Читать книгу The Ice People 27 - The Scandal - Margit Sandemo - Страница 7

Chapter 2

Eight years earlier, in 1825, Tula’s childhood hero, Arvid Mauritz Posse of Bergqvara, had married the very young Countess Louise von Platen. She was the daughter of one of Sweden’s most eminent statesmen, namely, the celebrated Baltzar von Platen.

A few words about this great man.

He has gone down in history first and foremost for his life’s work, which was the construction of the Göta Canal. Beside that he laid the foundation for the Motala Engineering Works, and he was a minister of state, among many other things. He owned the Frugården estate at Vänersnäs, where he developed a model farm, and it was there that his plans for the canal took shape.

But not everything he did was equally successful. During the reign of Karl XIV Johan he was governor of Norway for a time, but he didn’t have any understanding of the Norwegians’ sense of independence. According to von Platen, Norway was a subsidiary state under the governance of Sweden. He became notorious for the great Battle of the Square, which took place in Stortorvet in Christiania on 17th May 1829. Despite a ban on such gatherings, a huge crowd assembled to celebrate the anniversary of the Norwegian Constitution. The city authorities grew concerned, and in their panic they turned to Governor von Platen. He gave them permission to read the Riot Act, and troops were deployed to break up the crowd. The entire population of Norway was outraged, and Karl Johan never dared to object to the 17th May celebrations again.

Baltzar von Platen became so unpopular in Norway that it was impossible for him to keep his office as governor. It was unfortunate that the battle happened in the last year of his life. In the light of his former accomplishments, the old politician and colonel in the war against Russia should not have had to suffer such a bitter experience right at the end of his career. He should never have become governor of a country he did not understand. But that lack of understanding was something that he shared with the king, so it wasn’t so surprising that he was assigned to that particular office.

So much for his career. But as a father-in-law he had a great influence on the life of Arvid Mauritz Posse. It was particularly thanks to his involvement with the Göta Canal that young Posse rose so high.

The dream of building an arterial route through Sweden was an old one. Gustav Vasa had already entertained the idea of building a canal, partly in order to avoid the long voyage around the entire peninsula of southern Sweden, but first and foremost to evade the burdensome and expensive Sound Dues imposed by Denmark on traffic through the Øresund. But his plans were not realized. Not until Baltzar von Platen came up with his grandiose idea.

The Göta River already connected Lake Vänern with the Kattegat. This was not enough, however, the politicians complained: they believed that it must connect with Gothenburg, and believed that the whole project would be too difficult and, above all, too expensive! There was no end to their negative comments.

Not until Baltzar von Platen had managed to build the Trollhätte Canal, which opened the navigation between Gothenburg and Lake Vänern, did the government come round to building the Göta Canal. It became von Platen’s chief interest in life. In 1832, three years after his death, the canal was completed. It ran for 120 miles across Sweden, from Gothenburg in the west to Stockholm in the east. It contained fifty-eight locks, it connected several lakes, and it was considered to be a small masterpiece.

The Posse family still had their estate, of course, at Bergqvara in Småland. But Arvid Mauritz’s father had six sons and they couldn’t all live at Bergqvara. Most of them had to move away. To begin with, Arvid Mauritz was extremely preoccupied with his exalted office directing the operation of the Göta Canal, and he travelled across the country making inspections.

One of the locks lacked a reliable keeper. The most reliable family that Arvid Mauritz knew was Arv Grip’s. His son-in-law, Erland of Backa, wasn’t so young any more, but his daughter had a son, Christer, who would be able to take over the position later on.

So why not ask Erland?

Old Arv Grip was dead. But both Erland of Backa and his wife, Gunilla, were good people whom Posse trusted completely. Furthermore, Gunilla had taken over much of her father’s administrative work at Bergqvara. Her daughter, Tula, had also had quite a bit to do with the Posse family, giving them a helping hand in many situations, even though Arvid Mauritz felt insecure in Tula’s presence. There was something about her that he didn’t understand. She had a strange look on her face, as if she was in possession of some great secret. But she was almost fanatically devoted to the Posse family, and that was the most important thing. Her husband Tomas and young son Christer were part of the package. Christer was still just a spring chicken.

They would be able to find good houses in Husbyfjöl – or Borensberg as it was now known – in Östergötland if they were willing to move. But Gunilla and Erland hesitated. They were attached to the Parish of Bergunda with invisible ties.

And Tomas had his instrument workshop. But that could be moved.

Arvid Mauritz Posse put their minds at rest. He had absolutely no intention of letting them down – on the contrary, he wanted to move them there because he himself intended to live close by. Partly because he owned property in the area and partly because he often visited Count Bielke at Sturefors and the Stierneld family at Ulvåsa. They would see more of him in Borensberg than they did now, because his many duties meant that he didn’t come to Bergqvara very often. He held various offices: queen’s chamberlain, member of parliament, county prefect, director of the Göta Canal, minister of state and ... yes, well, he wasn’t aware of it himself, but someday he would become prime minister. His life consisted mostly of travelling from one place to another.

Everyone in Erland’s family ended up deciding to take the plunge. And the position as a lockkeeper sounded very enticing! It wasn’t a bad post for an old petty officer. It was a task of great responsibility that would suit Erland perfectly. Office work had never been his strong suit. But being out in the fresh air, opening and closing the locks, shouting orders authoritatively, saluting the boats as they floated by ...

The more they thought about it, the more appealing it sounded.

And now it was going to happen!

When Christer returned from Ramlösa Sanatorium, Tula was busy packing. She immediately ordered her son to get started as well and asked him how everything had gone.

“Were they kind to your father?” she asked combatively, as she tried to force another item of clothing down into the trunk.

Christer assured her that Tomas was in the best of hands.

“He’d better be, or they’ll have me to contend with.”

Tula was thirty-three years old now but you couldn’t tell by her appearance. She looked like a young girl and moved like one, too. She jumped up on the lid of the trunk and stamped her foot on it. But it wouldn’t close. She jumped down and made a small movement with her hand in front of the lock, murmuring something mysterious.

The lid of the trunk closed immediately.

Christer had the same problem with another trunk that was also much too full. He made the same movement with his hand as he mumbled the same mysterious words she had used. The lid did not close.

Tula looked at her son with cheerful affection. She went over and stood next to him and chanted the same words as before.

Christer could hear the commotion as the clothes inside the trunk quickly fell into place and the lid went down with a bang. He sighed despondently. “It’s so unfair, but just you wait. My time will come, and then I’ll surprise everyone!”

They continued packing.

It was a little while before Tula noticed Christer’s silence. She stopped.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re staggering around with a glassy stare and a silly smile on your lips. Has someone knocked you on the head with a bat?”

“I’m in love, Mother,” he smiled idiotically. “Finally, after all these years, I’ve found the right one.”

“As far as I know, ‘all these years’ don’t amount to more than fifteen and you didn’t exactly start looking for someone from the time you were wearing nappies,” Tula said, in a matter-of-fact voice. “Who is she? A little nurse at the sanatorium?”

“No, she was more like a patient. Her name is Magdalena. We were together last night. She’s going to write to me.”

“You were together for one night?”

Christer looked at his mother with dreamy eyes.

“It’s not what you think, Mother! It was chaste and pure. A meeting of two souls. And she was so terribly unhappy. I saved her.”

“Saved her? How?”

He had woken up. Had remembered the night in the loneliness of his room. All the magical formulas of that night and how he had, as ill luck would have it, fallen asleep in the middle of a long, intricate and homemade spell against the evil spirits that had occupied Magdalena’s dreams.

“No, I can’t explain. But she’s out of danger now.”

“I see,” Tula said. “And how old is this marvel, then?”

“Thirteen.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” murmured Tula, who had been imagining a cunning and experienced woman who had caught Christer in her net. “I can understand the romance of it, then. Is she sweet?”

“Like a ...”

He was about to say “rose” but that wasn’t the right flower for the pale and delicate Magdalena. “Like a little anemone growing under dark spruces.”

“She sounds fragile. Hand me the chamber pot and we’ll squeeze it in here!”

“Mother!” Christer said, insulted. “How can you speak of such things in the same breath as Magdalena?”

Tula laughed heartlessly.

So the Ice People left Småland and travelled north. The family were getting closer and closer to one another. And closer too came the great confrontation with the shadow of the past: Tengel the Evil.

The one who had the hardest time leaving was Gunilla. She had always had a slight tendency to melancholy. In order to ease her parting with her old home the others suggested that she take all the animals with her. This idea cheered her up, and even though it meant the journey took twice as long, she took along the cows, the sheep, the pigs, the chickens and the dog. And in fact it wasn’t so far from the Parish of Bergunda to Borensberg. The move took them about a week and it wasn’t too far for the animals to walk.

All five of them fared well in Östergötland. Tomas, who had had a successful stay at Ramlösa Sanatorium, set up his workshop in the little town of Motala. Count Posse had helped him to acquire suitable premises. There was also a small house attached to the workshop in which he and Tula and Christer could live. So they actually became townspeople again.

Erland and Gunilla acquired a small farm in Borensberg. Erland had retired from the army with honour, though he still appeared in his impressive full-dress uniform on special occasions. And he would wear his smart shako in the stables and the barn, parading in front of the enlisted cows and calves when no one was watching. It was hard to let go of old habits.

His big day came when Arvid Mauritz Posse put him in charge of working the locks of the Göta Canal. How he bossed about those he considered his inferiors in rank! They certainly weren’t allowed to forget that they had a former officer as their supreme commander. But he was very competent. Endlessly dutiful.

The Göta Canal was in the best of hands, as Erland himself was the first to declare.

Tula blossomed, and dressed in new, elegant clothes. She thought it was exciting to move to a new place and she excitedly kept up with her husband Tomas’s attempts at becoming accepted. It turned out that there were no other instrument makers in the town, so once the musicians heard about him, he quickly got customers. Tula was jubilant and embraced him joyfully.

If he was racked with rheumatism, he didn’t show it. She cared for him so well and he had had such an expensive stay at Ramlösa that he didn’t have the heart to worry her.

Posse ensured that Christer attended a reputable school and he was a good student.

But he never received a letter from his beloved Magdalena.

For the first few months he eagerly waited for the post to arrive every day, convinced that the letter would arrive at once!

But after a while he began looking for excuses. Perhaps the letters hadn’t been forwarded as they should have been, and were still in Bergunda. Or they didn’t know his new address. Most of all he was bewildered by the stupidity of both of them: they should have given each other more information and proper addresses. He hadn’t known his own address then, but he should have got hers anyway, even though she’d asked him not to write to her. North of Stockholm, south of Stockholm. What kind of addresses were they? Motala wasn’t even anywhere near Stockholm.

Then began a long period during which Christer focused all his occult talents on making her letters reach him. He devised numerous ceremonies and arranged a kind of altar in the outhouse, the only place where he could be alone, on which he would fold a piece of paper to represent Magdalena’s letter and send up an offering of incense to whomever watched over postal matters.

Tula saved the outhouse from burning down. She had to use several pails of water.

Then he started to lose hope. Magdalena had forgotten about him. That was how little he had meant to her!

Of course he had asked his father about her. As soon as Tomas had returned from the sanatorium, Christer had bombarded him with more or less obscure questions. How had it been at Ramlösa after Christer had left?

Tomas thought for a moment. The little girl? Yes, he remembered her. The day after Christer left she had approached Tomas, as though she were seeking his protection in some way, and they had talked a little. She wanted to know all about Christer. But they had barely begun to talk before her uncle came and dragged her away.

Christer sighed. He should have stayed to comfort her: he should never have left! His father had no understanding of the sensitive souls of girls. He was the best father in the whole world but what did adults know about what it meant to be young? Only young people knew what it truly meant to live!

Once you reached twenty you might as well die.

In that respect, Christer’s thoughts were just like those of ninety-nine per cent of all fifteen-year-olds.

He went back to listening to his father’s recollections of his time at Ramlösa.

“Yes, and there was also some trouble ...” Tomas frowned as he tried to recall what it had been about, while Christer, on tenterhooks, kept saying, “Yes? Yes?” until Tula had to ask him to stop repeating that.

Tomas was sorry that he couldn’t remember, but he had been receiving treatment from two nurses just when it happened. But he had heard a girl crying helplessly and loudly, and then the sound of a man’s rough voice – it could have been her Uncle Julius. Christer asked what the man had said but Tomas hadn’t been able to hear it. And then what happened? Christer wanted to know. Tomas wasn’t sure, but he hadn’t seen either the girl or her uncle again after that, so they must have left.

When Tomas saw how upset the boy became he was sincerely sorry. Had Christer told him more about Magdalena, Tomas would have made sure to take more of an interest in her. Was she in any kind of trouble?

But Christer didn’t know. All he knew was that she was a very lonely and unhappy little girl who had nightmares.

And now he was living in Motala where he had absolutely no contact with her whatsoever. He wrote to Ramlösa Sanatorium asking them for her address, but he never received an answer from them. Not until after his third try did a letter arrive from them, briefly saying that they never gave away private information about any of their patients.

He had, of course, had wild dreams of going to Bergqvara and asking about the mail there, or to Ramlösa Sanatorium in order to “hold a knife to their throat”. But that kind of thing wasn’t so easy when you were just a schoolboy with no money of your own.

Finally, he turned to his mother to ask for some occult help in finding Magdalena, or, at the very least, to find out how she was. But Christer did not have anything that had belonged to Magdalena, which Tula would need if she were to find out anything for him. She had never seen the girl; she hadn’t even been near her. In desperation, Christer asked Tula to put him in touch with their ancestors – Sol or Tengel the Good, for example – but Tula merely snorted with indignation. Were they really to be disturbed on account of some tragic little love story? And besides, invoking the ancestors was not Tula’s strong suit. Heike was the one who had mastered that art.

The truth was that Tula slightly feared Tengel the Good and his entourage. For her conscience wasn’t entirely clear and her relationship with demons still lay like a heavy burden upon her soul.

Christer felt terribly helpless. Why hadn’t Magdalena written to him?

No matter how much he tried to resist it, the memory of her faded to a sweet dream. But he never entirely forgot her.

The years passed. Christer was eighteen years old and sensible. Well, he was eighteen years old anyway.

Grandfather Erland was no longer as strong as he had been, and after school Christer sometimes had to take over the responsibility of tending to the lock. Erland showed him how to do it, and if you were to believe the old standard-bearer there wasn’t a more responsible task than this in all of Sweden. His voice would take on a serious tone when he spoke of cills, chamber bottoms and lock gates. Christer had already grasped the system before his grandfather reached the first gate. But he let the old man chatter away to his heart’s content, for Christer was, despite his bizarre whims and impulses, an understanding boy.

If truth be told, he didn’t take his new job all that seriously to begin with. After all, he didn’t intend to make a career out of it – he was much too intellectually inclined for that. At least, that was what he thought. He was still at the age where one values intellectual work more than manual labour. The realization that all forms of occupation are of equal value does not dawn on a person until he or she has been knocked down to size a few times.

It wasn’t until one sunny summer day, when the fields around the lock shimmered gold with flowering dandelions, that Christer began to take his work seriously. It had been a tumultuous time, with an exceptional number of boats sailing either up or down the canal at Motala. Christer directed them all with ice-cold authority: a barge that was on its way up, a sailing ship and another barge on their way down, then a very dignified, privately owned yacht at which he gaped in admiration, and two little fishing boats that, strictly speaking, had no business being there, he thought. The fishing boats were sailing in opposite directions and complained loudly because they had to wait.

How hard he had to work! Usually he had a helper who saw to one of the lock gates for him, but today he was working alone. Christer felt he needed to invoke a little magical assistance, and he cast a spell on one of the lock gates while he started to open the next one. He cranked and turned the huge control levers – he had actually acquired a few muscles doing this – and kept his head as the water either rose or sank in the various lock chambers. Imagine Grandfather Erland being able to manage this job – it demanded brains!

The occult forces within him were working extremely efficiently, he could tell. Everything worked the way it was supposed to, without him having to concentrate on anything but what he was doing.

After toiling like a slave for several hours, at last he was able to return to his relaxing, restful spot on the bank. With his hands behind his head, one knee crossed over the other, a blade of grass in his mouth ... what more could one ask for?

This job of Grandfather’s was very convenient, he had to admit. Christer had murmured some magical words to the water so that it would let him know when a new boat was approaching. Receiving intuitive messages of this kind was his forte – he knew that.

His thoughts began to revolve around Magdalena again. Although it was a long time ago, the scent of the grass brought back the memory of that night at Ramlösa Sanatorium. Magdalena ... little girl, where are you now? Can’t you sense that your one friend in the world yearns for a sign of life from you?

Suddenly he heard the sound of an echoing voice from below ground level: “How the hell long are we expected to wait here?”

Christer jumped up as though he had been stung by a bee. The shout had come from one of the lock chambers!

His legs trembling, he went to the ramp and looked down. A boat was grounded at the bottom! It was one of the barges, and the skipper’s face was scarlet with rage. Several other furious faces stared up at Christer.

As he ran to the winch, he heard the skipper shout, “Where is Erland? At least he was smart and dependable. Have they employed an idiot now?”

Oh, how shameful and disgraceful! Christer went on turning the wheel, his heart pounding and his blood boiling from shame. Dear, dear Grandfather Erland, forgive me! Forgive me for betraying the trust you put in me! I promise never to do it again!

He didn’t intend to make any excuses. He wasn’t going to claim that he felt ill and had to abandon the lock for a few minutes. For one thing, he had been gone for longer than that and for another he had a certain notion of honour. And he couldn’t tell the truth: that he had been convinced his supernatural abilities would warn him if anything went wrong.

He hadn’t even had enough intuition to know that he had forgotten an entire boat, a whole lock chamber!

No, that definitely hadn’t been Christer’s day.

One day around midsummer, Tula took a trip to the considerably larger city of Linköping, once the seat of the Ostrogoths’ Ting, or parliament. Its castle had been both bishop’s palace and royal residence, and its market place was bordered by a monastery and a cathedral.

There was no denying that Tula was restless. It would have been strange if she had not been. She was, after all, one of the cursed of the Ice People, one of the wild ones who had had to curb her nature for the sake of her loved ones, which she did gladly because she loved them all and wanted the best for them. But sometimes the itch of restlessness would stir within her. She felt she was wasting all the gifts with which she had been born, and once in a while she needed to try to spread her wings. Or perform a little magic in secret without anyone noticing.

But deep within she knew the cause of her most persistent restlessness. Of course, she longed to own the treasure of the Ice People, which Heike clearly meant to keep for himself permanently. He probably had a sense of how dangerous it would be if it ever got into her irresponsible hands.

But it wasn’t the treasure that was to blame for her unrest; it would, after all, become hers some day.

No, it was something much worse.

She had been in the grip of the demons. She had had sex with them. Well, she hadn’t gone all the way with them, but as far as was possible. Her escape from Graastensholm – how had they taken it? Were they still waiting for her?

She was still beautiful, she knew that, but not in the same innocent way as before. There was something more devilish about her now. She was more irresistible than ever.

It had been almost twenty years ago. But the desire they had awakened in her still burned. The thought of those four demons was staggeringly exciting.

She crossed the city square, where mortal men had exhibited at least as much bestiality as those demons. About two centuries before, these very cobblestones had been the site of the Linköping Bloodbath, when members of the noble families Sparre, Bielke and Banér were executed so that the absolute power of the monarch would be strengthened.

When would people ever learn?

Mortal men did not appeal to her. She was satisfied with her Tomas, whom she still loved with an intensity that almost frightened her.

But she didn’t really belong here. She belonged in the world of the demons. She had had a taste of their sensuality, which was dizzying, as cold as ice and scorching hot all at once. They had turned her on, time and again, seemingly uninterrupted, every time she had been with them.

She didn’t find them repulsive to look at. She thought they were immensely fascinating.

Many of the women of the Ice People had been drawn to demons. Sol. Ingrid. Even Silje, who wasn’t even one of the Ice People, had come under their influence: she had seen Tengel the Good as a demon in the dreams she had about him.

So it really wasn’t so strange that Tula felt divided and rootless. She was like a bird whose wings had been clipped. Tomas and Christer and her parents kept her grounded. But were she ever to lose them ...

She didn’t want to think that thought through to the end. She didn’t want to admit that both her father and her mother were well over sixty, or that Tomas was no longer nearly as strong as he used to be. He often had back pain and wasn’t eager to use his legs, which he had never learned to walk on properly. And Tula had misgivings about the strength of his heart now. That was often the path that a body would take when it was racked with rheumatism.

She had written a letter to Heike:

You old fox, how long do you plan to keep the treasure? My beloved Tomas is sick and I have no remedies to give him. I’m not implying that you should die so that I can get the treasure – no one in the family wants you dead, and you know that. But is it really necessary for you to keep the medications to yourself?

Incidentally, it’s been a long time since we saw each other, so you and your family might consider taking a trip here. For reasons that only you and I know about, I can no longer appear at Graastensholm, and I refuse to bring my son to that damnable haunted castle!

Heike had answered immediately. He explained that they were too busy on the farm to leave it. However, he sent a handsome package of medicines, which Tula had great difficulty getting through customs, that is until she cast a spell on the customs officers so that they immediately allowed the parcel through without understanding why, and Tomas got his soothing elixirs. But they weren’t going to last forever ...

She refocused on the city of Linköping.

Tula was going to do some shopping and visit a friend.

The friend’s name was Amanda, and she was the wife of a pharmacist; she therefore had a high status in the town. She and Tula were about the same age. They had met when Tula was buying medicine for Tomas, and when Amanda discovered that she was dealing with a cultivated person they befriended one another. Amanda found Tula fascinating. And different!

The pharmacist, the doctor and a number of other prominent citizens were busy making preparations for the annual festivities for the town’s bourgeoisie. They asked whether Tula and her husband would be coming? There was going to be a big party at the local hotel, which would include a dinner, a dance and numerous worthy but boring speeches.

Tula thanked them effusively and said she would have to consult Tomas first. It was very difficult to get him to come into town with her so she had her doubts.

“Try anyway!” Amanda said. “It would be so wonderful if both of you could come!”

The two friends went shopping together and afterwards Amanda walked Tula to her carriage. But they stopped in a beautiful park and sat down on a bench to rest and talk a little more. They saw one another so seldom. And the packages they were carrying were heavy. They had had a frenzy of shopping, they realized now. Tula had bought tools for Tomas and material to make a dress for herself and a shirt for Christer. He was staying with his grandparents, Erland and Gunilla, while filling in as a lockkeeper for his grandfather, but he came to visit Tula and Tomas from time to time.

They heard the angry voice of a girl calling, “Sascha! Come here! Come here, I said!”

Sascha? Wasn’t that the name of Magdalena’s dog? The girl Christer had talked about?

At that very moment a tousled little dog dashed past them, on the run, its head and tail down.

A young girl was chasing it. Tula didn’t get a chance to look at her properly; all she could tell was that she must be about fifteen, perhaps a little more. The dog was caught by a couple, who had to be the girl’s parents. They also had a little boy with them, about four years old. Then they left the park. Tula turned to Amanda.

“You know, I think I recognize that family. Do you know who they are?”

Her friend, who was always elegantly dressed with her hair done in the latest style, said in a slightly sullen voice: “Them? They’re the Backmans.”

“So it was them! But do they live here in Linköping? I thought ...?”

“They moved here three years ago. They live in that large, detached house on the other side of the park. The big white one, just over there.”

“Hmm,” Tula said, sounding as if she were hatching a cunning scheme. “Then I would like to pay them a visit one day.”

“Them? They never receive visitors. They don’t associate with just anybody. You practically have to be royalty to be considered worthy of their company. But they have accepted the invitation to attend the annual celebration, which came as something of a surprise.”

Tula said slowly: “Amanda, I don’t think I’m going to try to persuade Tomas to attend the festivities. But may I bring my son with me instead?”

“Yes, of course. Christer is such a charming boy!”

“Then we will accept your kind invitation. Christer and I would be happy to attend.”