The Girl in the Woods. Camilla Lackberg
Marie’s face so clearly. And Stella’s happy smile.
Helen turned her eyes towards the sea again, trying to focus on the waves slowly rolling in. But the images refused to loosen their grip. Marie was back, and with her came disaster.
‘Excuse me, where can I find the loo?’
Sture offered a look of encouragement to Karim and the others who had gathered for Swedish lessons in the refugee centre in Tanumshede.
Everyone repeated the phrase, doing the best they could. ‘Excuse me, where can I find the loo?’
‘How much does this cost?’ Sture went on.
Again they repeated in unison. ‘How much does this cost?’
Karim struggled to connect the sounds Sture was uttering as he stood at the blackboard with the text in his book. Everything was so different. The letters they were supposed to read, the sounds they were supposed to make.
He glanced around the room at the valiant group of six students. Everyone else was either outside in the sun playing ball or inside lying in bed. Some people tried to sleep away the days and the memories, while others sent emails to friends and relatives who were still alive and possible to reach, or they surfed the Internet for news reports. Not that there was much information to be gleaned. The government broadcast nothing but propaganda, and the news organizations around the world had a hard time getting their correspondents into the country. Karim had been a journalist in his former life, and he understood the difficulties of reporting accurate and updated news from a country at war like Syria, which had been ravaged both from within and without.
‘Thank you for inviting us over.’
Karim snorted. Now there was a phrase he’d never use. If there was one thing he’d quickly learned, it was that Swedes were a reserved people. They’d had no contact whatsoever with any Swedes, except for Sture and the others who worked for the refugee centre.
It was as if they’d ended up in a separate little land inside the country, isolated from the rest of the world. Their only companions were each other, along with their memories of Syria. Some of the memories were good, but most of them were bad. Those were the ones many people relived over and over again. For his part, Karim tried to suppress all of it. The war that had become their daily existence. The long journey to the promised land in the north.
He’d made it here, along with his beloved wife Amina and their two precious children Hassan and Samia. That was the only thing that mattered. He’d managed to bring them to safety and give them an opportunity for a future. The bodies floating in the water sometimes forced their way into his dreams, but when he opened his eyes they were gone. He and his family were here in Sweden. Nothing else was important.
‘How do you say when you have sex with someone?’
Adnan laughed at his own words. He and Khalil were the youngest of the men here. They sat next to each other and egged each other on.
‘Show some respect,’ Karim said in Arabic, glaring at them.
He shrugged an apology as he looked at Sture, who gave a slight nod.
Khalil and Adnan had come here on their own, without family, without friends. They’d managed to escape Aleppo before it got too dangerous to flee. They’d had to decide between leaving and staying. Both could be deadly.
Karim couldn’t muster any anger toward them, despite their blatant lack of respect. They were children, frightened and alone in a strange country. Their cockiness was all they had. Everything here was unfamiliar to them. Karim had spent some time talking to them after the lessons. Their families had collected all the money they could find to make it possible for the two young men to leave Syria. A lot was riding on the boys’ shoulders. Not only had they been thrown into a foreign world, they were also obligated to create a life for themselves here so they could rescue their families from the war. Karim understood them, but it still was not acceptable for them to show such lack of respect for their new homeland. No matter how scared the Swedes were of the refugees, they had welcomed them and provided them with shelter and food. Sture came here in his spare time, struggling to teach them how to ask for the price of things and how to find a loo. Karim might not understand the Swedes, but he was eternally grateful for what they’d done for his family. Not everyone shared his attitude, and those who displayed no respect for their new country ruined things for them all, making the Swedes regard them with suspicion.
‘How nice the weather is today,’ said Sture, carefully enunciating the words as he stood at the blackboard.
‘How nice the weather is today,’ Karim repeated, smiling to himself.
After two months in Sweden, he understood why the Swedes were so grateful every time the sun came out. ‘What bloody awful weather,’ was one of the first phrases he’d learned to say in Swedish. Though he still hadn’t fully mastered the pronunciation.
‘How often do you think people have sex at their age?’ Erica asked, taking a sip of her sparkling wine.
Anna’s laugh made the other customers in Café Bryggan turn to stare at them.
‘Are you serious, Sis? Is that what you go around thinking about? How many times Patrik’s mother is getting laid?’
‘Yes, but I’m thinking about it in a broader context,’ said Erica, eating another spoonful of her cioppino. ‘How many years are left for a good sex life? Do people lose interest somewhere along the way? Do they replace their sexual desires with an irresistible urge to do crossword puzzles or Sudoku and eat sweets, or does it remain constant?’
‘Hmm … I don’t know.’
Anna shook her head and leaned back in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. Erica felt a lump form in her throat. It wasn’t long ago that they’d both been involved in the horrible car accident that had caused Anna to lose the baby she was expecting. She would always have the scars on her face, but soon she would give birth to the child she and Dan had created from their love. Sometimes life could be truly surprising.
‘For instance, do you think—’
‘If you’re about to say “Mamma and Pappa”, I’m going to get up and leave right now,’ said Anna, holding up her hand. ‘That’s not something I even want to think about.’
Erica grinned.
‘Okay, I won’t use our parents as an example, but how often do you think Kristina and Bob the Builder have sex?’
‘Erica!’ Anna covered her face with her hands and again shook her head. ‘You need to stop calling poor Gunnar “Bob the Builder” just because he happens to be such a nice handy guy.’
‘Okay, let’s talk about the wedding instead. Have you been summoned to give your opinion about the dress? I can’t be the only one who has to pretend to be enthusiastic and approving when she shows me one hideous matronly gown after another.’
‘Yup, she asked me too,’ said Anna, struggling to lean forward to eat her open-face shrimp sandwich.
‘Why don’t you balance the plate on your belly?’ Erica suggested with a smile that was rewarded with a glare from Anna.
No matter how much Dan and Anna had longed for this baby, it wasn’t much fun being pregnant in the intense summer heat, and Anna’s belly was huge.
‘Couldn’t you try steering her in the right direction?’ Erica went on. ‘Kristina has such a great figure. She has a smaller waist and nicer boobs than me, but she doesn’t dare show them off. Think how beautiful she’d look in a lacy, low-cut sheath dress!’
‘Keep me out of it if you’re going to try to give Kristina some sort of makeover,’ said Anna. ‘I’m planning to tell her she looks fantastic no matter what she shows me.’
‘You’re such a chicken!’
‘You can take care of your own mother-in-law, and I’ll take care of mine.’
Anna