Some Kind of Peace by Camilla Grebe, Åsa Träff Page A

a movement. The sheet farthest to the right flutters and I hear a muted snap. Then another twig snaps, a sturdier one this time. Much too big to have been broken by Ziggy’s dainty, lithe feline body. It’s the kind of twig that breaks only under a heavy weight. Only a large animal or a human being could have broken a branch like that. I know it’s so. My entire body knows it’s so.
    My stomach clenches and my grip on the flashlight gets firmer. Suddenly I am aware of how I must look, standing there in only a swimming suit, the gigantic flashlight held out in front of me in my right hand like a crucifix, as if I believe it can keep whatever lies in the dark ahead away from me.
    I stay standing stock-still for a moment, then I run back to the house and slam the door behind me. I collapse inside the door and with trembling fingers start picking out the needles from the soles of my feet.
    •  •  •
    Perhaps what is about to happen is caused by my fruitless search for Ziggy and the persistent feeling that someone was outside my house, someone saw me half naked and shivering as I looked for my cat among the pines, with a flashlight as my only weapon.
    I feel depressed, afraid, and alone, and decide to console myself withthe last bottle of rosé in the refrigerator. As it turns out, I drink more glasses than I thought I would, and when the bottle is empty I treat myself to a little red wine as well. I drift off into a restless, dreamless sleep lying on the lumpy, uncomfortable couch under a plaid blanket, with the stereo on way too loud. That’s why I don’t hear the phone ringing at first; it rings many times before I finally wake up and answer. The connection crackles and whistles, and I can hear only with difficulty what the gentle, androgynous voice is saying.
    “I’m looking for Siri Bergman.”
    “This is she.”
    “Hi, I’m calling from the emergency room at Stockholm South Hospital…”
    “Yes?”
    “A friend of yours was admitted here this evening, Aina Davidsson…”
    I can’t seem to formulate a reasonable reaction to this. Is Aina at the hospital?
    “…and she would really like you to come. She was run over by a motorcyclist on Folkungagatan.”
    “Oh, my God, is she okay?”
    The voice hesitates for a moment.
    “Well… it’s serious but not critical. She has a head injury that we’re a little concerned about. If everything goes as planned, we will transfer her shortly up to the intensive care unit… So that we can keep an eye on her.”
    If everything goes as planned?
    “We’re taking good care of her, you don’t need to worry, but as I said, she would really like you to come. Preferably as soon as possible.”
    My stomach is knotted with fear and hunger as I lean against the kitchen counter. Images of Aina’s face flicker before my eyes. I pull a cereal box from the shelf and quickly stuff a couple fistfuls of muesli in my mouth and pour myself another glass of wine to wash it down. Two big gulps.
    It’s been so long since I last drove my car that I can barely find the car keys. I fumble with the ignition in the dark, and it takes me a while toturn on the headlights. I feel nauseous and dizzy, and a throbbing pain is growing stronger and stronger beneath my skull and between my eyes. It’s as if an angry animal were desperately trying to escape from my head through my eye sockets. I am forced to hold on to the steering wheel so I don’t fall out when I lean over to shut the car door. I know I shouldn’t be driving, but Aina is my best friend and one thing is clear to me: I could not cope with losing her, too.
    The night is dark, and the narrow, curvy road meanders treacherously through the quiet landscape. I am driving very slowly but still manage to end up twice with the front wheel on the grass at the side of the road.
    As I approach Värmdö church, I notice a dark car behind me for the first time. It follows me through the city. But I don’t give it any more thought.
    Not