Harbor John Lindqvist (grave mercy TXT) 📖

spread out into a thinner cloud that encompassed the whole island. Anders dropped the oar, sat down and let out a long, quivering breath. He put his head in his hands and caught sight of the plastic bottle, rolling around on the deck.

He had forgotten about it, forgotten that its contents could have protected his retreat from the menacing birds. Perhaps it had done so anyway. He looked at the bottle, which did a half roll as a wave lifted the boat. The label with his father’s childish handwriting came into view: WORMWOOD.

He understood. At last he understood what had happened to his father. That day and all the other days.

Wormwood

He really ought to go home and put the cash in his money box, but Anders wanted to hang out for a while enjoying the feeling of being rich. His pockets full of money. Like the boy with the golden trousers, he could simply peel off a note with a rustling sound, and another, and another.

He went up to the shop with no other plan in mind: just to saunter around as the richest boy on Domarö for the time being.

The boats were still out searching for Torgny Ek, but the crowdon the jetty had thinned out. Anders hesitated. If he went down to the jetty there would be a load of adults asking him questions, and he didn’t know if he wanted that.

‘Hi.’

Cecilia pulled up beside him on her bike. Anders raised a hand in greeting. When the hand was in the vicinity of his nose, he realised it smelled of fish. He shoved both hands in his back pockets and adopted a relaxed attitude.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Cecilia.

‘Nothing special.’

‘What’s going on down on the jetty?’

Anders took a deep breath and asked, as if in passing, ‘Would you like an ice cream?’

Cecilia looked at him as if he were joking, and smiled uncertainly.

‘I haven’t got any money.’

‘I have.’

‘Are you paying, then?’

‘Yes.’

Anders knew perfectly well that it was a strange question to ask, a strange thing to do. But none of the others were around, and his pockets were full of money. He just had to ask her.

She pushed her bike up to the shop and he walked alongside her, still with his hands in his back pockets. She had put her hair up in two medium-length plaits, she had freckles on her nose and he was struck by an urge to touch her plaits. They looked so…soft.

Fortunately his hands were deep in his back pockets, which prevented him from giving in to that particular impulse.

Cecilia propped her bike against the wall and asked, ‘So did you sell a lot of herring, then?’

‘Yes, this morning. Loads.’

‘I usually sell Christmas magazines.’

‘Is that worth doing?’

‘It’s OK.’

Anders started to relax properly. This was the first summer he hadreally considered the fact that he was different from his friends, who were only summer visitors. That there might be something embarrassing about the fact that he sat outside the shop selling herring and ended up with his hands smelling of fish. That he was…a bit of a hick. But it turned out that Cecilia sold things too. Although presumably Christmas magazines didn’t smell.

They went into the shop and studied the contents of the freezer.

‘So what can I have?’ asked Cecilia.

‘Whatever you like.’

‘Whatever I like?’ She looked at him suspiciously. ‘A Giant Cornet?’

‘Yes.’

‘Two Giant Cornets?’

‘Yes.’

‘Three Giant Cornets?’

Anders shrugged his shoulders and Cecilia opened the lid. ‘What are you having?’

‘A Giant Cornet.’

She picked up two Giant Cornets and when Anders leaned over to pick up another, Cecilia slapped him on the shoulder, said ‘I was only joking, idiot!’ and handed him one of the ice creams she was holding.

At the till Anders pulled a ten kronor note out of his pocket without managing to create that special rustle you always heard when the boy with the golden trousers took out his cash.

They sat down on the bench outside the shop to eat their ice creams. Anders told her what had happened that morning, and Cecilia was seriously impressed that he had seen a person drown himself for real.

While they were eating their ice creams, while Anders was telling his story, while they sat looking out over the water afterwards, a little prayer was running through Anders’ head: don’t let anybody come along, don’t let anybody come along. He wondered if Cecilia was thinking the same thing, or if this sort of thing was perfectly normal for girls.

OK, it wasn’t particularly embarrassing to be sitting here with Cecilia eating ice creams that he had paid for, but nor did he want the moment, the atmosphere to be broken. Even though he felt uncertain and didn’t really know how he ought to behave, he was having such a fantastic time. It was just the best, sitting here with Cecilia.

When they had finished their ice creams and looked at the sea for a while, Anders’ suspicion that girls were more used to this sort of thing was confirmed when Cecilia stood up, wiped her hands on her shorts and said, ‘Shall we go back to yours?’

All he could do was nod. Cecilia picked up her bike and pointed to the parcel rack. ‘Hop on. I’ll give you a lift.’ He sat astride the parcel rack and Cecilia kicked off and rolled the bike down the hill from the shop.

There was nothing else to do. It was completely natural. At first he tried to keep his balance by hanging on to the back of the parcel rack, but the track was uneven and he wobbled and nearly made the bike fall over. So he placed his hands on her hips.

He could feel the warmth of her skin on his palms, the sun was shining in the sky and the wind was caressing his forehead. They coasted through the village and he held on to her. The few minutes it took to coast and pedal to his house were the happiest he had experienced in his life, so far. They