Shadows of Sören

Chapter 3

While speeding down the alley away from the main house Sören noticed Per Nielson lurking by the side of the örtagård. Something really needed to be done about him, he was becoming a real pest. Per Nielson was the living personification of the fate that would have beheld Sören´s father if he had lived. Once a fairly prosperous milk farmer, Per had owned and run the smaller gård Ludbyholm which was situated to the south of Vickleby, while Rettinge stood to the north of Vickleby. But worse than Sören´s father, Per had not only been a drunk, he had been a violent woman and child beater, too. Sadly his wife had waited until their two girls were almost grown-up and had moved out, before leaving him.

There was also a son, a boy, who had still been small when his wife Gunhild had left him. She had already been in her late forties when she had given birth to him and everyone had been extremely surprised and also a little horrified at the thought that the woman was not just subject to her husband´s physical abuse, which had more or less been an open secret, but also still had to comply to his sexual needs.

And then the biggest shock was yet to come. Eric, the boy, was born with Down syndrome.åå

Soon after the farm had gone bankrupt and was taken over by the bank. Gunhild Nielson had moved to a small apartment in Färjestaden, where she still lived today with Eric, their son.

One of Per Nielson´s daughters, Tilda lived at Rettinge and worked for Sören. She was his cleaning lady and occupied the second of the smaller houses on the estate.

As is so often the case with children who grow up with violent fathers, Tilda had married a man at a very young age who had displayed the same violent tendencies as her father. But unlike her mother she had not waited until their son Oscar was grown up to leave him. After a particularly violent attack on her and their son she had called the police and Henric Johannson, her ex- husband, was right now serving a three year sentence. Sören didn´t really know the technical term which warranted such a verdict and it didn´t matter as long as the man was locked up.

Sören´s father and Per Nielson had been good friends once, which was why he tolerated the man´s presence on Rettinge. Not so long ago he had done the odd little job here and there, repairing fences, light gardening work, helping in the stables, but his alcoholism had made him more and more unreliable and in the end even Sören had lost patience with him. Per lived in a tiny cottage in the woods which was the only thing left of his once substantial property. And yet he insisted on returning to Rettinge almost daily and annoying the hell out of everyone who worked and lived there. Tilda of course wanted nothing to do with him and didn´t want her son anywhere near him, either.

What was he going to do about Per, Sören pondered while driving along, this couldn´t go on forever until his liver finally gave up on him. He was a resistant fellow, he might live for years and years to come. He had to get rid of him somehow, he couldn´t continue to lurk around Rettinge, listening in on conversations, disturbing people while they were working. And he spied on everyone without shame or discretion. He was also drunk out of his head half the time. Alma was upset because he had started to harass some of her customers and Tilda was downright terrified of him.

Sören drove along the northern Alvaret and from his car he could see the Blue Henry, which was a rare kind of lichen, spray its marin onto the grey rocks while other ferns glowed with a dark crimson. But his thoughts about Per poisoned these beautiful impressions. Per had never really been violent towards anyone but his family in the past, but lately he had violent mood swings and Sören had no idea what to do about it. Of course he had begged the man to stay away from Rettinge, the ordered him, then tried to bribe him. Per knew of course that he, Sören, would never go to the police about him, he knew that only too well. Sören had consulted Kent Persson, his old schoolfriend and local police Inspector on the matter, but Kent had been strangely reluctant to discuss Per Nielson and rather vague about possible actions that could be taken to get rid of him. Sören had assumed that Kent had other more important matters to deal with at that time and had let the matter rest. Presumably the police were also helpless in such cases, as long as no damage was done to either property or people. So Per was more or less free to come and go as he pleased. Which he did on a daily basis.

Chapter 4

Sören thought back to the evening before, when he had had his monthly meeting with the old man. As usual Per Nielson had wandered into the house as if he owned it. Maybe he even had illusions of himself as the lord of the manor somewhere in his sick head. Sören always made sure that these meetings took place when Nanna, who was his housekeeper and cook, wasn´t home. Nanna had been his nanny when he had been small and she occupied a little flat at the back of the house. He and Nanna were very close, in fact she was more like a mother to him than his own mother had been. And the two of them often shared a drink or a meal together in the evening, so it was quite feasible that she might just walk in on one of Sören´s unpleasant meeting with Per Nielson, which Sören most definetly wanted to avoid. Per had served himself a gracious splash of Sören´s finest single malt and then brought forward his usual stream of accusations, threats and demands.

“So, young master of Rettinge, I´m glad you remembered to keep our little appointment. But then we both know what would happen if you didn´t, don´t we? Knowing what I know about you, it would not end well, would it?”

Sören handed him an envelope, “Cut the crap Per. Here´s your money and now get out of my house.”

“Well, how´s that for manners? I think your parents taught you better than that. Throwing an old friend of the family out of the house, really,” he feigned outrage, but then a violent coughing attack interrupted his performance. Per took a dark round case out of his pocket and spat a large clump of chewing tobacco into it. An unpleasant, sharp smell immediately fanned out.

“Leave my parents out of this and you know where the door is. Excuse me if I don´t bother to show you out.”

“Why the hurry, young Lord? You wouldn´t have another appointment with someone else would you? Maybe with that little redhead across the driveway?”

“Goodbye Per.” Sören showed him the door, but Per would not budge.

“She´s a pretty litte thing, that girl.” Per shoved a new clump of snus, the Swedish chewing tobacco, under his upper lip which then looked like it had been stung by a giant mosquito. “You know I´ve been thinking,” he continued, “Maybe I should warn her about you and tell her what the mighty young baron is really like. What do you think?”

Sören took a step towards him, “I wouldn´t if I were you.”

“Is that a fact? Somehow, Sören, I don´t think you of all people are in a position to determine what I do or don´t do.” As if to demonstrate his point he took the glass of single malt, emptied its contents on the polished hardwood floor and threw the glass over his shoulder. Then he took a long provocative sip straight from the bottle. Sören clenched his fists in his pockets and tried hard to remain in control.

“If you go near her, I swear you´ll regret it”, he said.

“Oh, serious threats now! You want to fuck her that bad do you?” Per salaciously licked his lips and in the process bared some of his yellowing teeth, which were dark at the edges, from his continous use of snus. “Hm, well she´s probably worth it. She is a hot one. I wonder if she´s a real redhead. Only one way to find that out, isn´t there, Sören?”

Sören´s knuckles went white with the strain of controlling himself. “Get the hell out of my house, Per, before I forget myself.”

“But that would be the end of you, too, wouldn´t it my young master? Don´t forget I have real evidence against you which is sure to be found should something happen to me. And come to think of it, I won´t even have to go near her. I can just drop a hint or slip a note through her letterbox. You can forget about banging her then, can´t you?” Per spat out a portion of snus again, but didn´t bother to take out his little case this time. A muscle moved in Sören´s jaw and he took another step towards Per. Per must have seen something in his eyes because he actually complied to Sören´s wish and left, taking the bottle of single malt with him as he went.

Chapter 5

Sören swiftly navigated his Volvo convertible onto the Öland bridge, which was a magnificent masterpiece of technical engineering.

The Ölandsbron was a road bridge connecting the island to Kalmar and the mainland. It was 6,072 metres long, supported on 156 pillars, and had a characteristic hump at its western end – to provide a vertical clearance for shipping. When Sören´s father had been younger and still interested in amusing his youngster, he would accelerate before approaching the hump and the car would go flying over and Sören´s tummy would tumble while the car descended on the other side of the hump.

It was one of the rare fond memories Sören had of his father. The bridge was the longest in Sweden and one of the longest in all Europe. It had been inaugurated in 1972 and its construction took four and a half years. The bridge project had received a lot of support, but there had also been protests. The main objection was that the bridge would threaten the environment, possibly causing a huge influx of tourists to Öland and its valuable nature. This seemed like a joke to Sören today, because Öland was so dependent on the tourist business nowadays, that it would more or less cease to exist without it. He himself couldn´t completely free himself from this dependence.

Usually Sören was annoyed by the Swedish habit of fastidiously sticking to the given speed limit, not one mile over and no mistake. But it was a gloriously sunny day and the bridge offered a really spectacular view of the open sea to the left and right of him. The modest skyline of Kalmar was dimly looming ahead and the sun was leaving sparkles all over the water, while the swans drifted over the sea like silver ballons. On a day like this he didn´t mind at all that he was stuck behind one of those typically pedantic, rule obeying Swedish drivers.

He was moving along at a speed which would usually cause him to fall asleep or have a temper tantrum. While crossing the bridge Sören wondered what it was with Clarice that she constantly caused his mind to wander? He spent quite a big portion of his day thinking about her.

Well, she was enchantingly pretty, that would be one reason. And she was smart and interesting and mysterious and funny. A lot of reasons, then. So what was keeping him from making a move on her?

He knew why. She was pretty and smart and funny, but she was also aloof, non-committal and incredibly secretive about anything personal. As soon as he turned the conversation to a more personal level she either changed the subject or ended the conversation and walked off.

He was afraid that one day she would disappear just as quickly as she had entered his life and he had no interest in speeding up that process by being too intrusive or showing his romantic interest in her which he most definitely had. Only at one time had she given any indication that a tiny part of her brilliant mind was sometimes occupied with him too. On that occasion she had compared him to a fictional character in a popular movie based on the novels of J.R. Tolkien.

Sören had been busy stacking wooden logs into rows by the side of the house. His living room was located at the back of the house and had a pair of French doors which led out onto a wooden deck. Sören liked to place the firewood close to the deck, so he wouldn´t have far to go should he run out of logs for his open fireplace in the winter. Clarice had come from the direction of the forest which bordered on his property. Actually the forest was his property, too. She had obviously just returned from one of her long walks that she liked to take, all alone of course. Sometimes she went down to the beach. The forest seamlessly went over into a beach but the beach was not really attractive for bathing or for taking a sensual stroll in the sand at the water´s edge, because in this little cove the water kept on washing up an abundance of greenly-black algae which of course overlapped in a slimy, oily accumulation at the water´s edge and barred an untroubled, easy entrance into the water and the sandy land area was peppered with little rocks and clumps of reed. There was a little wooden pier which protruded into the algae-free zone oft he water and from which one could hop into the water quickly for a short swim. Clarice visited this beach in every weather, even when it was windy and raining. Sören, like every native who grew up on Öland, wouldn´t even dream of going to the beach in cold or ghastly weather. That was how you recognized a tourist or a newcomer to the island.

When Clarice was within earshot, he had interrupted his work for a moment and said,“Clarice, you do know that there are much nicer and proper beaches in the nearest vicinity, right?”

She had nodded, “Yes of course I know that, but they´re not within close walking distance, are they?”

“Yes, that´s true, but the other beaches are beautiful, with white sand, where one can walk unobstructed and bathe and stretch out in the sand.“

“I don´t want to stretch out in the sand”.

“No? What do you do at the beach then“?

“I smell the salty tang of the algae and the sea and listen to the gentle, rhythmic beating of the waves”.

“Ah. Well that´s nice. No shortage of rotting algae there. I´d say that salty tang is a somewhat euphemistic description for the smell they give off. Sewage plant would be more appropiate”

Clarice had smiled, “Yes, now and again, depending on how the wind blows. But that doesn´t matter. And anyway, I do sometimes visit other beaches“.

„Well, that´s alright then.” Sören had resumed stacking his logs.

She had silently watched him stacking the wood for a while and then thoughtfully remarked, “You know you look a lot like that elf, what´s his name again? Wait a minute, it´ll come to me… Legolas! That´s it. You know, from the Lord of the Rings.”

He had given her a puzzled and somewhat irritated look.

“I look like an elf? Elves are small, invisible people. How can I look like an elf?”

“You do know the Lord of the Rings trilogy, the movies I mean?”

“Yes... no, what is it?”

“Jesus, don´t you take any interest in popular culture at all?”

“Of course I do, certainly I do. I watched a movie in Kalmar only last week.”

“What was it?”

“Edith Piaf.”

She had just stared at him.

“What´s wrong with Edith Piaf?” he had asked slightly peeved.

“Nothing is wrong with her. I own a couple of her recordings myself, she´s amazing, great voice, tragic life and everything, but she hardly classifies as popular culture. She would probably fall into the category of high culture, elitist even in your case.”

Was that an insult? Sören couldn´t say. “I´m not a teenager you know, I´m almost thirty-five years old.”

“So in that case you should have read Tolkien when you were a child.”

“Maybe, but I didn´t”.

“What did you read? Hang on a minute, you can read, right?”

He had ignored that remark. “Like any child growing up in Sweden I read Astrid Lindgren. In fact I think it´s a law in our country. Every child must read Astrid Lindgren and only Astrid Lindgren or you get sent to a child correction centre.”

“Are you kidding me? That boy with the propeller on his back and that little girl with superhuman powers who lives in a house all by herself?”

“Aha, so you read them, too!”, he had said triumphantly, picking up another armful of logs from the wheelbarrow.

“I most certainly did not, but I have watched about a thousand repeats of those ghastly movies they made in the seventies, which they show here almost every Sunday morning. And that little girl in the suspender stockings and that little shirt dress? She´s every pedophiles´s dream.”

After which he had straightened up, towered over her and put on his sternest look. “So you´ve got a bit of a dirty mind, haven´t you little girl? Maybe you need to be spanked?”

She had laughed, given him a toothy grin, showing a row of gleaming white teeth and wandered off. At least he knew how she spent her Sunday mornings. He had consequently hired the first of those movies she mentioned and been relieved to see that the elvian hero in question was indeed quite a handsome fellow and a very brave and capable warrior.

Of course the likeness she had mentioned was of a purely aesthetical nature, but still.

He had hired the other two movies, too and been a little disturbed by the fact that his elvian alias remained almost androginous and unattached right through the movies. No girlfriend, woman or wife in sight. On the plus side no boyfriend either, if you discounted the dwarf. The elf did have a likeness to Sören, except that Sören´s hair was not that long. His hair only came down to his chin. And he would never ever braid his hair, only if someone held a gun to his head. His nose was also thinner and straighter and his eyes not quite so blue. He was sure that guy was wearing contacts. And Sören was much taller than the elf, but that was because he wasn´t an elf, right?

Chapter 6

Sören arrived at his office right in the city centre and switched off all thoughts about Clarice. His office in Kalmar was a Clarice free zone, physically, since she had never actually been there and mentally because here he concentrated only on his work.

The client was already waiting for him and turned out to be a very attractive blond woman in her late thirties called Anna. They shook hands and promptly retreated to his office to go over her business plan together.

“Who buys all this stuff?” Sören thought again when she presented him with a list of her product range. The thought was a hypothetical one though, since he already knew what sort of customer group was attracted to ecological clothing. His market research team had already looked into that matter and written up an extensive report including impressive looking diagrams and statistical charts.

During the course of their meeting Anna flashed her legs at him several times and touched her knees to his more often than was absolutely necessary. And why not? Sören thought. He was single and free and in contrast to Clarice, Anna was not immune to his charmes and his looks, even though she herself was skinnier than he generally preferred. But she was still quite attractive and entertaining.

So after their meeting he invited her to dinner at one of the few really good restaurants the town had to offer. The restaurant was in walking distance from his office. When they passed the harbour Anna pointed to one of the bigger yachts anchored there and said, “Oh look at that boat. Isn´t it big and shiny?”

Sören nodded. It was big and shiny, what could he say?

He had noticed that although she was a successful business woman a lot of her statements were naiv and almost childlike. Maybe it was an act she put on when she was attracted to a man. Many men felt insecure around succesful women. Sören wasn´t one of them but he knew men who were.

The restaurant was furnished with glass sculptures, vases and multiple other decorative elements made out of glass. Even the candelabras were made entirely out of glass.

Öland belonged to the province of Småland and Kalmar was its capital. Småland was most famous for its traditional glass manufacturers and the restaurant was decorated with products of the most prominent glass factories, like Kosta Boda or Orrefors, although they were mostly owned by Danish investors nowadays. The Danish were taking over many things.

They gave the waitress their order of beef in mustard and savory sauce for Sören and mango, avocado and pear salad for Anna.

No wonder she´s so thin, Sören thought again. He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his red wine. Anna was drinking mineral water.

“So Anna, tell me about yourself. Where are you from, what do you like? I´m all ears.”

And she gave him a rather extended account of her past, her likes and dislikes, which were plentiful , her ambitions and her plans for the future. So here at least was a woman who wasn´t afraid or reluctant to discuss her life with him. That made a nice change, Sören thought. Or did it? Why was he comparing Anna to Clarice all the time? Why couldn´t he just relax and enjoy this woman´s company without thinking about her all the time? He was actually annoyed with himself. He tried to concentrate solely on Anna and their conversation, which she seemed to enjoy so much that she switched over from mineral water to wine. In fact she emptied most of the bottle of red that Sören had ordered , since Sören was driving and had to watch his alcohol level. The drink-drive-limit was zero percent in Sweden and Sören was already over the limit with only one glass of wine and he had only recently paid a hefty fine for being well over the limit. He had almost lost his licence when the police had stopped him just short of the Ölandbridge. So he was being careful.

Sören looked at his watch,” Wow, that late already. Where are you staying, Anna? Is it close by?”

“Well actually I haven´t booked into a hotel yet. I was planning to do that after our meeting. But then I didn´t know you´d invite me to dinner. You wouldn´t have a place for me to stay over night, would you Sören?”

She looked at him adoringly out of big, bright eyes.

Sören didn´t really need a more obvious invitation than that. “You know Anna, you needn´t bother with a hotel. I have loads of room at my place. Why don´t I pay the bill and we can leave?”

“Sounds good to me.” On the way to Öland he regretted inviting her home to Rettinge. What if Clarice was still up and saw him arrive with Anna? But she had been without a hotel room and it was late. He couldn´t let her sleep on the street, could he? Why did he actually care what Clarice thought? And why was he justifying bringing a woman home to his house and his bed? He was free and single and not involved in any way with a red headed, single-minded, sarcastic theoretical physicist, was he? Sören didn´t think she´d care anyway, so why should he feel guilty? Except he did.