C5 Chapter 5

They put Viljar in his old bed, and at last Malin had a chance to look at him.

She was horrified. His body was utterly emaciated, his eyes sunk deep, deep in his face. His skin was a sickly white, beads of perspiration stood on his forehead and his breathing was inaudible. She had met Viljar once before, but then she had only been six or seven years old, and he had not yet met Belinda. The vague memory she had of him didn’t match this at all ... this living corpse that she was looking at.

They had asked Henning to wait with his mother until they knew how much excitement Viljar was able to take. They didn’t know whether Belinda knew where she was or not but, as the priest said, she would never do Henning any harm. During all the terrible time in Denmark, she had treated Viljar with great love and consideration – in a strange kind of belief that he was Henning and just a small child. Malin thought this sounded extremely confusing, but the priest had said that her eyes probably weren’t seeing reality. Mentally ill women who had lost a child would sit and caress a bundle of clothes or even a ball of yarn. Even so, Malin felt that there must be a difference between that and a grown man, but she didn’t know the secret passages of the soul or the devastating power of grief.

The priest bent over the bed. “Viljar,” he said gently. “Can you hear me? You’re at home now. At home at Linden Avenue.”

Viljar’s eyes were closed. But wasn’t there a tiny hint of a smile on his face?

“Yes, you did it,” the priest went on. “Now you’ve come this far, you must also tackle the rest.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake, Malin thought sadly. What did he imagine? Viljar of the Ice People had already taken a step over the threshold towards eternity, surely he could see that? And arriving home would be too much!

But to her immense surprise, Viljar’s eyelids opened and his once beautiful eyes looked hazily out into the room. His eyes sought the priest’s, his lips tried to shape some words and the priest understood.

“The elixir, yes!”

The priest turned to Malin to explain. “On board the ship, Viljar Lind managed to explain to me that there’s medicine in this house that can help him.” Malin could see that he was sceptical, but he went on: “It was difficult to catch what he said, but it was something about a green bottle. Right at the bottom, farthest to the right.”

Malin looked as if she didn’t quite understand.

“He mentioned something about a treasure ...”

“Yes, of course. Now I know what you mean. I’ll fetch it.”

The greater part of the treasure, containing the most valuable objects, wasn’t at Linden Avenue but was safely kept in a secret place. In this house there were only drugs and medicines that they might need from time to time. After Saga’s death, there was nobody to take over the treasure except Ulvar. He was only a child, and besides ...

Malin soon found the green bottle. She had no idea that Viljar was familiar with such sophisticated drugs. Who had told him about this elixir? The substance in the bottle was as thick as tar because it had been kept for many years, and she had to use a knife to get it out. There was hot water on the stove and she poured a bit into the bottle. While it was working, she went back to the bedroom. Viljar gazed at her with his dull eyes and said: “Saga?”

She sat by his bed: “Saga has passed away,” she said gently. “She’s no longer with us. I’m Malin. Welcome home to both of you.”

Viljar closed his eyes. The tiniest movement seemed to be immensely painful. “Christer’s Malin ... Thank you.”

Malin understood what he meant. “Henning is fine. Right now, he’s with his mother and both of them are crying with joy.”

Then Viljar smiled weakly.

“You mustn’t get excited,” Malin said. “Don’t think about anything. Just lie quietly in bed. You’ll be allowed to say hello to Henning in due course. Your drink will soon be ready.”

“Good. Heike asked me ... to try it.”

Heike?

Then the penny dropped! Malin understood that the Ice People had stepped in once more!

“I’ll fetch it straightaway,” she said, with a broad smile.

When Viljar had had a spoonful of the not very tasty elixir and had rested for half an hour, Henning was allowed to enter the bedroom. They had put Belinda to bed in another room. She had been so exhausted from all the emotional impressions that she had agreed to this without complaining. She fell asleep as soon as she put her head on the pillow; they still didn’t know how rational she was or whether she was still lost in her own dream world. They feared that she might never get out of that again.

Henning stood by his father’s bed and saw with despair how the tuberculosis had ravaged his idol. Viljar was determined to be completely relaxed so as not to burden his exhausted body, which wasn’t so easy.

His voice was like a breath of air: “My boy! You’ve really grown!”

Malin interrupted: “And he’s clever.”

Henning couldn’t think of anything to say. His dear father had become a stranger to him. He could certainly feel sympathy – but this wasn’t what Viljar needed right now from his son. It was love, and Henning was paralysed, both when it came to speaking and in his whole body. He suffered terribly feeling this way. He wanted to give so much but he couldn’t.

Fortunately, Henning didn’t need to answer because he had forgotten to close the door after him and two curious little tots darted into the room. They had had to behave themselves for far too long out in the kitchen, and Malin didn’t dare to think what the place looked like now.

Now they didn’t want to be left on their own any more.

To her horror, Ulvar climbed up the footboard of the bed and poked his head over the top. Viljar saw him. For a moment, Malin thought that their plans would be ruined because now Viljar was bound to be very shocked indeed. Even the priest had trouble getting used to Ulvar’s grotesque appearance, with the extremely high cheekbones, the narrow yellow eyes that were screwed up in extreme hostility, the dark, bristly hair – and the mouth! Wide as a barn door with pointed wolves’ teeth, under a nose that was as broad as it was short. The square, short body looked as if it had been pulled apart and then put together at random. The little brat looked like something that had been fished out of some mud hole, utterly out of place among humans. Ulvar was the quintessence of the worst qualities of the cursed ones. He had been given everything that was cruel, abominable and disgusting.

Although ...?

Malin knew that Ulvar didn’t like anybody.

Yet she and Henning had been miraculously saved in a very strange way. Three times now ...

Viljar took them all by surprise. He looked at the little brat at the foot of the bed and whispered: “Who are you?” His reaction showed no hint of disgust. Only puzzlement.

“I’m Ulvar, Saga’s son.”

“Saga? Yes, of course. You said that she had died. Well, she must have. Little Saga ...”

Marco stood discreetly by the bed, waiting for his turn. Malin took him by the shoulders and said: “And this is Ulvar’s twin brother. I’ll lift him up so that you can see him. His name’s Marco.”

She held up the handsome Marco. Viljar gazed at him for a long time. “My God, what does this mean?” he whispered, closing his eyes.

Malin turned to Ulvar: “Did you see that, Ulvar? Henning’s father likes you!”

Ulvar put out his tongue, hissed and spat with disgust.

Viljar, still with his eyes closed, whispered: “Why shouldn’t I like him? You forget that my grandfather, Heike, was my great hero.”

Malin wanted to say: oh, but there’s a difference. But she was silent. Ulvar needed all the goodwill he could get. Viljar dropped off to sleep and they all left the room except Henning, who wanted to stand guard. He was probably feeling guilty because he had been unable to welcome his father in a suitable manner.

Malin was extremely pensive as she walked into the big living room with Marco. Ulvar had run in ahead of them and appeared before the priest by jumping up and down on the worn springs in the fine sofa. She didn’t have the energy to tell him off, not today.

Viljar’s reaction had baffled her. It wasn’t Ulvar who had caught his attention but Marco. She gazed at the little mite. She had always looked upon him as a wonderful child, so easy to deal with. He was any mother’s dream and, besides, handsome as a little god.

Now, however, she regarded him with Viljar’s new, fresh eyes. He was a dream, which was precisely what Viljar had reacted to. Marco was hardly a human child – you couldn’t say that about him. No one was so handsome, gentle and wonderful. Ulvar bore the curse of the Ice People and, paradoxically, that made him more human than his brother. Marco was Lucifer’s son, certainly as far as his good looks were concerned.

Malin thought of Saga. If Lucifer, the father, was just as handsome as Marco, he must have been quite irresistible! She was beginning to suspect that they needed to shield not only Ulvar but also Marco from the thoughtless glances and comments of the outside world. You weren’t allowed to be so perfect in a world of human folly. That would never be tolerated.

Malin thought: God help us. How are we to bring up these two little boys? Ulvar so that he can tell the difference between good and bad, right and wrong. And Marco so that he can maintain his fine soul in this cruel world. That boy mustn’t be harmed, he just mustn’t!

Even though everything was in chaos that day, she still had to attend to the daily chores. She spoke to the farmhand, who took care of everything outside and in the stable now that Henning was occupied. She herself began making a meal for them all before the priest continued on his journey.

What a remarkably kind man he was! How were they to thank him? She sighed and began to dig out food from the pantry.

In the bedroom, Viljar woke up for a moment. He opened his eyes laboriously and caught sight of his son, sitting upright like a candle on a chair by the bed, with all his senses focused on being of use when it was needed.

Viljar smiled. He was sad – and didn’t know whether his smile had reached his lips because he was just so weak and tired. With the stump of his hand, he tried to search for his son’s hand, but it was hard for his arm to react to the command of his brain.

But Henning had noticed the helpless, small movement of his hand. The boy took it in his. Viljar could sink back into semi-consciousness. In this way, father and son sat in the room hand in hand until dusk had fallen gently over Linden Avenue.

The reason the priest’s appearance hasn’t been described at all is that there was nothing to describe. He was neither old nor young, neither blond nor dark, neither brown-eyed nor blue-eyed. Had it not been for his cassock, he would have disappeared in the throng because he was so nondescript. But when you got to know him, you really appreciated his value. The mere fact that he was so conscientious and had taken such patient care of Belinda and Viljar, accompanying them all the way home without leaving them to their own fate somewhere on the way, said something about his qualities. He understood a priest’s true calling and disposition. For that reason he was looked down upon by some of his colleagues back in Denmark because he didn’t always follow the directions of the Church. Everybody knows there’s an abyss between Christianity and the church. Many, many strange shells have been laid over the original religion of Christianity. Shells created by church fathers throughout the ages, of whom Paul was the first. The shell he placed over the intentions of Christ was quite thick, and it was the basis of the doctrine of the “reformers”.

Malin, who was fairly religious, took a great liking to her guest and decided to go to church more often. Of course, she knew this was futile. The parish priest would soon kill her newly aroused interest in the church with admonitions and tough sermons.

They sat down at last and had something to eat. Malin had to force Ulvar down in his chair because he preferred to pull the driver’s beard rather than sit nicely. The man’s great moustache fascinated him. Just as everyone was sitting down for supper, he had tried to get hold of the matches and set everything on fire. Marco’s gentle admonitions had prevented this plan. Ulvar hissed something despicable and unintelligible to his brother, but he obeyed. Despite being quietly unobtrusive, Marco was the dominant of the two.

The day passed somehow. In fact, it went much too quickly. Malin dashed back and forth like an arrow, taking care of the usual chores, speaking to the priest, changing the boys’ nappies. Now and then she went to check on Henning. She argued with Ulvar and cleared up after him, because he was in a devilish mood that day, and she saw to it that the driver got something to eat. She felt terribly confused.

The priest decided to stay the night. This was at her request and she was very grateful, but it also meant more work for her. Two more rooms needed to be set in order, with clean bedclothes and towels ... When they finally sat down at the table for a late supper, Malin relaxed for a moment. She had tied Ulvar to the chair and in a calm voice she asked her two guests to help themselves. As she did so, she jumped up again. Henning! He must have some food now, he had kept watch by his father’s sickbed all day long. Malin called it a sickbed. She didn’t want to think of what it really was: a deathbed.

Darkness had fallen, so she took a lamp with her into the room. She stood in the doorway, smiling sadly. Henning had fallen asleep. He had fallen sideways over the bed from the chair next to it. Still holding Viljar’s mutilated hand in his, he lay with his body over his father’s legs.

Malin went out again. There was plenty of time for Henning to have his supper. She came out just in time to see Ulvar pelting the others with potatoes. Malin was probably slightly overstretched and this time she was really cross. She grabbed Ulvar by the collar, hissing between clenched teeth: “Now you sit properly, you little brat!”

At that moment, the door opened and Belinda staggered in, heavy with sleep. Malin and the priest got up immediately and offered to help her to the table. They were very excited to see what she could remember. She drew her hand over her forehead and looked helplessly from one to the other. It seemed that she could remember the priest but she was scared of the others.

“Uuuli oman,” said Ulvar. That meant “ugly woman”, of course. Malin hoped that Belinda wouldn’t understand his childish language. His appearance frightened her.

Malin said: “Children: this is Henning’s mother!”

Ulvar made a long, disgusting sound with his tongue and lips.

Belinda wanted to know whether she had slept. She didn’t dare to look at them.

“Yes, you slept for a while.”

That wasn’t quite what Belinda meant. “I’d no idea that we had guests.”

The priest and Malin looked at one another.

Belinda asked: “Where’s Henning? And my husband?”

“They’re in the bedroom,” the priest told her.

“Both of them? Both of them,” she said as if she couldn’t really manage to link two different events. Then she caught sight of her hands and pulled up one sleeve. “Goodness,” she said, shocked, “I’ve lost weight.”

The priest said gently: “You’ve been very ill, but now all your troubles are over.”

“Have I been ill? I don’t remember that.”

“You’ve also been very clever,” said the priest. “Because your husband was much more seriously ill than you, but you managed to keep him alive.”

This seemed to be too difficult for her to grasp.

Her frightened, searching eyes looked at Ulvar – but somehow without surprise. Her thin fingers moved over her lips. “I ... it seems so strange. I don’t understand anything.”

Malin reassured Belinda. “Everything’s fine. Sit down at the table, Belinda, and have something to eat. We can talk afterwards.”

Belinda looked around as if she was searching for something. “Saga?”

“She isn’t here now,” Malin said quickly. “I came in place of her. I’m Malin, Christer’s daughter.”

“Ah, yes, Christer ...”

She sank into a chair. They were disappointed to see that her eyes still retained their empty expression.

But perhaps not entirely empty. They thought she probably found it strange to be waited on in her own home but was too unsure about her situation to have the courage to protest.

“Viljar?” she asked again.

The priest said: “He’s asleep in his bed. Henning is with him.”

“Henning,” she whispered. Her voice was warm. Then she became restless. She rubbed one hand over the other. Malin noticed that they seemed blue with cold, even in the middle of summer. Her fingers must have been frost-bitten on the boat – albeit not so severely as Viljar’s. Malin was moved when she thought how he must have protected Belinda against the icy water and the cold at the expense of his own health.

Belinda wanted to say something. She had no time for food until she had said it: “Who ... was it who was in my bedroom just now?”

Malin, surprised, replied: “Nobody was in your bedroom. We wanted to let you sleep in peace.”

Belinda shifted restlessly in her chair. “Somebody was in there. Somebody said to me: ‘Now you must try to use your mind, you poor wretch!’”

Was she hallucinating? Was she in as bad a state as that?

Malin was shocked. “What? Surely nobody would speak to you like that!”

“No, but the strange thing was ...” She was searching for words. “All of a sudden, it seemed easier to think. And yet ... everything’s so confusing, I don’t know where I am. I’m at home but everything seems wrong; something’s missing!”

“We’ll talk about it later, Belinda. If you believe that somebody said that to you, it could well have been one of the Ice People’s ancestors. Viljar has spoken about Heike ...”

“No, it wasn’t Heike, because I knew him.”

Malin tried to collect her thoughts. “Those rather tactless words ... it could have been Sol. They said that she could be very outspoken.”

“No, no, it was somebody else. Somebody ...” She wrinkled her brow. “It wasn’t a spirit. It was a real creature. A living ...”

Malin felt ill at ease. The priest shook his head. She thought feverishly, thank goodness the children can’t speak!

Belinda had begun to drink a glass of milk.

“Who are these two children?” she asked politely. “Are they yours, Malin?”

Malin didn’t know how much she dared to say. But she plucked up courage and seized the chance: “No, they’re Saga’s twins.”

“Saga’s?” said Belinda in disbelief. “But they’re so ... big!”

Malin said very gently: “You’ve been very sick for a very long time, Belinda. It would be best for you to understand that. It will make everything easier.”

Then Belinda put her fork down. “I’ll go in to see how Viljar is.”

“No, don’t do that,” Malin exclaimed quickly, putting her hand on hers. “Viljar needs to rest, he’s much sicker than you.”

“Then he’s bound to need me. I must ...”

“No,” the priest said, holding her back gently. “You’ve nursed him for a very long time and you’ve done brilliantly. But Henning is with him now and Viljar can hardly bear people moving about in his room. Now we need to focus on you, Belinda! This time, you come first!”

“Viljar has always taken care of me. Now I must ...”

Did she remember what they had been through? Or was she thinking of their time here at Linden Avenue?

Malin said gently: “Don’t you want to hear what has happened to you over the last two years? The priest can tell you.”

Belinda’s thin fingers fumbled with her knife and fork. She had dutifully sat down at the table again. Malin whispered to the boys that they should go up to bed, but they didn’t want to and right now she didn’t have the energy to tackle them.

“Then you must be quiet,” she admonished.

Even Ulvar nodded at this.

Then the priest told Belinda as much as he knew, which was about their time in Denmark. He didn’t mince his words, but told her that her mind had been compromised, but that she was clearer now than she had been throughout those years. Everybody was happy and full of hope for the future.

Belinda just nodded. She realized that her mind wasn’t as it ought to be.

The priest asked her gently: “Do you remember anything?”

“Fragments,” she replied, passing her hand over her eyes. “I remember that Viljar was coughing blood, and I was so scared that he would die. I only had him.”

As if they didn’t know!

“I also remember some small details. I recognize your language. And I remember how the stiff skirts of the deaconesses rustled. And the sun spot on the ceiling in the hospital. The smell of that ugly little hut ... It’s all coming back to me as you’re speaking, Pastor.”

Malin said with a gentle smile: “Do you know what? You’re recovering! Your speech is a lot clearer now than when you arrived.”

Belinda nodded sadly. “And yet, something is closed in my mind,” she said to herself. “How did I get like this? And how did we end up in Denmark? I don’t understand.”

Then the priest explained, as gently as he could, about the loss of the Emma. Malin added that Viljar and Belinda had been on their way home after visiting her brother, Jolin. The boat had been shipwrecked and apparently a small lifeboat had drifted out to sea and along the Jutland coast.

Belinda stared at them, as white as a sheet. They thought her head would burst. “No, no!” she gasped. “I don’t want to, it never happened, I can’t, I just can’t!”

Malin could see that she was about to be sick and she rushed her to the kitchen where she found a bucket.

“Now, now,” she said soothingly. “You need to throw up, you see. Get it out of your system.” She was thinking of the horror that had settled in Belinda’s tormented soul.

When they had been out in the kitchen for quite a long time and Belinda had recovered a little, they went back. The boys were still sitting in their seats, discreet and curious, but remarkably polite. Malin praised them for that. When they had sat down again, she said: “I think you’d better tell us all about it, Belinda, no matter how painful it seems. Because there’s more to it, isn’t there? Of course, it was a nightmare to be out at sea like that, waiting to die in the ice-cold waves. However, there’s something you need to forget completely, isn’t there?”

“Yes. The trip in itself was terrible, you can’t imagine what it was like to sit in that tiny lifeboat ...”

The priest said: “We can imagine, but it’s different when you experience it for yourself.”

“Yes,” she said, shivering violently. “No, I can’t talk about it because it was just so awful!”

“Yes, Belinda! We could ask Viljar, but that wouldn’t help you. You’re the one who must share the memory. Then everything will become more tolerable for you.”

“But I ...”

She was silent for a long while. Then she spoke, and they saw how deeply shaken she was. “Yes, I suppose that would be best for me.”

Malin understood that Belinda was on the mend. If only she could bring herself to talk. Slowly, as if every single word had to be pulled out of her, Belinda began her narrative. “There were six of us in the boat at the beginning. We drifted for a very long time, and we froze terribly, terribly. We didn’t have any food either. Fortunately, the weather was quite calm for the first few days. I ... became increasingly weak. I could feel that. All I registered was hunger, icy coldness and Viljar’s closeness. And the knowledge that young Henning needed to be told that we were alive, even if we expected to die at any moment.”

Her voice died away and she was lost in her own thoughts. They could see that the memories were terrible! She wiped away tears all the time.

They waited. Ulvar was restless and Malin put her hand on his arm. He bit her but then sat quietly.

Then Belinda continued her narrative and now her face seemed to become stiff with fright. “One morning, one of the others had died. Viljar wanted to throw the body overboard, but another man was against it. He said we had to bring the dead body home. And then ...”

She fell silent and was obviously feeling immense pain.

“Then at some point I woke up. Viljar and I used to take it in turns to keep guard over one another, but this time we had both fallen asleep. I woke up and ...”

Belinda swallowed. Her hands were shaking violently. Then she pulled herself together. “Everybody was sleeping. Except that man who had wanted to protect the dead body. He ... was sitting there, cutting ... pieces of ... and ...”

“Thank you,” said Malin. “You don’t have to say any more. We understand.”

“Good God,” the priest whispered. “Surely that’s not possible?”

“What do we know of extreme hunger?” replied Malin. She felt sick. “What happened then, Belinda?

“I screamed,” said Belinda, her voice shaking. “Everybody was yelling and screaming, and I hid my face against Viljar. Viljar didn’t take any part in it, please don’t think so, but when I looked up, one of the other men in the lifeboat was sitting with the knife in his hand, and the dead body and the one who ... you know ... were gone. Thrown into the sea. There was ... blood on the knife and the man threw it far, far into the waves, and the other woman – there were two of us women in the boat – was in hysterics, and I think that was when I lost my mind.”

“And Viljar? How did he take it?”

“The last thing I saw was that he was crying, which is something Viljar hardly ever does, and he held me in a firmer grip than he tended to, and then I don’t remember any more. I think that was when everything around me turned so strange.”

She let out a small, hysterical laugh. “No, I must stick to the truth: everything inside me turned so strange.”

They were quiet for a while. Belinda’s tears trickled quietly and unrestrained.

Malin said: “Do you feel better now?”

Belinda straightened her back. “Perhaps, but I’ll never be able to forget.”

“I know. I don’t think we’ll be able to forget what you’ve just told us. And experiencing it all! No wonder you tried to live in a world that didn’t exist!”

Malin was grateful that Marco and Ulvar weren’t able to understand what it was all about. Ulvar had fallen asleep with his head in his arms on the table.

Belinda was lost in her own thoughts. “I also felt sad for Henning,” she said slowly. “Not being with him, not knowing how he was. I missed him so dreadfully!”

The priest thought: she replaced him. Imagined that her sick husband was a child. Talked like a baby ...

Malin got up. “Well, I’d better put the children to bed. Poor Henning has fallen asleep on the edge of the bed in there. Belinda, can you sleep in the room you had before?”

Belinda also stood up. “I ... want so much to be with Viljar. And Henning.”

They hesitated. Then Malin nodded. “We’d better wake up Henning and make a bit of noise in there. After all, it’s a big double bed. It’ll be all right. Henning will have to move back to his own room ... But Belinda ... You must be prepared for the fact that Viljar is dying.”

“I know,” was her sad reply. “You see, my memory is improving. Don’t be afraid, I won’t get hysterical.”

She touched the neck of the sleeping Ulvar. “Exactly like Heike,” she murmured. “They look so much alike. And yet. If we say that Heike was grotesque to look at, then this little mite is a caricature of him. And ...” she added pensively, “not as nice, it would seem.”

No, Malin could agree with that!

Next morning, when Malin went in to see them, closely followed by Henning and the two little boys, she was surprised to see that Viljar was awake. Belinda lay propped on one elbow, tucking the duvet properly around his chest.

He gave a weak smile and whispered: “Malin and the entire entourage: you’re spoiling us!”

Malin replied, matter-of-factly: “Of course!” She had brought a breakfast tray, and everybody settled down for their morning meal as best they could.

Viljar looked up at her. “Everything feels good now, Malin.”

“You seem to be much better today. Do you think it’s because of the medicine?”

“That’s quite possible. But ... who was in here last night?”

“You mean Henning? Or Belinda?”

“No, no. It was someone else, who told me pretty bluntly to stop being so dull. That I had to show some spirit and a will to live.”

Malin and Belinda exchanged glances. That was exactly what Belinda had said.

Malin replied lightly: “It’s got to be one of our ancestors,”

“No, it was a living being,” whispered Viljar. “And ... I think it helped. Actually, I feel stronger now.”

Malin didn’t know what to say. All she knew was that Viljar had been dying when he arrived, and although he was still incredibly ill, death wasn’t the first thing that struck you when you saw him. There was a tiny, flickering flame of life that was struggling to become bigger. And Belinda? Nobody would have believed that that hopelessly confused little woman would ever be able to utter a sensible word again. She had seemed beyond reason. And now? She was lucid and strong and on the highest alert to help her loved ones. It couldn’t be explained away: Viljar and Belinda had received help.

But from where? And from whom?

That was a difficult puzzle to solve.

It was absolutely fantastic that Viljar and Belinda had returned. But it did mean a lot of work for the already overburdened Malin. Viljar was still terribly weak, but now his spark of life had been ignited and he really was putting up a fight. Belinda was so shockingly undernourished that the least difficulty made her burst into tears. If she dropped a sock on the floor, for instance, or if her comb got stuck in her hair. They were both like rushes that might break in the wind. Malin and Henning had to tell the two little boys, Marco and Ulvar, to keep quiet, which was another strain on their nerves. Malin had considered whether she ought to move somewhere else with Saga’s twins, but the little family at Linden Avenue wouldn’t hear of it. Viljar, who was now able to sit up in bed for a short time, said: “Apart from your parents in Sweden, Malin, we’re the last of the Ice People. We represent all the three branches and we must stick together: of course we must! Besides, what would we do without you? Please stay – if you have the energy!”

Viljar was right about the family. He belonged to Heike’s branch, Malin to Arv Grip’s, and the two little boys to Anna Maria Olsdatter’s branch. Viljar’s father, Eskil, had united the Paladin branch with the Lind branch through the marriage of his parents, Heike and Vinga. Malin’s family had been a very isolated branch; you had to go right back to Tengel the Good to find the link.

Nevertheless, the Ice People had kept together. They had been in touch for three hundred years, always ready to help when necessary.

But now Malin was exhausted. The double burden of Belinda and Viljar, who were both sick, and all the housework was nearly breaking her.

One evening, as she sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing her aching feet, she allowed herself to sigh: “When will I have the time to think about myself?” She had chosen to be a deaconess, so such thoughts were reprehensible.

Of course, she stayed. After all, this was what she wanted most of all.