Troll Gold

Summer had arrived suddenly the day before, in the afternoon to be more exact. In the morning they had huddled in groups outside the grand, old church dressed in their fine clothes. The girls wore dresses and skirts in the grey, chilly morning. Jenny had stared with envy at the boys in their suit pants and had pulled on her cardigan so it would cover her hands. Of course she didn’t know that her goose bumped legs would one day be part of a treasured memory. Jenny didn’t think of things like that, she was only nine and she couldn’t wait for the long summer break to begin.

In the afternoon a little before 2:30, Jenny’s mother had stood on the porch with the traditional end of school year strawberry shortcake. She had sighed, looked at the grey skies and thought to herself; I guess we have to sit here this year and not in the arbor. The arbor was made up of gigantic lilac bushes and in the middle the family often sat in the summer. She put the cake on the table on the porch and almost like magic the clouds broke apart and the sun came out. The temperature rose quickly and the afternoon treat was swiftly moved outside. 

Now it was Saturday evening and Jenny lay on her stomach on her parent’s bed watching her mother working the curling iron in her dark blonde hair. The window was open and in with the soft summer breeze drifted the scent of lilacs.

“Do I need more in the back?” Her mother turned her head and tried to look in the mirror.

“No, it looks pretty,” Jenny said and rolled over onto her back. The evening sun shone through the lace curtains and made patterns on the white ceiling. She heard how her mother put down the curling iron and unplugged it. Then she heard her starting to look for something in her jewelry box. Her fingers made a slight raking noise.

“Where are my pearl earrings?” Some more raking noise. “I don’t understand. Where are they?”

The patterns on the ceiling looked like ships now.

“Maybe the trolls took them,” she said absentmindedly. “Farmor says trolls are little thieves.”

The raking noise stopped. She could feel how her mother sat down on the side of the bed.

“Jenny,” her mother said and put a hand on her arm. “We have talked about this. You know that farmor is sick. She says things. Things that aren’t real.”

Jenny nodded, the pattern on the ceiling looked like fish now.

“Oh, I think your cousins are here.”

Jenny already knew that, she had heard the car coming up the graveled road for a few minutes.

 

The cousins; Maria thirteen years old with braces, breasts and brown hair and Karl ten years old who everybody called Kalle. Jenny’s older sister Pernilla took Maria under her arm and the two girls disappeared upstairs.

“Pernilla,” her mother screamed upstairs. “Pernilla!” She looked over at Jenny’s aunt. “That girl…that girl is driving me insane. Where is Stig? Stig!”

Jenny knew that her father stood out by her uncle’s car and talked about hunting woodcocks but instead of saying anything she took Kalle by the arm and steered him into the kitchen. On the counter were three bags; one with potato chips, one with cheese doodles and one with candy. Last night she and Pernilla had walked down to the gas station and bought them. They had argued about the candy for a long time before they could agree on what to buy. They only had so much money, so every piece counted.

“Let’s fill two bowls and bring them out to the porch. Pappa and I made a fort out there for us to sleep in tonight.”

Jenny filled a big bowl with chips and cheese doodles and Kalle filled a smaller one with candy.

On the porch, under the table covered in a big blanket the two children sat together and munched.

“Jenny! Kalle! Where are you?” Pappa’s voice came from outside the porch.

“We are in here in the fort,” Jenny called out,  crawled to the other side of the porch and stood up by the open window. “Pappa! Here!”

He turned around by the arbor and came back to the porch.

“We are leaving now. I talked to Pernilla and she promised to be nice. We will be back around midnight.” He planted a kiss on his palm and reached up so she could pretend to grab it and put it in her pocket.  “Use it for bedtime,” he said and left.

The June light lingered, the blue dusk would be replaced by the navy blue night for a few hours and then the birds would start singing again and the sun would rise. Jenny and Kalle laid in the fort with yellow orange cheese doodle fingers and black licorice tongues. Her father’s kiss to use for bedtime was still in her pocket even though hours had passed since the clock struck eight in the living room. They heard music from Pernilla’s room but they hadn’t seen the older girls since they went upstairs before their parents left for the barn dance.

“Do you know what I think is strange?” Kalle shook his head, his mouth was filled with candy. “That farmor says trolls are real. Fröken says that giants threw those big rocks on the fields and that the mountain is called Troll Mountain because a troll used to live there.” Kalle chewed and listened. “But mamma says that farmor is sick and says things that aren’t real….is Fröken sick too?” Kalle swallowed and turned to his stomach, reaching for another piece of candy.

“Fröken can’t be sick…then they wouldn’t let her work in school…I think at least.” He put the candy in his mouth.

“Mamma’s pearl earrings are missing. I said it could be the trolls but she didn’t believe me. You know how farmor always say that trolls are little thieves.”

“My mamma says there are fairies in the fog on the meadow.”

“Why do they say different things? It is so strange!”

She stuffed some chips in her mouth, mostly little crumbles left now. Licked her fingers one by one and yawned. She put her head on the pillow. Kalle was quiet, she was quiet.  The only thing she heard was the faint music and the blackbird who always sat in the birch tree and sang at night.  She yawned again; she could easily fall asleep now but first she had to pee.

“I will go and pee,” she said and crawled out of the fort. Kalle didn’t respond, he was probably sleeping already. She stood on the porch and looked into the house through the door. To walk all the way into the house to pee felt so far. She took the three steps over to the porch door and opened it. She would squat in the grass and be back in her sleeping bag in less than a minute.

The grass under her bare feet was cold; she shivered and pulled up her shoulders. She held one hand on the stone stairs as she squatted. The stone step was still warm from the bright sun and smooth under her hand. Something was rummaging about over by the arbor. She squinted and tried to see. Probably Sixten, the cat, who was looking for a mouse or a vole.

“Sixten,” she called softly. “Come here kitty. Kitty, kitty.”

The rummaging stopped but Sixten didn’t show up. Oh, she got scared, what if it was a badger? They were dangerous; they keep biting until your bones crunch.  She stood quickly and leaped up the stairs. The badger came out from the bushes, stopped and turned towards her. Then it happened. The moment was as slow as refrigerated syrup. The badger stood up. The badger had arms and legs and a head with wild bushy hair. Jenny blinked hard, blinked again. The…the…the…she didn’t know what word to use, it stood there and looked at her. Then it turned around and bounded away. A skinny tail was the last thing she saw before it climbed up the old stone wall and disappeared. If she hadn’t just peeped she would have peed her pants.

“Kalle! Kalle!” She shook his feet in the sleeping bag. “You have to wake up.”

“What?” He pulled his feet away from her hands.  “I am tired. I want to sleep.”

“But Kalle.” She pulled on his feet. “I saw something. A…a…a  troll.” Yes, now she was sure it was a troll. A small furry little one.

Kalle grunted something and curled up.

“We have to see where it went.”

“Ufff,” Kalle said.

“If you are not going I am going by myself.”

Kalle shuffled his feet around for a moment and then he poked his head out from underneath the table.

“Out where? In the woods in the dark?”

She nodded and looked sternly at him.

“Well, maybe I will bring Lolo with me.” The thought of the dog gave her comfort. “Yes, I will bring Lolo and I am leaving now.”

She grabbed her jeans, pulled them on and then she walked into the house. In the kitchen the foxhound came up to her with ticky tocky claws against the hard floor.

“We are going to the woods,” Jenny said and petted the dog. The tail started waging and the dog licked her hand. She took a chair, pushed it against the counter and reached up to the cabinet. She found the flash light and tested it in the kitchen. Even though the night wasn’t completely dark yet she knew the woods would be darker.

She leashed the dog and made her way back to the porch. Kalle was standing by the door.

“If you are going I am coming with you.”

 

Lolo walked first. She was happy to be out with her favorite human. A slightly odd time perhaps but the day had been so warm she had spent most of it lying in the shade under the hedge. It was good to stretch her legs. She looked behind her. The girl had a flash light and the boy was only a step or two behind the girl. Lolo liked the other humans too but this one, the smallest one, was special to her. They had been puppies together a long time ago. Strange, humans stayed puppies forever. She was now a grown, close to aging dog. She had felt it this past winter; the hunting instinct was still a fever in her blood but her muscles weren’t as strong anymore. And to come home and rest by the fire had been a respite. A leisurely walk like this one she always liked.

 They had crossed the meadow and now they entered the woods. Lolo put her nose to the ground; smelled the grass, the dirt and the tall ferns. Lifted her head and breathed in. A fox had crossed here not long ago and she thought she smelled a hedgehog a little further along the path. The children talked behind her, she could hear something in their voices, a faint echo of fear from the boy but mostly excitement from the girl. Something was different in the woods tonight, Lolo wasn’t sure if it was because of the darkness but she could sense slight vibrations in the ground. She took another deep breath. The unfamiliar scent hit her, human and animal in one. No, not human. No, not animal. The hairs on her back stood up, the growl filled her body and she stopped on the trail.

“What is it Lolo?” the girl said and put a hand on her back. “Do you see something?”

“Let’s go home!” the boy said and his voice was shaky.

The girl sat down next to her, put an arm around her shoulders and shined the flashlight into the darkness under the ferns.

“What is it Lolo?”

She growled deeper, the unfamiliar scent was coming closer, she could hear the movement. Small feet were moving slowly and carefully over the ground. Then she saw it. As tall as her but on two feet. Big eyes in a round face. Spiky hair on the top of its head and smooth fur on the rest of the body. And it spoke. She was sure it spoke but it didn’t open its mouth but she heard words in her head. Soft, soft, soft words. Human voice but different words. “Ho ay ay ay ay buff. Ho ay ay ay ay buff. Ho ay ay ay ay buff buff. Ho ay ay ay ay buff.”

 

She was warm, sweaty on her face and back. She tried to push down her blanket but she couldn’t. She was trapped in something. Scared, she opened her eyes. Above her were planks and something orange. She blinked and tried to focus. When her eyes began to adjust she saw that the orange was the blanket she and pappa had put up yesterday on top of the table. She was lying in her sleeping bag on the porch. She turned to her side and saw Kalle sleeping deeply with his face pressed into the pillow. A strange feeling resided in her body. Her brain felt fuzzy and her limbs heavy. All she wanted to do was to lie down again and sleep but she was too hot so she crawled out of the fort and walked into the house.

Mamma was sitting by the kitchen table with a crossword and a cup of coffee.

“Sleeping beauty,” she said when she saw Jenny. “Do you want some breakfast?”

Jenny sat down on a chair and looked over at the kitchen clock. 10:30 in the morning. She had never slept this late in her whole life.

“Where are pappa and Pernilla?”

“Pappa is out with Lolo…did you play a lot with her last night? He had to drag her out of the house.” Her mother put some bread into the toaster. “Pernilla is still sleeping of course.”

Jenny felt confused, she thought she remembered that they had taken Lolo with them out to the woods last night but the memory was as faint as a dream. The bread jumped out of the toaster and her mother put it on a plate.

“You know what is strange?” Her mother opened the fridge; she brought out the milk, the butter and the cheese. “I found my pearl earrings here on the table when we came back last night. Did you find them?”

Jenny buttered her toast, sliced some cheese and took a bite. Had she found the earrings? She remembered that Kalle and her had eaten candy, chips and cheese doodles until it was almost dark. Then she went out to pee….after that it was murkier.

“No,” she said and took another bite. “I didn’t find the earrings. Ask Pernilla, maybe she borrowed them.”

Her mother smiled at her.

“Yes, you are probably right.” Then her mother narrowed her eyes and looked at her. “What is that you have in your hair?” She reached out and plucked something from her head. “A piece of fern. How odd.”

 

 

 

Else

Else

The old lady with the sunglasses, who drinks whiskey

and falls asleep in the big armchair on holidays.

That is how you remember me.

I know that I scared you children

and that you wished I would not come at all.

But that is not who I always was

 

 I cut my hair short, wore trousers, smoked cigarillos.

        Oh, how my mother cried.

            And begged and pleaded.

 

Sailed across the Atlantic on an Ocean Liner.

Saw New York’s skyscrapers grow in the horizon

                Bigger than us, grander than us.

 But in Hooverville we walked around the pain.

              Certain to not get our shoes dirty.

 

Stood in the cheering crowd on one of Hamburg’s main streets.

Excitement in the air. Power! We will rise again!

Who could have imagined that the tiny man

                                with the booming voice.

One day would equal evil,  destruction and chaos.

 

 

And when my sister died, all too soon.

                I tried to take care of her sweet daughters.

                                I really did!

But I believe I failed.

Too many demons. Too much urgency. Too much heartbreak.

                     I was nothing against it.

 

 

But no, I did not get married.

             Some fools said it was because I was in love with my brother –in- law.

That beautiful, brilliant, impractical man.

But tell me, why I would cause my sister more pain?

                                                                He betrayed her enough without me.

 

 

But maybe someone sat behind me

 when I rode through the apple orchards in May.

Holding me tight, the motor purring underneath us,

as I maneuvered with ease.

Up and down the hills and around the narrow bends.

The Baltic Sea covered in silver flakes and

pink petals snowing down on us.

And maybe we stopped at the pointy hills,

wrapped in a sunny blanket made of Prima Vulgaris.

Like the witches used to do, we climbed to the top.

The wind up there filled with ancient strength.

We could smell freedom.

And maybe when no one saw I grabbed hold of Her.

Put my hand in the hair,

 soft as silk.

And kissed Her.

 

 

 

               

 

 

Ingrid, Astrid and Sven

A bird’s body, hair feather white.  Her grip surprisingly firm.

“I need my blue summer coat.” 

She commanded and sent me on a search.

Closets, coat rack and the dresser.

But no summer coat to be found.

“I’m sorry,” I said apologetic. “I seem not to be able to find your coat.”

She looked at me sternly.

“Silly girl, have you looked in the attic?”

Perplexed I looked at the old woman.

“Attic? But mam, you don’t have an attic.”

Her eyes got muddy with confusion and she waved me away.

I thought a misunderstanding had occurred so off I went again.

Searched the same closets, the same coat rack and the same dresser. 

No blue coat. Meticulously crocheted doilies. Pillowcases with monograms.

And under the bed rolled up rag rugs. Stripped in mellow colors.

 Years of hard work.  Something for a woman to be proud of.

I left her after another thirty minutes, got on my bike and rode to the next old lady.

 

The room was cramped, filled with ornament heavy wood furniture.

“No wet rag on the furniture! It leaves streaks.”

 The voice was not kind, only demanding.

I moved carefully through the mausoleum of past times.

On one of the dressers stood  a picture of two young ladies.

The owner of the apartment and my great aunt.

In another time my family had ruled this little country side town.

My great grandfather owned the biggest house. Sat on the board of the bank.

Decided who would be graced with a loan. He used to send my grandmother. 

A lean teenager to the liquor store. His name alone was proof enough.

Now I rode my bike from house to house. Helped old ladies clean, cook and take a bath.

I changed catheters, treated bed sores and searched for summer coats.

When I was done dusting without using a wet rag I was treated to a glass of water in the kitchen.

“During the war the trains stopped here. We all knew who the Nazis were. The big farmers. Stood by the train and waved. Gave the soldiers bread and apples. What a shame!”

I finished one glass and asked for another.

“You know how some people say that Hitler has a son.”

I nodded and drank.

“But he can’t have a son.  I know.”

Some sort of joy had joined her voice.

“My sister’s husband was in the same battalion as Hitler during the war. Not the second. The first. And he told us that Hitler got one of his balls shot off in the war.”

She giggled like a school girl.

 

The last house for the day was located all the way up the hill. Past the nine hundred year old church.

Magnificent green wood house on the end of a road lined with maple trees.

The man was dignified, gentle and almost rueful as he showed me where the cleaning supplies were.

He didn’t disturb me as I worked. He sat in an old red armchair and read. The walls covered in leather bound  books.

On one of the walls in the airy entrance hall hung a beautiful shawl. Crimson with gold thread. The shawl was covered in striking jewelry and underneath a black and white photo in a silver frame. Two young men and a woman.

“He was my best friend.”

I almost jumped. I had not heard him.

“Anton Nilsson,” he said and looked questioning at me. My mother had informed me so I nodded.

“He fought in the Red Army. That was after the bombing of the Amalthea of course. We disagreed about that...”

His eyes drifted out the window. I held my breath, waiting.

“But both of us thought Stalin was a curse.”

He smiled and his eyes came back to me.

“Beautiful shawl, don’t you think? Anton’s wife’s. When she died he gave it to me. I loved her...”

He took a deep breath in and shook his head.

“A young girl like you don’t want to listen to an old man’s ramblings.”

He smiled and looked around where I had been vacuuming.

“You look done. I have fresh cinnamon rolls. Would you like to stay for a cup of tea?”

We sat in his kitchen. Fragile cups with pink roses and gold. He talked. I listened for hours.

 And I regret I don’t remember all he told me.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Midgård

The summer sun was beating down on her head as she sat outside the longhouse. Her back ached an d she could feel the baby pressing down on her pelvis. Soon it would be time. Soon.  The boy came running around the corner; his light, almost white hair caught the sun. With him came the grey dog, his constant companion. He stopped in front of her, panting. The dog jumped around him a few times, his pink tongue hanging out of the side of the mouth. 

“Mor.” The boy put a hand on her leg. “Will he be home today?” Gudrun caressed her son’s gleaming hair.

“Any day now.” The boy looked up at her with dark blue eyes. The same eyes as his father.

“Can I go down to the shore and look for the ships?”

She knew he missed his father as much as she missed her man. She knew he was anxious to see the sails in the horizon, grow bigger and bigger until you could hear them beat in the wind. Hear the men call out to each other. See his face again. He would wave from the ship, jump in the water and run to them as they waited by the shore.

“Yes you can but…” The word but made her son roll his eyes. “You have to bring your sister and Torbjörn with you.”

“Mor…” he started complaining. She reached out and took a handful of his hair in her hand. She didn’t pull hard enough for it to hurt but he knew that there was no point complaining anymore. She let go, smoothed the hair with her palm. “I can’t have Torbjörn around my feet all day, you know that.” He sighed deeply. “And,” she continued, “take one of the baskets and pick some blueberries on the way. Ask Marya for some bread to bring along.” The dog lifted his ears when he heard the name Marya. The dog was clever, knew where he could get food.

“Loki,” the boy said and the dog was instantly at his heels. Both of them took off running like before. Gudrun was  about to lean back against the wall once more when she remembered.

“Sune!” she called and the boy stopped. “Don’t let Torbjörn eat too many blueberries or sand.”

The boy and the dog disappeared around the corner of the house. The child inside of her kicked hard against her ribs. She had to put a hand on the foot and press. Please stay in there until Valdemar is home. Please. The only time she had giving birth without Valdemar at shore it had ended gravely. After Sune, the first one, she had given birth to a strong, angry girl less than a year later. The third one, a thorn still stung her heart when she thought about the third one.  The rain pounded the house that day. Everything was damp even though it was in the middle of the summer and the child did not want to come out. She pushed and pushed but no. Eventually the midwife had crawled in between her legs, put a hand inside of her and pulled the child out. Oh, this child. Transparent, red haired. No fierce cry. Only a whimper.

She had put this child to her breast, weakly she suckled and then she fell asleep. The midwife said to keep the child close, let the child rest. She wasn’t sure when she realized that this life would never last. She stroked her breasts, forced small of drops of her milk into the child’s mouth. Five days later the rain stopped. A rainbow grew across the sky when the sun broke through the clouds. The child lay in her arms, more transparent than before. Eyes closed and she simply stopped breathing.

When Valdemar came home Gudrun lay in bed with her face against the wall. Didn’t speak. Didn’t eat. Didn’t tend to her children. He tried to talk to her but she didn’t respond. She laid, in a state of neither sleep nor wakefulness. Until one morning, she felt someone crawl over her and Sune pressed himself in between the wall and her body. He strung his arms around her neck and placed his head under her chin.  His breath against her skin. He lay still and quiet for a long time.

“Mor,” he whispered, “I don’t like Marya’s porridge. Can you make me some?”

She opened her eyes, looked down at his golden head, put her nose on his hair and breathed in. He smelled of the woods, of the fireplace and the sea.  He smelled like life.

When she felt stronger again she had walked across the forest, across the yielding grounds of the moor to her father. He had fallen into trance for her. Searched for the little transparent girl in the spirit worlds. When he came back he told her that the little girl was trapped. Held back by Gudrun’s love and yearning. Couldn’t move into Gimle. Stuck in between. All the little girl wanted was to be allowed to leave. She was never supposed to be here. Her father taught her a croon. A few words, a few lines, rhyming, easy to remember. Every time she thought of the little girl she would repeat the croon. Soon the words would take over the place in her mind and the girl would be set free. Her mind let go faster than her body and for years no child would stay long enough to be born. Until Torbjörn. Robust, howling, suckled until her nipples bled.

 

“Tova! Tova! Where are you?” Sune had the basket in one hand, the leather satchel with bread in the other and Torbjörn behind him toddling as fast as the short legs would let him. They had been searching for their sister everywhere. First down by the pigs, sometimes she went down there and talked to the pigs. Fed them leftovers and scratched them behind their ears. In the winter when it was time for slaughter and sacrifice she hid in the house. She could not stand to see the blood steaming in the cold air. He laughed at her, teased her, happy the fearless girl was scared of something.  Then he had walked to the horse corrals and even taken an extra turn around the beehives. He had sent Torbjörn in to the henhouse and the storehouse, Tova was nowhere to be seen. Finally he spotted her sitting on top of the root cellar in the shade under the old oak tree.

“Tova!” he screamed and she stood up, “We are going to pick blueberries and go down to the shore to look for the ship. And Mor said you had to come.”

The girl ran down the side of the root cellar, her braids bounced on her back. She grabbed the basket as she ran by him.  Loki yelped out of excitement and ran after her. Sune started to run but Torbjörn let out a howl and he had to slow down to let the little boy catch up.

The tall pine trees gave enough shade to make the forest pleasant compared to the bright sunshine. The pine needles had turned the trail into a copper snake; it slithered around the blueberry bushes. The bushes were  covered in big, dark blue, almost black berries. Tova was already picking  and dropping the berries into the basket. The dog lay on the trail with tiny forest flies all around his warm body.

“Don’t eat too many blueberries,” Sune said to Torbjörn. “Not good for your stomach.” He poked the little boy in his round, soft belly.

His fingers got red from the berries and they had attracted the mosquitoes. He watched one land on his arm, pierce his skin with its trunk and drink his blood.  The back part of the body grew, turned from grey to brilliant red.  He started to get tired of picking. He wanted to go down to the shore, look at the horizon and search for the first sign of the ships. The dog could sense his restlessness, walked around him with his tail wagging. Egging him on.

“Let’s go down to the shore,” he said and started to walk down the trail. Tova didn’t stop picking, when she had started she could keep going forever. Her eyes got glazed over and she didn’t seem to hear or notice anything.

“Tova,” he raised his voice and the girl lifted her head. “I am going down to the water.”

Torbjörn with a reddish blue circle around his mouth started to walk after him but Sune started to run.

“Une! Une!” the little boy screamed, but he pretended not to hear.

 

He came down to the shore and the dog ran straight out in the calm, warm summer water. Sune sat down on the rocks and put his feet in.  Loki came up and sat next to him, the water dripping from his long fur.

“Should we scare them?”

The dog’s tail started to pound the rock when he heard the anticipation in the boy’s voice.

The boy and the dog walked back on the trail again and hid behind a big moss covered stone. He held his arms around the dog and whispered in its ear.

“Soon, soon, when they come walking we jump out and scream. Soon, soon.”

Sune heard Tova’s voice long before he saw them. She was singing loud and clear in the forest.

“Bridges and stones. Bridges and timber. No one can cross. No one can cross. Till you tell me your beloved’s name. What is his name?”

The dog shivered in his arms.

“Soon,” he murmured. Torbjörn came first, tottered, fell and got up again. Tova carried the basket with the berries in one hand and the leather satchel with the bread in the other. He slowly released the grip around the dog’s body. Both of them jumped down on the trail. The dog barking and the boy shouting. Torbjörn sat down on his behind and started to cry terrified. Tova let out a high pitched scream, dropped the basket on the ground and the berries rolled out. Her face got red.

“Sune,” she growled. “You and your stupid dog. Look at the berries!”

Even though he was older she was taller and stronger than him. Her hand turned into a fist and she waved it at him.

“I will punch you in the face if you don’t pick them up.”

He was wise enough to take her threat seriously. A punch from her wouldn’t be as bad as his mother’s anger though. He sat down and started to pick up the berries and put them into the basket again, he sang softly  as he worked.

“Tova got scared. Tova got scared. Tova got scared.”

She smacked him on the back of his head and he stopped singing.

“Torbjörn and I will go down to the water. Come when you are done.”

 

Tova pulled the dress over her head and helped Torbjörn with his tunic. She took the small boy in her arms and walked into the sea. The water was soothing against her skin. She opened her hand and dropped a piece of bread, watched it slowly sink.

“Ran, Aegir and your daughter’s nine. Bring home my father in soon time.”

Morfar had taught her the croon last summer and every time she went down to the shore she recited it four times.  Torbjörn splashed with his chubby hand in the water.

”Ran, Ran,” he said and smiled.

“Yes, Ran will bring him home.”

 

After she had played with Torbjörn in the water she handed him over to Sune and she started to swim.  Dived down into the murkiness.  Touched the dark rockweed and the glowing light green seaweed. Came up when her lungs hurt. Swam to the cliff and climbed up. Squeezed her fingers and toes into crevices, she never fell. At the top she looked down at her brothers. Torbjörn and Loki had curled up on the grass and were sleeping. Sune looked up at her; she knew he wanted her to look out over the sea. See if she could spot the ships. She craned her neck, squinted, strained but had to shake her head to him. She backed up and ran to the edge and jumped. Flew through the air and landed in the water with a splash. Felt the bubbles around her body, heard them crack as she pushed her way up again.

Sune watched the bubbles,  waiting for her to resurface. The water scared him, the unknown down there. The seaweed that grabbed his leg. Morfar had said that the spirits would leave him be if he wasn’t scared. But he didn’t trust himself so he stayed on land. The water broke and Tova’s head showed up. Her light blonde hair was darker now when it was wet. She waved to him as she swam to the cliff again.

She climbed up again, craned her neck, squinted and strained. Something was out there on the horizon, a small dark line of something. She squinted some more, it wasn’t a trick of the eye. Something was out there. Was it Far and his ships? She couldn’t tell yet but she turned around and nodded to Sune. He jumped up excitedly and ran to the cliff. When Loki tried to follow he told the dog to stay with the sleeping Torbjörn.

He climbed up and joined his sister. She pointed to the spot on the horizon. He squinted and strained. The spot grew slowly, eventually turning into four spots. The spots took form into four ships.

“It is him!” Sune exclaimed and grabbed his sister’s hand. “It is him!”

Tova nodded and pressed his hand.

“We have to tell Mor.”

Gudrun leaned against the wall when the children came running from the woods. For the last few hours she couldn’t deny anymore that this child wanted to enter this world, sooner rather than later. Tova carried Torbjörn on her back and the dog bounced around them.

“We saw them! We saw them!” Sune shouted.

Her womb contracted hard and the pain shot down her legs.

“He is coming home,” she said and caressed her stomach. “Welcome to the world.”

 

The Hook (perhaps more a poem)

Every day we walked by the house.

Old and crooked. Built over a hundred years ago.

The foundation was an array of grey stones and clay.

In the back he had his sawhorse and his chopping block.

The wood he piled high. A round configuration. Perfect. Stable.

In the middle a hole so the wood wouldn’t rot.

 

In the afternoon after school he stood in the early autumn sun.

With great power he halved the wood. Threw the pieces over his shoulder.

We walked by slowly. Tried to catch a glimpse without being too obvious.

Sometimes we would even walk around the block so we had to pass twice.

The sun would reflect off the hook at the end of his left arm.

A cold, steely reflection.

And we were terrified.

A man with a hook! No hand! A hook!

Would he pull us into the shed and kill us with that big axe?

He must be dangerous, even evil.

 

A few years later my mother worked as a home care aid for the elderly.

The man got a name. The man got a history. We had failed to see the man.

The man behind the hook. The man behind our fears.

There was a gentle, intelligent man. A man who wanted to become a teacher.

But grew up in a poor farming family and had no choice but go to the saw mill.

As a fourteen year old. Haul heavy wood, watch out for the sharp saw blade.

Grow muscles on his back, his arms, and his shoulders.

A man who married a sweet woman, had children. A boy and a girl.

A man who was tired one cold winter morning. Walked the four miles to the mill.

His toe nails almost cracked in the cold. A few hundred miles away Europe was on fire.

A war tore through the continent. He was tired this morning. Maybe coming down with the flu.

And his hands slipped. A fraction to the side and the saw blade tore through his arm.

 Blood sprayed on the snow.

“Good thing it was cold,” the doctor said “the blood moves slower in the cold.”

 

On his bookshelf, in front of, August Strindberg, Leo Tolstoy and Ernest Hemingway.

In front of his books stood the brand new prosthetic hand. Pink, a dead piece of rubber.

He refused to use it. Felt handicapped wearing it. Had gotten used to the hook.

Controlled it, never slipped, not even a fraction as he halved the wood in the early autumn sun.