I Am Behind You Read Online Free PDF Page A

They had got to their feet and introduced themselves: ‘Lennart and Olof. Just like the former leaders of the Centre Party.’
    Peter knocks on the door and hears movement from inside. Donald’s caravan had rocked; this one creaks and squeaks, the metal complaining beneath the weight of the person who after a couple of attempts manages to push open the refractory door.
    Peter has no idea whether the man in front of him is Lennart or Olof. They are so alike that he took them for brothers at first. The same round faces and deep-set, kindly brown eyes. The same age, just over fifty, and the same height. The same bodies marked by hardwork, the same strong, callused hands.
    The man is wearing a pair of blue dungarees with only one shoulder strap fastened. He blinks at the light, at Peter.
    ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I’ll just…’
    He concentrates on the other strap and Peter peers into the caravan. Then he takes a step back so that the angle is different. So that he can’t see.
    With the strap in place, the man looks back at Peter, surprised to find him in a slightly different spot.
    ‘Good morning?’ he says.
    Peter is still confused by what he saw inside the caravan. ‘Er…The thing is…It’s…’
    The view from the caravan is not obscured by an awning, so Peter contents himself with waving his hand at the surroundings. The man looks around, leans out so that he can see to the right and the left, then stares up at the sky as he murmurs: ‘Well I’ll be…’
    ‘I don’t know any more than you,’ Peter says. ‘Perhaps we ought to have a meeting, all of us who are here. Talk about what we’re going to do.’
    The man looks back at Peter. There is something transparent about the deep-set eyes now, as if a fragment of the sky has settled there. He shakes his head and says: ‘Do?’
    ‘Yes. We have to…do something.’
    ‘What can we do?’
    Presumably the man is in shock, which is hardly surprising under the circumstances. Peter raises a clenched fist—the captain rallying the team before a match—and says: ‘We’ll have a meeting. Okay?’
    Without waiting for a response he turns and sets off towards his own caravan. Behind him he hears the man’s voice: ‘Olof, wake up. You have to see this.’
    So Peter must have been talking to Lennart. He rubs his scalp, hard. There is a lot to take in this morning, because through the open door he saw the farmers’ bed. A double bed with a substantial body under the covers on one side. The other side was empty.
    Peter isn’t particularly bigoted, as far as he knows. But the thought of those two old men…it’s hard to imagine. Really hard. Peter massages his scalp, trying to erase the picture. He has enough to think about without that.
    What can we do?
    That’s the question. Personally, he has no idea. He doesn’t know why he has taken it upon himself to go around and wake people, but he felt as if someone ought to do it. He can no longer remember why he felt that way. To avoid being alone, perhaps.
    *
    Five packets of instant noodles.
    Just over a kilo of rice.
    Half a box of macaroni.
    Two tins of chopped tomatoes.
    Two tins of sweetcorn.
    Two onions.
    A kilo of potatoes.
    Four large carrots.
    One pepper.
    Half-full bags of oats, flour and sugar.
    Lingonberry jam, apple sauce.
    One litre of milk, one litre of yoghurt.
    Four eggs.
    Half a packet of crispbread, three slices of white bread.
    Herbs and spices.
    No meat, no fish. They were supposed to be going shopping today.
    ‘At least the water tank is full,’ Stefan says.
    *
    The area between the caravans is not large. A hundred square metres perhaps—half a tennis court. The occupants have gathered in thisspace. They are discussing what has happened as if it were some rare natural phenomenon—being transported to a different place, or the fact that their surroundings have disappeared.
    Carina is not alone in doubting the authenticity of what they are experiencing. Majvor, Donald’s wife, also thinks they