he did not want to risk not being able to get out—
that
would be really worrying. Was it possible to turn the Merc on this road now that the ploughed ridges of snow had made it narrower? It was doubtful. He visualised himself reversing from the house with that disgusting little man sitting on the rear seat. He did not even want to think what that would be like.

He drove a few metres before flooring the brake pedal—it was as if his foot had thought for him. He flung open the door and leapt out, swung the barrier back across the road and replaced the padlock without locking it.

The sound of hoarse, agitated barking broke through the noise of the engine, and soon he could make out the light from the porch lamp, disappearing and reappearing between the fir trees. As he swung into the yard he glanced up at the ridge of the barn roof, but of course the little old man was not up there.

They were sitting at the kitchen table, the three of them: Torsten, Patrik and Bodil. But there was no sign of the wife, Elna. Torsten had pushed the metal frames of his glasses down the bridge of his nose. He was the only one to look at Seved.

‘Did you lock the barrier?' he asked. Seved nodded. He would soon be leaving. They would never know.

‘Do you want coffee? Bodil, put the coffee on.'

He did not seem at all angry, so it was likely he knew nothing about the car. Maybe he had not seen the paper? Seved stood motionless for a while, not knowing whether to hang up his jacket or not: he wanted to get away as quickly as possible.

Bodil had moved silently towards the corner of the kitchen, where the coffee machine was plugged into an extension lead. Her
dark-blonde plaits were fastened to her head in two loops which moved when she reached up to get the tin of coffee from the cupboard.

The floor tiles creaked behind Seved, who turned and moved aside to make room for Elna to get past.

‘There's some in the thermos,' she said.

‘We want fresh coffee,' Torsten said, sitting up straight and casting an enquiring glance at Elna, who sat down at the back of the kitchen on a sofa with tartan cushions.

He pulled out a chair and sat opposite Patrik, who was resting his elbows on the table and looking out of the window, where it was slowly getting light. He was wearing a black cap with something written on it in small lettering. On the windowsill was a green ceramic plant pot. Its uneven rim made it look handmade. There was nothing in it.

‘Perhaps you're hungry. Are you hungry?' Torsten asked. Seved shook his head.

‘No, I'm all right.'

‘What about the little fellers?' Torsten asked. He reached out and chose a thin slice of crispbread from the basket on the table. ‘You've got them with you?'

He spread a thick layer of butter on the slice and took a bite. Crumbs rained down on the tabletop, and he brushed them aside.

Seved nodded.

‘Well, five or six, at least. Lennart was going to bring the rest.'

‘Where are they then? Did you leave them in the hall?'

‘They're on the back seat of the car.'

The old man stared at Seved, his eyes round and blue.

‘Have you left them in the
car?
It's thirty below out there! They'll freeze.'

‘Well, shall I bring them in here? Is that okay?'

‘No!' shouted Elna from the sofa. ‘You'll have to put them in the garage. It's been so quiet and peaceful in here. And the floors are clean for once.'

Torsten's shoulders dropped. He stroked the table with his little finger, moving the crumbs, gathering them in a pile.

‘Bring the box in,' he said.

Seved stood in the hall. The cold air was wrapped like a membrane around the box and it was worryingly quiet inside. He tried shaking the box a little as he moved his ear towards it. A very faint, high-pitched sound came from inside.

‘Shall I leave it here then?' he called.

‘You can bring it in,' Torsten answered, putting down his coffee cup with a clink. ‘I want to see which ones you've brought with you.'

Seved walked into the kitchen and after Torsten had pushed the bread basket and the linen tablecloth aside, he placed the box on the table.

‘There, there,' said the old man. His voice had an odd tremble as he opened the small metal tabs that kept the lid in place. ‘Here we are. Calm down. You're home now. Back home again.' He opened the lid and looked down into the box.

They hissed and chirped like hungry baby birds in a nest.

‘It's only the shrews,' he said. His fist rummaged about in the straw. ‘And two wood mice,' he added.

‘It's so hard getting hold of them all,' said Seved, pushing his hands into his jeans pockets. ‘They didn't all want to be together.'

‘You have to have more boxes,' said Patrik. ‘It works better that way.'

‘And this one is dead,' said Torsten, holding up a tiny shrew by
its tail. ‘Seved, this isn't the right way to do it!'

‘Watch out,' said Patrik and Bodil simultaneously, and Bodil pointed to the tail, which was so damaged in places it was barely in one piece.

Elna had hurriedly opened the cupboard under the sink. She took out the green metal dustpan and brush, which she conveniently held out, but Torsten shook his head.

The shrew lay in his broad calloused hand and he prodded it with his index finger, rolling the little body over to examine it. Its eyes glittered, its mouth was wide open in surprise, and on its dark-brown, slender back there was a shiny stripe, as if the fur was damp.

‘We were in a hurry, that's all,' Seved said. ‘We might have put it in there even though it didn't want to. It just happened.'

‘“Just happened”,' said Torsten, looking at the shrew with heavy, half-closed eyes. ‘It's dead. It could be twice as old as you, Seved, and now it's
dead
. What have you got to say to that?'