“You know, girls, that sort of thing.”

They took the number-four tram to Hagen. Angela had been surprised when he suggested it.

“I thought you never went by tram.”

“I am tonight.”

“Why?”

What could he say? That he wanted to see the town in the same way as most people see it? Huh. He simply didn’t want to take a taxi, or to drive himself. He also wanted to walk a bit.

“I feel like walking. Let’s walk as far as the Avenue and take the tram from there. Are you ready?”

“Surely you can see that I’m not ready,” she said from the bathroom.

“Okay. I’ll wait.”

She brushed her hair and put a bit of gloss on her lips. She looked in the mirror and opened her eyes wide. The light in the bathroom wasn’t good. She had bags under her eyes in there. They weren’t there when she looked in a mirror at the hospital. She made a face at the mirror. It’s not the light. You want a house. Your apartment days should be over. A house by the sea.

Winter had gone to the living room and was standing by the window. Coltrane was playing with Red Garland. “Soft Lights and Sweet Music.”

The city was wrapped in gauze. Soft light shone out through the bandages. Lights blinked on top of high buildings. Gothenburg had acquired a different topography in recent years. It was reaching up to the sky. Airplanes cruised between its arms on their way down.

He looked down. Down there. Somewhere. How many times have I stood here and thought: the answer is down there, the solution. The man I’m going to meet is down there somewhere, perhaps he’s walking past at this very moment. He’s walking through the park. Now he’s passing the obelisk. I’ve done that as well. I’ve kept meeting him.

“Ready,” Angela said from the hall. The music came to an end at the same moment, and it was the last track. He switched it off and left the room.

As they were waiting for the elevator an elderly man came out of Mrs. Malmer’s flat and closed the door carefully behind him. He hesitated when he noticed them, but nodded and stood alongside them to wait. He was tall, graying hair, moles on his face.

“Who was that?” she asked when they left the building and started walking toward the Avenue. The stranger had disappeared in the opposite direction.

“Never seen him before.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

There were a lot of people waiting at bus and tram stops in Vasaplatsen. Their breath came out of their mouths like smoke. Angela could feel the cold through her coat and wished she was wearing a hat. Her ears were freezing cold already. Twenty degrees, and it was still only November. Perhaps it will be up to fifty on Christmas Eve.

“There’s a colleague of yours there,” she said.

“Where?”

“In the police car on the other side.”

“Yes, I can see it.”

“It’s not moving.”

“Well…”

“Can you see what it is?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where it comes from.”

“The district? I suppose it ought to be from Lorensberg. Why?”

“Noth-”

“Now I remember. We can…”

The car started moving and passed by them. Winter waved at it.

“Simon Morelius,” he said.

“Was that the driver? Do you know him?”

“Only by sight.”

The tram was full when they eventually got on, and they stood in the middle, holding on to the straps. Angela was standing with her legs apart so as not to lose her balance, and seemed to be protecting her stomach. Not such a bright idea after all, Erik, he thought.

A lot of passengers got off at Kungsportsplatsen and Angela was able to sit down. It was quiet where they were, but somebody was muttering away and occasionally shouting threats at the back. Everybody looked the other way. Several drunks came on board at Brunnsparken. Winter had to move.

After two more stops the seat next to Angela became vacant. There was a smell of smoke and alcohol in the tram, and sweat from the fat man in front. Some teenage girls were staring at Winter. A black man was playing something on his Walkman that was making him jerk his head from side to side. At Järntorget a group of young men got on. They were all wearing black leather jackets covered in names and symbols. A devil, two witches. An ax dripping with blood. There was a clanking noise from the shopping bags full of beer cans when they put them on the floor, which was covered in black slush. A teenage couple three rows ahead of them kept turning around, apparently to look at him, or at Angela. There was something vaguely familiar about the girl. He looked out the window. A police car overtook them as they approached Stigberget. The long arm of the law again, he thought.

Lotta Winter welcomed them in a cloud of garlic and herbs.

“Where are the girls?” asked Winter.

“It’s Friday night. Eight o‘clock. They won’t stay at home anymore, not even for you, Erik. Let me give you both a hug!” She embraced them. “You’re FREEZING!”

“They’ll be back before eleven, won’t they? The girls?”

“Grow up.”

“He’ll find out eventually,” Angela said.

“What can I get you to drink?” Lotta asked.

“I’ll have some wine, please. Angela will just have water.”

“Have you spoken to Mom?”

“Yes.”

“How was she?”

“Still says she’s coming for Christmas.”

“How was she otherwise, did you think?”

“As you said, she seems to be… strong. Let’s hope she can keep it up.”

Let’s hope she can, for all our sakes, thought Lotta, as she poured the drinks.

22

Hanne Östergaard was shoveling snow. Her spade scraping over the stone paving, through the snow drifts. The garden was covered in white.

The trees are sticking up like the skeletons they now are, she thought, and could feel the sweat under her woolly hat.

Several neighbors were also out snow-shoveling this Saturday morning, using fancy types of “spade” that still didn’t seem to be much good. Gothenburg isn’t inside the Arctic Circle. Nobody expected the snow to last for very long.

Three houses down the road a man was busy putting winter tires on his car. She looked toward her own garage as the side door opened and Maria appeared in wool sweater and a six-foot scarf, but with no hat or gloves. She was carrying a broom, and now sat astride it and jumped three paces.

“I thought I’d do a bit of flying,” she said.

“Wrong time of year, love.”

“Exactly. Swedish witches appear at Easter. So you believe in witches, do you?”

I believe in everything evil, thought Hanne, but it was only a fleeting reaction.

“I believe in what I see before me,” she said instead. “Sometimes, at least.”

Maria looked put out, for a couple of seconds. Then she looked up again.

“I thought I would give you a hand.” She cleared a strip of the path with one sweep of the broom. “Get rid of the remainder.”

“That’s terrific.”

Maria brushed away. Suddenly, she was a child again. Hanne Ostegaard saw the little girl in her face, and was overcome with love and affection when Maria looked up and smiled. Her attempt to ask for forgiveness. Hanne was determined to swallow it, hook, line, and sinker. She’s only a child.

Patrik appeared and walked along the newly cleared drive sporting a thick and gigantic knitted hat that was big enough to accommodate Maria as well.

“Patrik, hello.” She held out her hand. “Long time no see.”

“Hello! I thought I’d pay you a visit. About time I ventured into the sticks.” He looked around. “Virgin white out here.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Virgin white. Most of it’s already gone in town.”

“What would you say to a cup of hot chocolate?”

“Well, what do you say?” said Maria, looking at Patrik.

“I’d love it. I’m freezing. There was something wrong with the heating in the tram.”

She’d made cheese rolls and two mugs of hot chocolate, with another on the way.