The Lost Village(37)

June 1955: a Mattias ?kerman applies to study for the clergy. Application rejected.

June 1956: a Mattias ?kerman applies to study for the clergy. Application rejected.



Grandma’s timeline ends here.

A few more documents follow after that—birth certificates for Sofia and Linnea, and hospital records for Linnea. The first of these features pictures of her bruises—no more than blurry, dark patches on thin white limbs.

I have scoured these documents many times, read the articles and national registration records, and studied the hospital records and the concise police reports. I don’t know how Grandma came to be so convinced that Mattias ?kerman was the man who would later become Pastor Mattias. Perhaps she came across his name through his rejected applications to join the clergy, or perhaps she simply felt that he matched that profile. However hard I searched, I couldn’t find any clear link to him in her papers.

Much remains unclear, but it would be easy to weave a story from the few reliable facts she did find: a violent childhood that appears to have culminated in him moving in with his uncle; a mother who died before her time; an unstable youth growing up with two younger cousins. Those girls must have idolized him—a beautiful older cousin, a sort-of older brother and secret crush in one.

One who took advantage of his status. And of them. Until it all came to light and he was cast out onto the street.

A few years as a drifter, small misdemeanors. The suspicion of another, albeit unspecified, sexual assault on a young girl in Falun. Unsuccessful attempts to join the clergy.

And then, one fine day, he turns up in Silvertj?rn, with his exotic, lilting Blekinge dialect and mysterious past, to become the village’s savior and prophet.

It’s impossible to know if this is all true. But it feels as though there may be a grain of truth in there. And it’s hard not to wonder what that might mean. What Aina’s adoring, almost obsessive love might have led to.

I picture Silvertj?rn on that August afternoon: the sweltering heat; that inexplicable emptiness; that lone baby in an empty room on the second floor of a deserted school.

I’ve scoured Tone’s face for similarities to my grandma’s, wondered if her narrow eyes could contain something of my grandma’s steady gaze.

Could the baby have been Aina’s daughter?

I’ve never quite allowed myself to ask that question.

The rain is still pitter-pattering against the windshield. How long can it go on for?

The sky above flashes again, and I see Max walking past the other van toward me, his figure doubly blurred through the windshield and the Plexiglas behind the driver’s seat. He’s wearing a thick jacket and walking fast, hardly more than a silhouette in the darkened storm light.

He’s probably bored out of his mind and after some company, I think, and feel a twinge of irritation deep in my gut. We’re here to work, this isn’t a camping trip. I can’t entertain him whenever he feels understimulated.

I hear footsteps approach and then stop by my back door. I realize I’m being harsh. For all I know, he might want to discuss the project or something.

I wait for him to knock, but none comes.

A few seconds pass. The rain starts to pound so heavily against the roof of the van that the noise is overpowering. All I can hear are my own breaths and the clatter of rain on metal.

Is he just going to stand out there?

I sit up and shuffle over to the back door to open it, but then wait.

The hairs on my neck are standing up. Why?

Something isn’t right.

Why hasn’t he knocked? Why is he just standing there in the pouring rain?

Deep at the back of my mind, my instincts start to murmur. My breaths have gone quiet and shallow.

Where was he coming from?

The Volvo is parked diagonally to the right of this van, but he didn’t come from there. He was walking straight across the square. From the school.

It’s as if time has slowed; I’m suddenly aware of how cold it is here in the van, of how much my fingers are trembling with the adrenaline. Pastor Mattias’s draft sermon is still lying on the floor behind me. For some reason, one phrase is drumming at the back of my head:

His servants walk among you

There’s another flash of lightning, instantly followed by a clap of thunder. I jump, accidentally kicking the battery-powered lamp, which flickers and goes out. I have to cover my mouth with my hand to stop myself from screaming.

Yes, I saw that. I really did.

As the lightning flashed, I saw him sitting in his car. Max. Just a silhouette, his head bowed over something—a book or a phone—but it was him. It was Max.

But if Max is still in the Volvo …

It’s Emmy, I tell myself. Emmy’s standing outside. She wants something.

But if that’s the case, then why is she just standing there?

I really wish Tone were in here with me; that I weren’t alone in this small, enclosed space that suddenly feels like a cage.

The doors are unlocked.

The rain is pounding to the beat of my heart.

A sudden, deafeningly loud crackle fills the small space, and for one frantic, seemingly never-ending second I think it’s someone clawing at the doors. Then I realize that the sound is coming from inside the van. It’s coming from me. From my waistband.

The walkie-talkie. Fingers trembling, I fumble it out, press the button and say: