The Stonecutter. Camilla Lackberg
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to signal that recess was over, and a lively commotion in the corridor revealed that the children had obediently responded to the call. Beatrice got up and held out her hand as a sign that the conversation was finished. Patrik managed to extricate himself from the chair and stand up. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ernst massaging one leg, which had evidently gone to sleep. Like two old men they tottered out of the classroom after saying goodbye to the teacher.
‘Damn, what uncomfortable chairs,’ said Ernst as he limped out to the car.
‘Well, I guess we’re not that limber anymore,’ said Patrik, sinking into the driver’s seat of the car. All of a sudden the comfortable seat with plenty of leg room felt like an incredible luxury.
‘Speak for yourself,’ muttered Ernst. ‘My physical condition is just as good as when I was a teenager, but nobody is built to sit on that bloody miniature furniture.’
Patrik changed the subject. ‘We certainly didn’t find out much of any use from that visit.’
‘Sounds to me like the girl was a hell of a pest,’ said Ernst. ‘Nowadays it seems that any kid who doesn’t know how to behave is excused with some damn variant of DAMP. In my day that sort of behaviour would get you a couple of raps with the ruler. But now the kids have to be medicated and soothed by psychologists and pampered. No wonder society is going to hell.’ Ernst stared gloomily out of the window on the passenger side and shook his head.
Patrik didn’t acknowledge his comment with an answer. There was really no point.
‘Are you really going to feed her again? In my day we never nursed more often than every four hours,’ said Kristina, giving Erica a critical look as she sat down in the easy chair to nurse Maja after a mere two and a half hours.
In this situation Erica knew better than to argue, so she simply ignored Kristina’s remark. It was only one of many that had been hurled through the air that morning, and Erica felt that soon she would reach her limit. Her failed attempts to clean the house adequately had been noticed, just as she had predicted. Now her mother-in-law was dashing about with the vacuum cleaner like a madwoman, muttering comments on her favourite topic: dust causing asthma in small children. Before this she had demonstratively gone into the kitchen and washed all the dishes in the sink and on the drainboard, all the while instructing Erica in the correct way to wash up. The dishes had to be rinsed off promptly so that remnants of food wouldn’t stick, and it was just as well to do the washing up at once. Otherwise the dishes would just pile up. Clenching her teeth, Erica tried to focus on the long catnap she’d be able to take when Kristina went out with the pram. Although she was starting to wonder whether it was worth the trouble.
She made herself comfortable in the easy chair and tried to get Maja to nurse. But the baby sensed the tension in the air. She had fretted and fussed most of the morning, and now she stubbornly resisted the little milk offered to soothe her. Erica was sweating as she fought this battle of wills with her infant daughter. Only when Maja finally gave in and began to nurse did Erica relax. Cautiously, so she wouldn’t have struggled in vain, she switched on the TV. The Bold and the Beautiful was on, and Erica tried to immerse herself in Brooke and Ridge’s complex relationship. Kristina glanced at the TV screen as she hurried by with the vacuum cleaner.
‘Ugh, how can you stand to watch such trash? Why don’t you read a book instead?’
Erica retaliated by turning up the volume on the TV. For a second she permitted herself to enjoy the satisfaction of such a spiteful response. But when she saw her mother-in-law’s insulted look, she turned it back down. She knew she would pay a high price for any attempts at rebellion. She glanced at her watch. Good Lord, it was only a little before noon. It would be an eternity until Patrik came home. And then another day just like this one would follow, before Kristina packed her bags and went home, convinced that she had been of invaluable help to her son and daughter-in-law. Two more interminable days …
STRÖMSTAD 1924
The milder weather worked wonders for the mood of the stonecutters. When Anders arrived at work he could hear how his comrades had already started the rhythmic work songs that accompanied the sound of their hammers striking the crowbars. They were busy making holes for the gunpowder to blast out the larger blocks of granite. One man held the crowbar, and two took turns striking it until they had made a substantial hole straight into the stone. Then the black powder was poured in and ignited. Attempts had been made with dynamite, but it hadn’t worked properly. The pressure of the detonation was too great and pulverized the granite, making it shatter in all directions.
The men nodded to Anders as he walked by, without interrupting the rhythm of their work.
With joy in his heart he went over to the place where he was carving out the statue. Progress had been painfully slow during the winter; on many days the cold had made it well-nigh impossible to work the stone. For long periods he had been forced to simply stop and wait for the weather to improve, making it difficult to earn enough wages. But now he could get started in earnest on the huge piece of granite, and he wasn’t complaining. The winter had brought other reasons to be happy.
Sometimes he could hardly believe it was true, that such an angel had come down to earth and crept into his bed. Every minute they had spent together was a precious memory that he stored in a special place in his heart. But at times, thoughts of the future could cloud his joy. He had tried to bring up the subject with her on several occasions, but she always silenced him with a kiss. They shouldn’t speak of such things, she said, often adding that everything was bound to work out. He had interpreted this to mean that she, like him, still hoped for a future together. Sometimes he actually permitted himself to believe her words, that everything was going to work out. Deep inside he was a true romantic, and the belief that love could conquer all obstacles was firmly rooted in his soul. Of course they didn’t belong to the same social class, but he was a skilled, hard-working man. He would undoubtedly be able to provide a good life for her if he only got the chance. And if she felt for him what he felt for her, then material things would not be so important to her. A life shared with him would be worth some sacrifices on her part. On a day like this, with the spring sunshine warming his fingers, he was convinced that everything really would turn out the way he hoped. Now he was merely waiting to receive her permission to speak with her father. Then he would set about preparing the speech of his life.
With a pounding heart he meticulously hammered out the statue from the stone. In his head the words kept spinning round. Along with images of Agnes.
10
Arne was carefully studying the obituary in the newspaper. He wrinkled his nose. He suspected as much. They had chosen a teddy bear as an illustration, and that was a custom that he really hated. An obituary should contain the symbols of the Christian church, nothing more. A teddy bear was simply ungodly. But he hadn’t expected anything else. The boy had been a disappointment from beginning to end, and nothing he did surprised Arne any more. It really was a crying shame that such a God-fearing person as himself should have progeny who had so stubbornly repudiated the right path. People who didn’t know any better had tried to bring about a reconciliation between them. They had said that his son, from what they had heard, was a fine and intelligent man. He also had an honourable profession, since he was a doctor, after all. Mostly it was women who had come to their door spouting such nonsense. Men knew better than to comment on things they knew nothing about. Of course he had to agree that his son had taken on a proper profession and seemed to be doing well. But if he didn’t have God in his heart it was all meaningless.
Arne’s greatest dream had been to have a son who would follow his grandfather’s footsteps and become a pastor. He himself had been forced to put aside such ambitions early on, since his father drank all the money that was supposed to go towards his seminary training. Instead he’d had to content himself with working as a verger in the church. At least that still allowed him to spend his days in God’s house.
But