Harbour by John Ajvide Lindqvist Page A

words. Eventually he said, ‘My experience of this sort of thing…is that people do this because they feel hate.’
    â€˜And what is it they—or he—hate in cases like this?’
    â€˜Us.’
    Simon looked at the debris on the ground again, at the dented metal box. Rage. All the mailboxes represented the people on the island. Every box was an extension of the person to whom it belonged. A name.
    Göran shrugged. ‘Or else it’s the simple urge to destroy things. How should I know. Sometimes that’s what it is. But usually it isn’t. So what are we going to do about this lot?’
    Any kind of outrage or violent deviation from the norm has a tendency to create gaps in the chain of responsibility: no one guilty, no one responsible. In which case two old men who just happened to be passing can easily end up clearing up the mess. Göran crouched down and started picking up pieces, Simon fetched the rubbish bin from the steps leading to the shop. Then they worked together to gather up the wreckage. When the bin was full, Göran went down to the harbour for an empty barrel, while Simon sat down on the steps and wiped the sweat from his brow.
    So bloody unnecessary. All this trouble just because someone… hates.
    He pulled a face and rubbed his eyes.
    Ha. There’s no end to how much trouble there can be if someone hates hard enough. In fact, we ought to be grateful if it stops at mailboxes.
    â€˜Simon?’
    Simon looked up. Anders was standing in front of him with a letter in his hand, looking around. ‘Where are the mailboxes?’
    Simon explained what had happened, and told Anders to give his letter directly to Mats, who was in fact just on his way up from the harbour with the blue mail crate in his arms. Göran and Holger were following behind.
    Göran had got hold of a roll of black plastic sacks, and started putting the pieces in one of them. Holger pushed his hands into his pockets and stared at Anders.
    â€˜So,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a visitor. When did you get here?’
    â€˜Yesterday.’
    Holger nodded over this nugget of information for a long time. He looked at the others for support, first at Mats and then at Göran, but no support was forthcoming. When the look he got in return from Göran was more annoyed than anything, Holger seemed to remember what the situation was.
    â€˜My condolences on your loss, by the way,’ he managed to squeeze out.
    They talked for a while about what to do about the post. For today, Mats would wait and explain to everyone what had happened. They would all need to get themselves a new mailbox as soon as possible. Meanwhile a plastic bucket with a lid would do instead, or even a bag. As long as everyone put his or her mailbox number on it.
    Anders waved his letter. ‘So what shall I do with this, then? It’s a film to be developed. I wouldn’t like it to get lost.’
    Mats took the letter and promised he would make sure it was sent. Then he gave out the post to those who were there. No letters for Simon, just a newspaper, Norrtelje Tidning , and an advert for some pension fund.
    As Simon and Anders set off home, Göran said, ‘You won’t forget, will you?’
    â€˜No,’ said Simon. ‘I’ll call round one day.’
    They took the route along the shoreline. The jetties belonging to the summer visitors were more or less empty. The odd individual would probably come out at the weekend, but otherwise the season was over for this year.
    â€˜What is it he doesn’t want you to forget?’ asked Anders.
    â€˜Göran moved back here a while ago, when he retired. But he hasn’t got a well, so he wanted me to go over with my divining rod to find him some water.’
    â€˜How do you actually do that?’
    â€˜Practice, practice and more practice.’
    Anders punched Simon playfully on the shoulder. ‘Stop it. That isn’t magic. I