Before the Frost
- Автор: Манкелль Хеннинг
- Серия: Linda Wallander #1
- Год: 2004
- Язык: английский
- Год: The Harvill Press
- ISBN: 978-1-84343-113-8
- Переводчик: Ebba Segerberg
- Жанр: Полицейские детективы
Электронная книга - «Before the Frost». Краткое содержание книги:
When she had finished, she washed her hands thoroughly as if she were washing off the remains of the chess-playing Zacharias’s limp handshake. She looked at her face in the mirror. It passed muster, she decided. Her mouth was stern as always, her nose a little big, but her eyes were arresting and her teeth were good. She shuddered at the thought of the chess-player trying to kiss her, and hurried back up the stairs. An old man was walking in carrying a box of candles. She held the doors open. He put the box down and then placed his hands on his back.
“You would think God could spare his devoted servant from the trials of back pain,” he said in a low voice. Linda realized he was keeping his voice down because someone was sitting in the pews. She thought at first it was a man, then saw she was mistaken.
“Gudrun lost two children,” the old man whispered. “She comes here every single day.”
“What happened?”
“They were run over by a train, a terrible tragedy. One of the ambulance drivers who took care of their remains lost his mind.”
He picked up the box again and continued up the aisle. Linda walked back out into the sun. Death is all around me, she thought, calling out to me and trying to deceive me. I don’t like churches, or the sight of women crying. How does that mesh with wanting to become a police officer? Does it make any more sense than Anna not being able to stand the sight of blood or of people collapsing in the street? Maybe you can want to become a doctor or a police officer for the same reason: to see if you have what it takes.
Linda wandered into the little cemetery attached to the church. Walking along the row of headstones was like perusing the shelves of a library. Every headstone was like a folder or the cover of a book. Here, for example, lay the householder Johan Ludde and his wife Linnea. They had been buried for ninety-six years, but he was seventy-six when he died, and she was only forty-one. There was a story here, in this poorly tended grave. She kept browsing the headstones, wondering what her own would look like. A headstone that was overgrown caught her eye. She crouched down and cleared moss and earth from its face. SOFIA 1854–1869. Fifteen years old. Had she too teetered on a bridge railing, but with no one to help her?
She left the car parked where it was and followed the narrow road that led to the back of the church on foot. She came upon the tree with the red mark almost immediately and turned onto a road that led down a small hill. The house was old and worn, the main part whitewashed stone with a slate roof, an addition built of rustic red-painted wood. Linda stopped and looked around. It was absolutely quiet. A rusty, overgrown tractor stood to one side, by some apple trees. Then the front door opened and a woman in white clothes started walking out to greet Linda, who didn’t understand how she had been spotted. She hadn’t seen anyone and she was still partly hidden by the trees. But the woman was making her way briskly straight for her, smiling. She was about Linda’s age.
“I saw that you needed help,” she said when she was close enough. She spoke a mixture of Danish and English.
“I’m looking for a friend of mine,” Linda said. “Anna Westin.”
The woman smiled.
“We have no use for names here. Come with me. You may find this friend you are looking for.”
The mildness of her voice made Linda suspicious. Was she walking into a trap? She followed the woman into the cool interior of the main house. It took some time for Linda to see clearly. The slowness of her eyes to adjust from bright outdoor light to dim interiors was one of her few physical weaknesses, one she had discovered during her time at the academy.
All of the walls on the inside were also whitewashed, with no rugs on the bare, broad planks of the floor. There was no furniture, but a large black wooden cross hung between two arched windows. People sat along the walls, directly on the floor. Many with their arms wrapped around their knees, all silent. They were of all ages and in different styles of dress. One man with short hair was wearing a dark suit and tie; by his side was an older woman in very simple clothes. Linda looked all around but could not pick out Anna among them. The woman who had come out to greet her looked inquiringly at her, but Linda shook her head.
“There’s one more room,” the woman said.
Linda followed. The wooden walls of the next room were also painted white. These windows were far less elaborate. Here too people sat along the walls, but Linda did not see anyone who looked like Anna. What was going on in this house? What had the letter said? A mighty angel in a cloud of glory?
“Let us go out again,” said the woman.
She led Linda across the lawn, around the side of the house to a group of stone furniture in the shadow of a beech tree. Linda’s curiosity was now fully engaged. Somehow these people had something to do with Anna. She decided to come clean.
“The friend I’m looking for is missing. I found a letter in her mailbox that described this place.”
“Can you tell me what she looks like?”
I don’t like this, Linda thought. Her smile, her calm. It’s completely disingenuous and makes my skin crawl. Like when I shook that chess-player’s hand.
Linda gave her Anna’s description. The woman’s smile never wavered.
“I don’t think I’ve seen her,” she said. “Do you have the letter with you?”
“I left it in the car.”
“And where is the car?”
“I parked it over by the church. It’s a red VW Golf. The letter is lying on the front seat. I left the car unlocked, actually, which I know is careless of me.”
The woman was silent. Linda felt uncomfortable.
“What do you do here?”
“Your friend must have told you. Everyone who is here has the mission of bringing others to our temple.”
“This is a temple?”
“What else would it be?”
Of course, Linda thought sarcastically. What was I thinking? This is clearly a temple and not simply the somewhat dilapidated remains of a humble Swedish farmstead where the owners once struggled to put food on the table.
“What is the name of your organization?”
“We don’t use names. Our community comes from within, through the air we share and breathe.”
“That sounds very deep.”
“The self-evident is always the most mysterious. The smallest crack in a musical instrument alters its timbre completely. If a whole panel falls out, the music ceases. It is the same with human beings. We cannot fully live without a higher purpose.”
Linda did not understand the answers she was getting, and didn’t like this feeling. She stopped asking questions.
“I think I’ll leave now.”
She walked away quickly without turning around, nor did she stop until she reached the car. Instead of leaving right away, she sat and looked out at the trees. The sun was shining through the leaves and into her eyes. Just as she was about to start the engine she saw a man cross the gravel yard in front of the church.
At first she only saw his outline, but when he crossed into the shade of the high trees she felt as if she had just taken a gulp of frigid air. She recognized his neck, and not just that. During the seconds before he walked back out into the blinding sun she heard Anna’s voice reverberate inside her head. The voice was very clear, telling her about the man she had seen through the hotel window. I am also sitting by a window, Linda thought. A car window. And suddenly I’m convinced I’ve just seen Anna’s father. It is completely unreasonable. But that’s what I think.