The Double Silence (10 page)

Sam gave her an inscrutable look.

‘It sounds like you speak from experience.’

‘You think so?’ She gave a little laugh.

THE SUN HAD
long since disappeared into the sea, and twilight had settled over the remote property in Hammars. It never got truly dark at this time of year. The sea was roaring, and the wind had picked up. Several nocturnal terns shrieked over the waves, finding no peace. The wind whistled angrily around the corners of the house, rattling the roof tiles. Little birds and rabbits sought refuge among the tufts of grass, and the cattle grazing outside headed for the groves of trees where they would find some shelter from the wind.

Suddenly a solitary figure emerged from the shadows and approached the building, seeming to have a definite goal and clearly aware of which way to go. The person didn’t climb over the stone wall that surrounded the house but instead went through the gate a short distance away. Moved quickly and deliberately across the grounds, up on to the veranda.

At first glance an outsider might have thought it was the owner of the property who had come home but had forgotten the key, so had to search for the extra key in one of the pots standing on the veranda.

The dark-clad figure was looking for something, fumbling over the wooden benches, the rough stone table and the surrounding area. Crawling, touching the ground, but apparently not finding what was missing. Then continuing down towards the sea, struggling against the wind that was now tearing at the crowns of the trees as the waves pounded the stony shore. Going through the dilapidated fence and over to the upside-down rowing boat at the water’s edge, which was rocking back and forth in an alarming way in the wind.

Then the heavy work began, and it went on for a long time.

The sea grew increasingly angry in the howling wind.

Invisible from the shore, another rowing boat moved further and further away from Fårö.

THE PASSENGER FERRY
M/S
Stora Karlsö
chugged towards Norderhamn where it sailed through an idyllic bay between steep limestone cliffs. After Yellowstone National Park in the United States, Stora Karlsö was the world’s oldest protected nature preserve, famous above all for the thousands of common guillemots, but also for the orchids that covered the island in the springtime. It wasn’t a big island – just one and half kilometres from north to south, and two kilometres wide.

Stora Karlsö had no year-round inhabitants, but every summer ten thousand tourists visited the island to enjoy its unique flora and fauna.

The group of friends had barely managed to catch the nine-thirty ferry from Klintehamn. They were running late because Håkan had overslept.

Now, as the boat approached the island, Sam and Andrea were standing with John and Beata in the bow, enjoying the view. Håkan had stayed inside, retreating from the others to spend his time intently tapping on his mobile.

Sam watched him through the windows to the passenger area. Håkan seemed anxious, not his usual friendly and easy-going self. His movements were abrupt and frenzied. There were lines around his mouth that weren’t normally there. Last night he had told them that he was worried about his eldest daughter who had moved away from home and now lived alone in Stockholm. Apparently things were even more difficult for her than usual. He was also disappointed that Stina had been forced to go
back to work, even though he knew that there was always that risk when she was on call. Håkan seemed nervous and off balance. He had started squinting, which was a sign that things weren’t going well; it happened only whenever he was tired or in a bad mood.

THE CRIES OF
the guillemots were deafening. The steep slopes were black with thousands of birds crowded on to the narrow ledges. The sea below was full of male birds calling to their broods, and the air was whizzing with females, shrieking as they flew back and forth from the ledges to inspire the fledglings to dare to dive. Dust was settling in a protective layer over the limestone rocks where the young birds, who had not yet tried to fly, prepared for the great dive. Twenty days earlier they had hatched on the ledges, and now it was time for them to leave the cliffs and follow their fathers out to sea. There they would make their way to the southern part of the Baltic by swimming. The birds went all the way to the Polish shores to spend the winter there before returning in the spring to the exact same ledges on Stora Karlsö. The diving occurred over a period of one hour. It always began after ten o’clock at night, when it was more or less dark, or at least as dark as it would get in June. At that time of year it was never truly night. The birds waited until evening because their biggest enemy, the gulls, didn’t see well in the dark, so they wouldn’t be able to take the babies when they dropped like stones towards the ground from a height of 30 or 40 metres.

Each year the ornithologists needed help to capture a couple of thousand baby birds that had to be weighed, measured, and marked before they were allowed to disappear out to sea. This required assistance from the public, and about thirty volunteers would show up every evening until the work was done.

After a short briefing meeting near the lighthouse, the group headed
for the beach, led by a number of researchers. Everyone was wearing warm sweaters and wellington boots. They followed a winding path along the ridge until they came to a sturdy iron ladder that had been bolted to the slope. It was a lengthy and steep climb down to the shore. The beaches around the island were closed during the spring and summer because of the breeding birds. More than six thousand pairs of guillemots and even more pairs of razor-billed auks bred on the ledges of the steep slopes. The closer to the beach the group of volunteers came, the stronger the din from the thousands of male birds waiting out in the water. The activity was intense, even though the diving itself hadn’t yet begun. The shore was rocky and stretched along the full length of the bird cliff. The assistants spread out, while some of the boldest and most nimble in the group made their way out to the big boulders.

Andrea looked up at the steep cliff and could hardly believe her eyes. The ledges were teeming with birds. She caught a glimpse of some of the fledglings peering fearfully over the edge. Incredible that they dived from such a height even though they hadn’t yet begun to fly. The first brave birds hurled themselves off the cliffs and slammed into the ground. One landed right next to her. Terrified, she stared at the baby bird; at first glance it seemed lifeless. But as she went nearer, it shook its head, began peeping, and then dashed for the water. It ran and leaped over the rocks, desperately flapping its embryonic wings.

Andrea managed to catch the bird just as it reached the water’s edge. She held its warm, plump body in her hands. Its little black head turned to her, and then it started nipping at her hand with its sharp beak, which really hurt. She was annoyed that no one had told her to wear gloves. She hurried over to one of the tables where four researchers were busy weighing, measuring and taking DNA samples from the birds that were caught, before tagging them. She was told to put the bird into a cage that stood nearby, and then go back for another. More and more baby birds were dropping from the sky, which made Andrea think about the American film
Magnolia
, which she and Sam had seen a few years back. At the end of the movie frogs started raining down from the heavens. She had the same apocalyptic feeling now.

Nearly all the birds survived the fall because of their round shape: their bodies were like little airbags.

It was intense work. Everyone moved frenetically to catch as many birds as possible, and they soon shed their sweaters and jackets. One bird struck Andrea on the shoulder and another her head. Her friends ran around like lunatics in the dim light. Beata kept uttering little cries whenever tiny balls of fluff thudded down near her slender legs clad in purple-flowered wellingtons. Off in the distance, among the boulders in the most difficult and least accessible places, she glimpsed Sam’s tall form. He was crawling around, trying to reach the birds that landed in the crevices. She paused to watch her husband for a while. Tomorrow she was planning to surprise him with the trip she had booked to Florence.

What a wonderful time they were going to have.

MORNING DAWNED OVER
Stora Karlsö, and after a solitary breakfast, Jakob Ekström headed down to the beach near Hienviken. Yesterday he had left his windsurfing gear there, in an outbuilding intended for that purpose. The forecast said the weather was going to deteriorate later in the day, so he wanted to be sure to go out while it was still nice. The sun was shining, and so far the wind conditions were perfect.

Moving quickly and efficiently, he prepared his gear at the water’s edge and put on his wetsuit. The water was still so cold that it wasn’t wise to stay in for very long.

The bay was quiet and peaceful. Not a soul in sight. The people staying in the nearby cabins were apparently still asleep. He looked at his watch. Nine fifteen. It was high time to get started.

He waded into the water and then hopped up on his board, letting the wind fill the sail. Jakob felt the familiar rush in his stomach as the board picked up speed, racing forward and going faster the further out he went. The speed made his eyes water, and an almost euphoric sense of joy streamed through him. He laughed aloud and hollered into the wind. This is better than anything, he thought.

Clouds were gathering on the horizon, but for now they were staying away.

After an hour of invigorating windsurfing, he was quite a distance out from where he’d started, drifting far from land. His wetsuit felt cold against his body, and his arms were beginning to tire. The weather was rapidly getting worse. It had grown significantly darker, and from far off
he heard a thunderclap. It crashed across the sky. He needed to go back. He turned his board and caught sight of the bird mountain. The steep limestone cliffs plunged straight down to the sea, and on the ledges he glimpsed the swarms of black birds. He gave a start and almost lost his grip on the boom when a seal’s head popped up from the water right next to him. The seal gave him a surprised look and then disappeared again. He remembered that the chief ranger had said that a porpoise had been sighted off the island a few days ago.

Suddenly he realized that he was getting too close to the rough, inaccessible shore with the huge, jutting boulders that were like barriers, keeping away all unwelcome visitors. He’d heard that the chief ranger kept a sharp eye out for anyone who got too close to the nature preserves, whether it was canoeists or windsurfers, and he always reported them to the police. The darkening clouds looked threatening; the rain might arrive sooner than predicted. He looked up at the sky to try to determine how close the storm was now, but when his gaze reached the top of the cliff, he forgot all about focusing on his surfing. Jakob Ekström stood on his board as if paralysed. He would never forget the sight that met his eyes up there. The gruesome scene happened so quickly, taking little more than a few seconds, but it made such a strong impression on him that it became etched into his memory for the rest of his life.

IT WAS WELL
into the morning by the time the friends from Terra Nova began stirring in their cabins down near the water. The first to appear was Beata, with her hair pulled into an untidy bun and her tall, slender body barely covered by a thin nightgown. She stretched luxuriously, yawned, and gazed out at the bay. The sea was rough and the wind had picked up. Thunderclouds were gathering, but the air was still warm. She made a quick trip to the toilet before walking down to the dock. There was no one around. Swiftly she slipped out of her skimpy garment and dived naked into the water. The cold slammed against her chest. She swam far enough out to be able to see the cliffs of the small island. On the horizon she could just make out the contours of Gotland. How strange to see my home island from this perspective, she thought. She turned around and saw Håkan coming down to the dock.

‘Good morning!’ she called. ‘Or maybe I should say good afternoon?’

Håkan waved and then glanced up at the sky.

‘Isn’t it cold in the water? It’s going to start raining any minute.’

‘No, it’s great. Come on in and join me.’

Quickly Håkan threw off his clothes, but he kept on his underwear.

‘Take it all off. You’re not shy, are you?’

A slight hesitation, and then he stripped off his underwear and dived in. A few seconds later his head bobbed up from the water, and he was snorting like a seal.

‘Shit, it’s cold! You could have warned me!’

‘What do you mean?’ called Beata innocently. ‘There was I thinking you were a real Viking!’

It started raining just as Andrea came down to the dock.

‘Good morning,’ she called, waving.

‘Good morning to you, sleepyhead. It’s already past eleven,’ shouted Beata.

‘I don’t know how I could sleep so long. I guess I was worn out from yesterday. I think I caught about thirty baby birds.’

‘Where’s Sam?’ asked Håkan.

‘He was gone when I got up. I thought he was out here with you.’

‘No, we haven’t seen him,’ said Håkan.

‘His painting gear is gone, so he must have gone out to paint. Not exactly great weather for it.’ She looked up at the sky. ‘Maybe it was better earlier. He’s probably sitting somewhere doing his artwork. But I don’t think he’ll be long. The storm is already here.’

Beata and Håkan quickly got out of the water, and then all three of them ran for the cabins, hunching over as the rain suddenly came pouring down.

John joined them as they were making breakfast in the kitchen of one of the cabins. Then they dashed over to the big common room in the old hunting lodge, which had been built in the late 1800s as a gathering place for the members of an aristocratic club dedicated to hunting hares on the island.

They settled in front of the fireplace.