up and silent.
“Hello?” she called.
The wind muted her cry, and no one replied.
A broad path made of crushed limestone led to the door at
the side of the house, where there was a bell.
Julia went over and rang it.
Still no reply. But the car was here, so where was Ernst?
She rang again, keeping her finger pressed on the bell. Nothing happened.
An impulse made her try the door. It was unlocked and swung
open, like an invitation.
She poked her head in.
“Hello?”
No one replied. The light was off and the hallway was dark.
She listened for the sounds of heavy footsteps and a cane tapping along the floor, but there was only silence.
He’s not at homego and see Gerlof, urged her inner voice. But she was too curious. Didn’t people on Oland lock their doors when they went out? Did they still trust each other so much?
welcome, it said on a green plastic mat by the door. Julia
wiped her feet a couple of times and walked in.
“Hello?” she said. “Ernst? It’s Julia. Gerlof’s daughter …”
From the ceiling in the hallway hung a mobile of small wooden ships, sailing around in the draft. To the right lay a kitchen; it was clean and tidy, with a small table and two wooden chairs. To the left was a bedroom with a narrow bed, which was made.
The hallway led into a living room with a sofa, a television, and a big picture window overlooking the quarry and the blue sound beyond. There were piles of newspapers and books on the table, but the living room was empty too. On one wall was a hexagonal clock made of polished limestone, with the hands made of slate.
The only remarkable thing about the house was the fact that
the clock appeared to be the only thing made of stone. Did Ernst get enough of it when he was outdoors?
She moved back into the hallway and looked around a couple
of times, as if some unknown attacker might leap out of a crack in the walls. She went back outside and closed the door carefully.
Julia stood there motionless in the sunshine, unsure of what to do next. Ernst Adolfsson was bound to be around somewhere out here: he had merely forgotten to lock his door.
She looked over toward the stone sculptures on the quarry’s
edge. Beside them was a small shed painted red and surrounded by birch trees; in a pile outside the shed lay several blocks of stone and rocks of different sizes. Some bore the signs of having been worked on, but looked incomplete. Some resembled misshapen human beings, Julia thought. She could see deformed faces and black eye sockets in the stone, and it made her think of trolls who stole away human children and took them inside the mountain forever. Gerlof had told her that when the quarry workers’ tools went missing in times gone by, they always blamed the troll. It was unthinkable that any of their fellow workers might have stolen them.
She tore her gaze away from the stones and again looked over toward the completed, polished works of art by the sheer cliff edge above the quarry. Small lighthouses, round well lids, tall sundials, and a couple of broad gravestones. The nameplates on the gravestones were still empty.
Something was missing. There was a wide space in the long
row of sculptures, and Julia moved closer. She had seen something from the other side of the quarry the previous evening: the tall church tower that resembled the one up in Marnas was gone.
A small shallow depression gaped in the gravel by the cliff edge above the quarry.
Julia slowly walked forward between the polished stones, and the quarry opened up in front of her like an enormous empty pool.
The quarry wasn’t deep here, just a few yards, but the drop
was sheer. She stood by the edge, looking silently out across the barren, stony landscape, and suddenly caught sight of the tall church tower immediately below her. It had fallen from the edge, straight down into the quarry, and landed on its side. The top of the tower was pointing westward, toward the water.
The church tower hadn’t
“Hello?” she called.
The wind muted her cry, and no one replied.
A broad path made of crushed limestone led to the door at
the side of the house, where there was a bell.
Julia went over and rang it.
Still no reply. But the car was here, so where was Ernst?
She rang again, keeping her finger pressed on the bell. Nothing happened.
An impulse made her try the door. It was unlocked and swung
open, like an invitation.
She poked her head in.
“Hello?”
No one replied. The light was off and the hallway was dark.
She listened for the sounds of heavy footsteps and a cane tapping along the floor, but there was only silence.
He’s not at homego and see Gerlof, urged her inner voice. But she was too curious. Didn’t people on Oland lock their doors when they went out? Did they still trust each other so much?
welcome, it said on a green plastic mat by the door. Julia
wiped her feet a couple of times and walked in.
“Hello?” she said. “Ernst? It’s Julia. Gerlof’s daughter …”
From the ceiling in the hallway hung a mobile of small wooden ships, sailing around in the draft. To the right lay a kitchen; it was clean and tidy, with a small table and two wooden chairs. To the left was a bedroom with a narrow bed, which was made.
The hallway led into a living room with a sofa, a television, and a big picture window overlooking the quarry and the blue sound beyond. There were piles of newspapers and books on the table, but the living room was empty too. On one wall was a hexagonal clock made of polished limestone, with the hands made of slate.
The only remarkable thing about the house was the fact that
the clock appeared to be the only thing made of stone. Did Ernst get enough of it when he was outdoors?
She moved back into the hallway and looked around a couple
of times, as if some unknown attacker might leap out of a crack in the walls. She went back outside and closed the door carefully.
Julia stood there motionless in the sunshine, unsure of what to do next. Ernst Adolfsson was bound to be around somewhere out here: he had merely forgotten to lock his door.
She looked over toward the stone sculptures on the quarry’s
edge. Beside them was a small shed painted red and surrounded by birch trees; in a pile outside the shed lay several blocks of stone and rocks of different sizes. Some bore the signs of having been worked on, but looked incomplete. Some resembled misshapen human beings, Julia thought. She could see deformed faces and black eye sockets in the stone, and it made her think of trolls who stole away human children and took them inside the mountain forever. Gerlof had told her that when the quarry workers’ tools went missing in times gone by, they always blamed the troll. It was unthinkable that any of their fellow workers might have stolen them.
She tore her gaze away from the stones and again looked over toward the completed, polished works of art by the sheer cliff edge above the quarry. Small lighthouses, round well lids, tall sundials, and a couple of broad gravestones. The nameplates on the gravestones were still empty.
Something was missing. There was a wide space in the long
row of sculptures, and Julia moved closer. She had seen something from the other side of the quarry the previous evening: the tall church tower that resembled the one up in Marnas was gone.
A small shallow depression gaped in the gravel by the cliff edge above the quarry.
Julia slowly walked forward between the polished stones, and the quarry opened up in front of her like an enormous empty pool.
The quarry wasn’t deep here, just a few yards, but the drop
was sheer. She stood by the edge, looking silently out across the barren, stony landscape, and suddenly caught sight of the tall church tower immediately below her. It had fallen from the edge, straight down into the quarry, and landed on its side. The top of the tower was pointing westward, toward the water.
The church tower hadn’t
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