hand.
Nils has shown everybody who owns Stenvik. Soon he will own the whole of northern Oland, and will defend it with his life if the Germans come.
The bottom of the boat scrapes against the rocks, and Nils picks up the oar and jumps out. He’s ready, but no one attacks him.
The loaders are standing over on the jetty as if they’ve been turned to stone, women and men and children. They gaze at him mutely with terrified eyes. Maja Nyman looks as if she’s about to burst into tears.
“Go to hell!” Nils Kant roars at the lot of them, and flings the oar down in front of him on the pebbles.
Then he turns to run back to the village, home to his mother Vera in the big yellow house.
But neither she nor anyone else knows what Nils knows: he is meant for greater things, greater than Stenvik, as great as the war.
One day he will be known and talked about all over Oland. He can feel it.
Jolaf Davidsson was waiting for his daughter in his room at the residential home for senior citizens.
Today’s edition of the local newspaper, OlandsPosten, lay in front of him on the desk, and he was reading about an eightyoneyearold man suffering from senile dementia who had vanished outside Kastlosa in southern Oland. The man had simply
left his little cottage the day before and disappeared without a trace; the police and volunteers were now searching for him out on the alvarthey’d even had a helicopter out looking for him.
But it had been a cold night, and it wasn’t at all certain he’d be found alive.
Senile dementia and eightyone years old. Gerlof was only a year or so younger; his eightieth birthday was coming up. Eighty was not as old as some thought, but of course it was easier to understand when an old person disappeared without a trace than when it happened to a child. He closed the paper and looked at the clock. Quarter past three.
“I’m glad you’ve come,” he said to himself. He paused,
coughed, and went on: “You’re just as beautiful as I remember, Julia. Now you’re here on Oland, there are certain things we must do. There are things you’ll need to take care of yourself, too. And We can talk … I know I wasn’t always a good father to you when you were growing up, I was away a lot and you and your sister Were alone with Ella in Borgholm when I was at sea. It was my job, being a captain and transporting cargoes across the Baltic, far away from my family … But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere anymore.”
He fell silent and stared down at the desk. He’d written his speech to Julia down in his notebook. Ever since she’d told him which day she was coming to the island, he’d been trying to learn itand it sounded that way. He had to get it to sound like a father talking to his child in a perfectly ordinary way.
“I’m glad you’ve come,” said Gerlof, again. “You’re just as beautiful as I remember.”
Or pretty? Pretty, that was probably a better description of a muchmissed daughter.
At last, when it was almost four o’clock and there was only an hour left before dinner, he heard a knock on the door of his room.
“Come in,” he said, and the door opened.
Boel stuck her head in.
“Yes, he’s here,” she said quietly to someone behind her, then in a louder voice: “You’ve got a visitor, Gerlof.”
“Thank you,” he said, and Boel smiled as she stepped back.
Another woman came forward; she took several steps into the hallway, and Gerlof took a deep breath so that he could start his speech: “I’m glad you’ve come …” he began, then fell silent.
He saw a middleaged woman in a crumpled coat looking at him from the hallway; her eyes were tired, her forehead furrowed.
After only a couple of seconds her gaze slid away from him, and she wrapped her arms around her brown shoulder bag as if it were some kind of protective shield as she took a few more steps into the room.
Gerlof gradually recognized his daughter in the woman’s furrowed, serious face,
Nils has shown everybody who owns Stenvik. Soon he will own the whole of northern Oland, and will defend it with his life if the Germans come.
The bottom of the boat scrapes against the rocks, and Nils picks up the oar and jumps out. He’s ready, but no one attacks him.
The loaders are standing over on the jetty as if they’ve been turned to stone, women and men and children. They gaze at him mutely with terrified eyes. Maja Nyman looks as if she’s about to burst into tears.
“Go to hell!” Nils Kant roars at the lot of them, and flings the oar down in front of him on the pebbles.
Then he turns to run back to the village, home to his mother Vera in the big yellow house.
But neither she nor anyone else knows what Nils knows: he is meant for greater things, greater than Stenvik, as great as the war.
One day he will be known and talked about all over Oland. He can feel it.
Jolaf Davidsson was waiting for his daughter in his room at the residential home for senior citizens.
Today’s edition of the local newspaper, OlandsPosten, lay in front of him on the desk, and he was reading about an eightyoneyearold man suffering from senile dementia who had vanished outside Kastlosa in southern Oland. The man had simply
left his little cottage the day before and disappeared without a trace; the police and volunteers were now searching for him out on the alvarthey’d even had a helicopter out looking for him.
But it had been a cold night, and it wasn’t at all certain he’d be found alive.
Senile dementia and eightyone years old. Gerlof was only a year or so younger; his eightieth birthday was coming up. Eighty was not as old as some thought, but of course it was easier to understand when an old person disappeared without a trace than when it happened to a child. He closed the paper and looked at the clock. Quarter past three.
“I’m glad you’ve come,” he said to himself. He paused,
coughed, and went on: “You’re just as beautiful as I remember, Julia. Now you’re here on Oland, there are certain things we must do. There are things you’ll need to take care of yourself, too. And We can talk … I know I wasn’t always a good father to you when you were growing up, I was away a lot and you and your sister Were alone with Ella in Borgholm when I was at sea. It was my job, being a captain and transporting cargoes across the Baltic, far away from my family … But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere anymore.”
He fell silent and stared down at the desk. He’d written his speech to Julia down in his notebook. Ever since she’d told him which day she was coming to the island, he’d been trying to learn itand it sounded that way. He had to get it to sound like a father talking to his child in a perfectly ordinary way.
“I’m glad you’ve come,” said Gerlof, again. “You’re just as beautiful as I remember.”
Or pretty? Pretty, that was probably a better description of a muchmissed daughter.
At last, when it was almost four o’clock and there was only an hour left before dinner, he heard a knock on the door of his room.
“Come in,” he said, and the door opened.
Boel stuck her head in.
“Yes, he’s here,” she said quietly to someone behind her, then in a louder voice: “You’ve got a visitor, Gerlof.”
“Thank you,” he said, and Boel smiled as she stepped back.
Another woman came forward; she took several steps into the hallway, and Gerlof took a deep breath so that he could start his speech: “I’m glad you’ve come …” he began, then fell silent.
He saw a middleaged woman in a crumpled coat looking at him from the hallway; her eyes were tired, her forehead furrowed.
After only a couple of seconds her gaze slid away from him, and she wrapped her arms around her brown shoulder bag as if it were some kind of protective shield as she took a few more steps into the room.
Gerlof gradually recognized his daughter in the woman’s furrowed, serious face,
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