Harbor John Lindqvist (grave mercy TXT) 📖

now. He closed his eyes, but they had already come to life and certainly didn’t want to be closed again. He had finished sleeping. There was no other explanation: he must have slept for fifteen minutes plus twenty-four hours.

Or forty-eight. Or seventy-two. Or…

He was desperate for a pee, his bladder felt like a huge tumour. But he still didn’t get up. It was so indescribably wonderful to lie there in bed feeling warm and rested. He hadn’t had one single peaceful night since he came to Domarö. Now he felt as if he had recoupedeverything in one fell swoop. He drew up his knees and turned to the wall, where he found an old friend.

Bamse.

The big Bamse bear had been Maja’s favourite when they were on Domarö. She hadn’t wanted to take it back home to the city with her, no, Bamse belonged on Domarö and had to stay here and wait for her until the next time she came over.

Anders stroked the blue felt hat, the wide-open eyes, the buttons on his overalls.

‘Hello, Bamse.’

He felt so calm. Yesterday or the day before his thoughts would probably have started whirling around in his head by now, scrabbling for an explanation of the fact that Bamse was lying next to him, even though he had been right under the bed when Anders fell asleep.

But not now. No problem. Bamse was here. Nice.

Besides, he now knew how things worked. He was the one who had dug out Bamse, or rather his body had done so. Maja had wanted Bamse next to her while she was sleeping, and had used Anders to get what she wanted.

‘Morning, sweetheart.’

He listened inside himself for a reply, but none came. That was OK too. He thought he ought to be able to feel something, to be able to find a place inside himself that was Maja, but he had no intention of going into that right now. Things were OK as they were, with Bamse and everything. She was there.

He smiled. ‘Do you remember this?’ He cleared his throat and silently sang Maja’s version of the Bamse song:

‘Hey there Bamse, strongest bear of all

But oh, how he loves to fight!

Thunder honey, Grandma’s thunder honey

That’s what he eats when it’s time to start a fight.’

She had really loved to play with songs and expressions, with language. Above all she liked making things…well, worse. It would often start with a mispronunciation, which she would thendevelop. A favourite had been to exchange the word ‘Christmas’ for ‘Christmess’. They gave each other Christmess presents, brought in the Christmess tree and before Christmas they sat making different kinds of Christmess puzzles. Then Father Christmess came.

Pain shot through Anders’ midriff and he frowned. He remembered how she had sat there gabbling a list of different things that were ‘messy’. Christmess music and the Christmessy atmosphere. The verse she had added to ‘I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus’, which involved Daddy coming in and killing Santa Claus. Father Christmess.

I can’t go on like this.

Anders rolled over quickly and slipped out of bed, half-crouching as he ran to the toilet where he achieved what was probably a world record in pissing for the longest time. His body felt purified, capable, ready for anything. He flushed the toilet and Elin came into his mind. Her hair floating outwards around her head as she sank down…

No!

He rinsed his face with cold water and slaked his thirst. He wouldn’t think about that. Ever. It was over, it was gone, it belonged in the past. It was as if he had been given the gift of a new body and a new brain this morning. He had no intention of using them to wade around in the sludgy mess of things that couldn’t be altered. He’d done enough of that.

He was famished, and stood by the fridge wolfing down three pieces of crispbread smothered in cheese spread while the water trickled through the coffee machine. He chewed and chewed, hearing the crunch inside his head as he gazed out of the window and noticed that the bay was full of gulls. He was not afraid.

I am not afraid.

He munched the last of the crispbread and studied the movements of the gulls as they drifted with the currents, taking off and blinking as they were caught by the light of the low-lying sun, then drifting back down towards the surface again.

I am not afraid.

He had been walking around more or less in a state of horror andfear for so long that it had become part of his nature. Now it was gone. There was only the bay, the blue sky, the gulls and his own body, unafraid, seeing everything in the autumn light.

It was wonderful.

He turned away from the window and caught sight of the bead tile. His eyes opened wide and he went across to it, ran his hand over the smooth surface, which was now larger than the knobbly area. Beads had been added, many beads had been added—

I have added the beads.

—while he was asleep. Lots and lots of blue beads had been added, and the large white patch in the middle was finished, surrounded by blue, and had been joined by a smaller white patch diagonally up to the left.

As he stood contemplating the incomprehensible picture an idea began to take shape, but before he managed to catch it he spotted the note.

Anna-Greta and I are getting married in Nåten on Sunday at two o’clock. We would very much like you to be there. Simon.

Under the signature was a postscript, and when Anders read it he slapped his forehead and shouted, ‘Idiot! It’s so obvious!’ He studied the bead tile again and couldn’t understand why he hadn’t seen it straight away.

P.S. Isn’t it a maritime chart?

The blue was the sea, the white patch in the middle was Domarö, and the smaller white patch was Gåvasten. It was clumsily executed and light and dark were transposed in comparison to a normal maritime chart, but he was still