the household would be less. But in just this case she didn’t care about that. She had to have that alarm. The sooner the better and definitely before Henrik went to Barcelona.
“Who installs that sort of thing?” he asked. “Is it a locksmith, or what?”
“Locksmiths and security companies, but I don’t know what there is in Visby.”
“We’ll have to check that out and then we’ll drive into town and talk with them.”
He smiled at her and she smiled back. She felt a warm, pleasant feeling spreading from her abdomen and out into her body. It was bizarre, but the thought of installing an advanced alarm and monitoring system made her happy and calm.
15.
Malin coasted down the hill to the mailboxes and the big pile of logs. An early morning with an intense blue sky over the green meadows always made her feel that life was a lot easier. It was as if the world was smiling at her. The headwind was blowing nicely as she rode her bicycle, bare-legged under the dress she had put on, to retrieve the newspaper.
She thought about the work she had neglected the past week. She had written her posts, but thought they had turned out dry and unimaginative. Boring food. But today felt different. She was inspired and eager to get started and work. Perhaps it was because they had decided to buy the alarm? It made her feel active. She hated being a victim of circumstances. There was almost always something you could do so that things would get better. It wasn’t enough to sit and wait for someone else to do it for you.
The hill leveled out and Malin pedaled the last stretch over to the mailboxes. It was a motley collection of mailboxes, sheet metal, and plastic in various sizes. She braked in front of the carmine metal mailbox they had inherited from the former owner.
With both feet on the ground and the bicycle leaned against her leg, she stuck her hand down in the dark interior of the mailbox. The newspapers from Stockholm and Gotland were lukewarm against her hand from the sun shining on the metal. Before she got the newspapers all the way out of the mailbox something glided away under her fingers. It fell back down into the mailbox. Malin squeezed the newspapers under her left arm and fished again with her right hand. She was certain that it was an advertising brochure that came with one of the newspapers.
She saw with surprise that it was a letter. No mail should have come this early in the day. When she turned over the brown envelope she saw that it lacked stamps as well as an address.
For some reason, she raised her eyes and looked over toward their home. The house, the studio, and the guest wing. Then her hands started shaking. Soon she was shaking all over. She held the anonymous envelope with both hands. The morning papers fell to the ground. She hardly noticed. She only cared about the taped envelope that she did not want to open, but that she had to open. She took a deep breath and tried to force back the presentiment of what the letter contained. There was a good chance it was only a mailing from the local historical society or the parish or another one of the languishing but stubbornly struggling small associations on the island.
Malin stuck her thumbnail in the opening and tore open a bit of the flap, then got her thumb in and tore open the rest, quickly and carelessly.
She immediately recognized the photograph that was in the envelope. Only she and Henrik were in that picture. It was an amateur photo taken one morning at Kakan three and a half years ago. Malin had on a black apron and striped sweater, the same uniform as all the employees. She was sitting with Henrik at one of the round mosaic tables in the corner in the back. Henrik often stopped by in the mornings when he had left the day care, if he had time. They sat with their heads close together over the table. A slightly silly, but nevertheless romantic gesture.
Even before Malin pulled out the photograph into the light with trembling fingers
“Who installs that sort of thing?” he asked. “Is it a locksmith, or what?”
“Locksmiths and security companies, but I don’t know what there is in Visby.”
“We’ll have to check that out and then we’ll drive into town and talk with them.”
He smiled at her and she smiled back. She felt a warm, pleasant feeling spreading from her abdomen and out into her body. It was bizarre, but the thought of installing an advanced alarm and monitoring system made her happy and calm.
15.
Malin coasted down the hill to the mailboxes and the big pile of logs. An early morning with an intense blue sky over the green meadows always made her feel that life was a lot easier. It was as if the world was smiling at her. The headwind was blowing nicely as she rode her bicycle, bare-legged under the dress she had put on, to retrieve the newspaper.
She thought about the work she had neglected the past week. She had written her posts, but thought they had turned out dry and unimaginative. Boring food. But today felt different. She was inspired and eager to get started and work. Perhaps it was because they had decided to buy the alarm? It made her feel active. She hated being a victim of circumstances. There was almost always something you could do so that things would get better. It wasn’t enough to sit and wait for someone else to do it for you.
The hill leveled out and Malin pedaled the last stretch over to the mailboxes. It was a motley collection of mailboxes, sheet metal, and plastic in various sizes. She braked in front of the carmine metal mailbox they had inherited from the former owner.
With both feet on the ground and the bicycle leaned against her leg, she stuck her hand down in the dark interior of the mailbox. The newspapers from Stockholm and Gotland were lukewarm against her hand from the sun shining on the metal. Before she got the newspapers all the way out of the mailbox something glided away under her fingers. It fell back down into the mailbox. Malin squeezed the newspapers under her left arm and fished again with her right hand. She was certain that it was an advertising brochure that came with one of the newspapers.
She saw with surprise that it was a letter. No mail should have come this early in the day. When she turned over the brown envelope she saw that it lacked stamps as well as an address.
For some reason, she raised her eyes and looked over toward their home. The house, the studio, and the guest wing. Then her hands started shaking. Soon she was shaking all over. She held the anonymous envelope with both hands. The morning papers fell to the ground. She hardly noticed. She only cared about the taped envelope that she did not want to open, but that she had to open. She took a deep breath and tried to force back the presentiment of what the letter contained. There was a good chance it was only a mailing from the local historical society or the parish or another one of the languishing but stubbornly struggling small associations on the island.
Malin stuck her thumbnail in the opening and tore open a bit of the flap, then got her thumb in and tore open the rest, quickly and carelessly.
She immediately recognized the photograph that was in the envelope. Only she and Henrik were in that picture. It was an amateur photo taken one morning at Kakan three and a half years ago. Malin had on a black apron and striped sweater, the same uniform as all the employees. She was sitting with Henrik at one of the round mosaic tables in the corner in the back. Henrik often stopped by in the mornings when he had left the day care, if he had time. They sat with their heads close together over the table. A slightly silly, but nevertheless romantic gesture.
Even before Malin pulled out the photograph into the light with trembling fingers
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