ASA LARSSON ~ THE SAVAGE ALTAR (9 page)

For God’s sake. I must calm down, thought Rebecka. I’m in no fit state to drive the car. I’ll have us off the road.

“That’s not what I meant,” whined Sanna. “I’ve never blamed you for anything. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

“What for? Viktor’s murder?”

Something inside Rebecka stopped and pricked up its ears.

“Everything,” mumbled Sanna. “The fact that you were forced to move away. Everything!”

“Pack it in!” spat Rebecka, filled with a new rage that swept away the shaking and turned her legs to ice and iron. “I have no intention of sitting here, patting you on the shoulder and telling you none of it was your fault. I’ve done that a hundred times already. I was an adult. I made my choice and I took the consequences.”

“Yes,” said Sanna obediently.

Rebecka started the car and screeched out onto Malmvägen. Sanna raised her hands to her mouth as an oncoming car tooted angrily at them. From Hjalmar Lundbohmsvägen they could see the mining company’s offices glowing in front of the mine. Rebecka was struck by the fact that they no longer seemed so big. When she used to live in the town, the offices had always been massive. They passed the town hall with its stiff tiled façade, its remarkable clock tower outlined against the sky like a black steel skeleton.

What I said was true, thought Rebecka. He was never in love with me. Although I can understand everybody thinking he was. That’s what we let them think, Viktor and me. It began that very first summer. During the summer church with Thomas Söderberg in Gällivare.

I
n the end there are eleven young people attending the summer church. They are to live, work and study the Bible together for three weeks. Pastor Thomas Söderberg and his wife, Maja, are leading the group. Maja is pregnant. She has long, shiny hair, doesn’t wear makeup and always looks so sweet and cheerful. But sometimes Rebecka sees her move to one side and press her fist into the small of her back. And sometimes Thomas puts his arms around her and says:

“We can manage without you. Go and lie down and have a little rest.”

She usually looks at him with relief and gratitude. It’s hard work, being the unpaid wife of a pastor.

Maja’s sister, Magdalena, is there too, helping out. She does everything quickly, like a cheerful mouse. She can play the guitar, and teaches them hymns.

Viktor and Sanna are among the eleven. Everyone notices them straightaway. They are very much alike. They both have long, fair hair. Sanna’s is
naturally curly. Her snub nose and big eyes give her face a doll-like expression
.

She’ll still look like a child when she’s eighty, thinks Rebecka, and forces herself not to stare.

Sanna is the only one of the young people who is a committed Christian. She’s only seventeen, and has a small child with her. Sara, who is three months old.

“Jesus and I have an exciting, loving relationship,” says Sanna with a crooked smile.

They have different kinds of belief, Sanna and Thomas Söderberg. Thomas demonstrates his belief in several different ways.

“The word ‘belief,’ ” he says, “means the same as to rely on, to be convinced of. If I say ‘I believe in you, Rebecka,’ then I mean that I’m convinced you will fulfill my expectations of you.”

“I don’t know,” Sanna protests. “I think that to believe is simply to believe. Not to know. To have doubts, sometimes. But still to invest in your relationship with God. To listen for his whisper in the forest.”

Viktor leans forward and ruffles his big sister’s hair.

“The whispering and sighing is all in your head, Sanna,” he says, and laughs.

He doesn’t believe. But he likes to discuss things. He often wears his long fair hair in a knot on top of his head. His skin is so fair it almost tips over into pale blue. The other girls look at him, but he soon finds a way of keeping them at bay. He plays a game with Rebecka
.

Rebecka isn’t stupid. She soon realizes that the way he looks at her doesn’t mean anything, and that she isn’t allowed to reciprocate the quick caresses of her hair or her hand. She learns to sit still and pretend to be the object of his unrequited longing. She doesn’t come out of the game empty-handed. Viktor’s admiration gives her a higher status among the other girls in the group. She has outplayed them, and that brings respect.

During their Bible study the views of Thomas and the participants are quite different at the beginning. The young people don’t understand. Why is homosexuality a sin? How can it be that the Christian faith is the only true faith? What will happen to all the Muslims, for example—will they all go to hell? Why is it wrong to have sex before marriage?

Thomas listens and explains. You have to choose, he explains. Either you believe in the whole of the Bible, or you can pick out different bits and just believe those, but what kind of faith would that be? Insipid and toothless, that’s what.

They sit on the jetty by the lake during the light summer nights and swat the mosquitoes that land on their arms and legs. They discuss and consider. Sanna is secure in her God. Rebecka feels as if she is standing in the middle of a raging torrent.

“It’s because you have been called,” says Sanna. “He wants you. If you don’t say yes now, you could be lost forever. You can’t postpone your decision until later, because you might never feel this longing again.”

When the three weeks are up, all except two of the participants have given themselves to God. Among those newly saved are Viktor and Rebecka
.

“W
hat about you and Viktor, then?” Thomas asks Rebecka when the summer church is almost over. “What’s going on between you two?”

He and Rebecka are walking to the local supermarket to buy some milk. Rebecka breathes in the wonderful aroma of warm, dusty asphalt. She’s pleased that Thomas wanted to come with her. Most of the time she has to share him with everyone else.

“I don’t know,” says Rebecka hesitantly as she decides not to tell the truth. “He might be interested, but I haven’t time for anyone but God in my life right now. I want to invest one hundred percent in Him for a while.”

She breaks a thin twig from a birch tree as they walk by. The fragile green leaves smell like a happy summer. She puts a leaf in her mouth and chews
.

Thomas grabs a leaf as well and pops it in his mouth. He smiles.

“You’re a sensible girl, Rebecka. I know that God has great plans for you. It’s a wonderful time when you’ve just fallen in love with God. It’s good that you’re making the most of it.”

S
he heard Sanna’s voice, at first from a long way off, then close by. Sanna’s hand on her upper arm.

“Look,” squeaked Sanna. “Oh, no.”

They had arrived at the police station. Rebecka had parked the car. At first she couldn’t see what Sanna was looking at. Then she saw the reporter running toward their car with a microphone at the ready. A man was standing behind the reporter. He lifted the video camera toward them like a black weapon.

I
n the Crystal Church, Pastor Gunnar Isaksson’s wife, Karin, sat with her eyes half closed, pretending to pray. There was an hour to go before the evening’s meeting. On the stage at the front, the gospel choir was warming up. Thirty young men and women. Black trousers. Lilac sweatshirts with an explosion of yellow and orange and the word “Joy” on the front.

Once she had been so in love with this church that it almost hurt. The divine acoustics. Like now. Long, drawn-out notes swirling up toward the ceiling, then cascading down to a depth only the bass voices could reach. The warm light. The polar night outside the immense glass windows. A bubble of God’s strength amid the darkness and the cold.

The musicians on the electric and bass guitars were tuning their instruments. There was a dull thud as the lighting technician switched on the spotlights on the stage. The boys who were looking after the sound were struggling with a microphone that was refusing to work. They were talking into it, but you couldn’t hear anything, and then all of a sudden it gave a piercing whistle.

Her arms itched. This morning the rash had been angry and red. She wondered if it could be psoriasis. Just as long as Gunnar didn’t catch sight of it. She didn’t want his intercession.

They had rearranged the furniture in the church. The chairs had been placed around the spot where Viktor had been lying. It looked just like the circus. She looked at her husband, sitting in the front row. His thick neck bulging over the white shirt collar. Next to him sat Thomas Söderberg, trying to concentrate before the evening’s sermon. She saw how Gunnar was forcing himself to look down at the Bible, determined not to distract the other man, only to forget himself and start babbling. His right hand shot out and started to paint pictures in the air with great sweeping strokes.

After Christmas he had decided to lose some weight. This afternoon he had skipped lunch. She had sat at the kitchen table twirling spaghetti around her fork, while he stood at the sink eating three pears. His broad back bending over the draining board. Slurping and gobbling. The sound of the pear juice dripping into the sink. His left hand pressing his tie against his stomach.

She looked at the clock. In a quarter of an hour he would leave his place at Thomas Söderberg’s side, sneak off to the car, drive into town and eat a hamburger in secret. Come back with his mouth full of spearmint gum.

Lie to somebody who cares, she thought. I don’t.

In the beginning he had been a different man. He’d been filling in as caretaker at Berga School, where she’d been working as a teacher. And she’d been to college, he thought that was wonderful. It was an energetic and very obvious courtship. Made-up errands to the staff room when she had a free lesson. Fun and laughter and an endless stream of bad jokes. And beneath all this, an insecurity that moved her. The delighted comments of her colleagues. How he clapped his hands with pleasure when she’d had her hair cut, or bought a new blouse. She watched him with the children in the playground. They liked him. A kind caretaker. It didn’t bother her then that he didn’t read books.

It was later, when he found himself in the shadow of Thomas Söderberg and Vesa Larsson, that the urge to assert himself was aroused.

But then she started to go with him to the Baptist church. At the time it was a church threatened with extinction. No, that was wrong, it was doomed to extinction. The members of the congregation looked as though they’d just dropped in for a rest on the way to the grave. Signe Persson, his gossamer-fine transparent hair carefully waved. His scalp shining through, pink with brown patches. Arvid Kall, once a loader for the LKAB mining company. Now half asleep in a pew, his huge hands lying powerless on his knees.

Naturally they hadn’t been able to afford a pastor; there was hardly enough money to heat the church. Gunnar Isaksson ran the church community like a one-man business. Mended and maintained what they could afford. Sighed over the rest. For example, the damage caused by the damp in the cloakroom. The wall that bellied out like a swollen corpse. The wallpaper that kept peeling off. The idea was that members of the congregation should take it in turns to preach; services were held every other Sunday. Since nobody else volunteered, Gunnar Isaksson stepped in.

There was no kind of thread to be found in his sermons. He drove here and there at random through the landscape of the free church he’d known since his youth. But still the routine was always very similar, with obligatory stops in well-known places, such as "the Spirit of God descending like a dove," "Behold, I am making all things new" and "Those who drink of the water that I will give them." Without exception the journey always ended with a revivalist call to the cooperative souls sitting there, saved long ago.

One consolation was that things weren’t much better in the other churches around the town. God’s temple in Kiruna: a dilapidated hovel where the stale air stood completely still.

Gunnar stood up and came toward the exit. Slowed down to show respect as he passed the place where Viktor Strandgård’s body had lain. A pile of flowers and cards was already lying there. He gave her a brief smile and a wink. A sign that appeared to mean he was just going to the bathroom, or to have a quick word with someone in the cloakroom.

He wasn’t stupid. Not in the least. The very fact that he’d managed to get where he was today. Right at the top of the church, along with Thomas Söderberg and Vesa Larsson. Without any formal training as a pastor. Without any talent as a fisher of men. That very fact demanded a certain talent.

She remembered when Gunnar had told her that the Mission had a new pastor. A young married couple.

A week or so later Thomas Söderberg came to a service in the Baptist church. Sat in the second row nodding in agreement throughout Gunnar’s sermon. Encouraging smiles. Serious consideration. His wife, Maja, like a model pupil by his side.

They stayed for coffee afterward. Gray winter darkness outside. Clouds full of snow. The day dwindling before it had even arrived properly.

Maja talked loudly and slowly into Arvid Kalla’s ear. Asked Edit Svonni for her recipe for sugar biscuits.

Thomas Söderberg and Gunnar having an animated conversation with two of the church elders. Switching between serious nodding of heads and loud laughter, like a well-rehearsed, perfectly coordinated dance. United in brotherhood.

And the obligatory question to the southerners: How do you like it up here? The darkness and the cold? They answered as one: They absolutely loved it. They certainly weren’t missing the slush and the rain. They’d be celebrating the next family Christmas in Kiruna.

That was all it took. The fact that they didn’t feel they’d been banished to a distant place beyond the bounds of tolerance. No whining or complaining about the biting wind or the darkness that creeps into your soul. The answers made the congregation’s faces soften.