The Stonecutter Read Online Free PDF

is true for Frida?’
    ‘Yes, she’s been at home with me the whole time, so if she had talked to Sara I would have known. And she was annoyed that Sara never showed up, so I’m quite sure they didn’t talk to each other.’
    ‘Well then, I don’t suppose we have much more to ask you.’
    With a voice that quavered a bit Veronika asked, ‘How is Charlotte doing?’
    ‘As can be expected under the circumstances,’ was the only answer Patrik could give her.
    In Veronika’s eyes he recognized the horror that all mothers must feel when they picture their own child a victim of an accident. He saw, too, her relief that this time it was someone else’s child and not her own. He couldn’t blame her. His own thoughts had all too often shifted to Maja in the past hour. Visions of her little body, limp and lifeless, had forced their way in and made his heart skip a few beats. He too was grateful that his own daughter was safe. The feeling may not have been honorable, but it was human.

3
    Strömstad 1923
    He made a practiced judgment of where the stone would be easiest to cleave and then brought the hammer down on the chisel. The granite split precisely where he had calculated it would. He smiled. Experience had taught him well over the years, but natural talent was also a large part of it. You either had it or you didn’t.
    Anders Andersson had loved the stone since he had first come to work at the quarry as a small boy, and the stone loved him. But it was a profession that took its toll on a man. The granite dust bothered his lungs more and more with each passing year, and the chips that flew from the stone could either ruin a man’s eyesight in a day, or cloud his vision over time. It was impossible to do the job properly wearing gloves, so in winter his fingers would freeze and in the summer the broiling heat rising off the stones made him sweat profusely. And yet there was nothing else he would rather do. Whether he was cutting the four-inch cubic paving stones called ‘two-örings’ that were used to construct roads, or he had the privilege of working on something more advanced, he loved every laborious and painful minute. He knew this was the work he was born to do. At twenty-eight, his back already ached constantly, and the least dampness gave him an interminable cough, but he didn’t care. He focused all his energy on the task before him, which allowed him to forget his ailments and feel only the angular hardness of the stone beneath his fingers.
    Granite was the most beautiful stone he knew. As so many stonecutters had done over the years, he had come to the province of Bohuslän from Blekinge, where the granite was considerably more difficult to work. Having honed their skills on much less tractable material, the cutters from Blekinge enjoyed great respect. He had been here for three years, attracted by the granite right from the start. There was something beautiful about the pink color against the gray, and the ingenuity it took to cleave the stone correctly appealed to him. Sometimes he talked to the stone as he worked, cajoling it if it was an unusually difficult piece, or caressing it lovingly if it was easy to work and soft like a woman.
    Not that he lacked interest from women themselves. Like the other unmarried cutters, he’d had his amusements when the occasion presented itself, but so far no woman had ever made his heart sing. He’d learned to accept that. He got along fine on his own. He was also well liked by the other fellows in his crew, who often invited him over for a home-cooked meal. And he had the stone, which was both more beautiful and more faithful than most of the women he had encountered. He and the stone had a good partnership.
    ‘Hey, Andersson, can you come over here for a moment?’ The foreman’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
    Anders put down his chisel and turned around. He felt a mixture of anticipation and alarm. If the foreman wanted something from you, it was either good