Echoes From the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page A

birch trees behind the old people’s home.
    It wasn’t called an “old people’s home” by those who decided these things any longer, but of course that’s what it was. They were always trying to come up with new words that would sound better, but it was still a collection of old folk bundled together, far too many of whom simply sat around waiting for death.
    A black notebook lay beside a pile of newspapers on the desk, and he reached out and picked it up. After sitting at his desk just staring out of the window for the whole of his first week at the home, Gerlof had pulled himself together and gone into the village to buy the notebook in the little grocery store. Then he’d begun to write.
    The notebook consisted of both thoughts and reminders. He
    wrote down things that had to be done, and crossed them out when they’d been accomplished, except for the reminder shave! which was written at the top of the first page and was never crossed out, as it was a daily task. Shaving was necessary, and was something he’d remembered to do earlier today.
    This was the first thought in the book:
     
    PATIENCE IS WORTH MORE THAN VALOR; BETTER A DISCIPLINED
    HEART THAN A STORMED CITY.
    This was a worthwhile quotation from Proverbs, chapter sixteen.
    Gerlof had started to read the Bible at the age of twelve, and had never stopped.
    At the back of the book were three lines that hadn’t been
    crossed out. They read:
    PAY THIS MONTH’S BILLS.
    JULIA COMING WEDNESDAY EVENING.
    TALK TO ERNST.
    He didn’t need to pay the bills for the telephone, newspapers, the upkeep of his wife Ella’s grave over in the churchyard, and his monthly fees for staying at the home until next week.
    And Julia was on her way, she’d finally promised to come.
    He mustn’t forget about that. He hoped Julia would stay on Oland for a while. After all these years she was still full of sorrow, and he wanted to take her away from that.
    The last reminder was just as important, and also had to do
    with Julia. Ernst was a stonemason in Stenvik, one of the few people who lived there all year round these days. He and Gerlof and their mutual friend John spoke on the telephone every week.
    Sometimes they even sat there in the twilight hour telling each other old stories, something Gerlof really appreciated, even though he’d usually heard them already.
    But one evening a few months earlier, Ernst had come to
    Marnas with a new story: the one about the murder of Gerlof’s grandchild, Jens.
    Gerlof wasn’t at all ready to hear the storyhe didn’t really want to think about little Jensbut Ernst had sat over there on the bed and insisted on telling his tale.
    “I’ve been giving some thought to how it happened,” said
    Ernst quietly.
    “Oh yes,” said Gerlof, sitting at the desk.
    “I just don’t believe your grandchild went down to the sea
    and drowned,” Ernst had said. “I think perhaps he went out onto the alvar in the fog. And I think he met a murderer out there.”
    “A murderer?” said Gerlof.
    Ernst had fallen silent, his callused hands folded on his knee.
    “But who?” Gerlof had asked.
    “Nils Kant,” said Ernst. “I believe it was Nils Kant he met in the fog.”
    Gerlof had just stared at him, but Ernst’s gaze had been
    serious.
    “I really believe that’s what happened,” he said. “I believe Nils Kant came home from the sea, from wherever he’d been, and caused even more misery.”
    He hadn’t really said any more on that occasion. A short story in the twilight hour, but Gerlof hadn’t been able to forget it. He hoped Ernst would soon come back and tell him more.
    Gerlof kept flicking through his notebook. There were far
    fewer thoughts noted down than reminders, and soon he’d got to the end.
    He closed the book. He couldn’t do much more at the desk,
    but remained there anyway, watching the swaying birch trees in the darkness. They reminded him a little of sails in a stiff breeze, and from that thought it wasn’t far to the