Strange Bird (2013) Page 3

  With his hands full he approached Sir Toby and saw immediately that the pigeon was not healthy. His eyes were dull and his feathers untidy and ruffled. And it was the same with Panic. He didn’t look well either, and he had diarrhea too. Ruben took his wrinkled handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. This was not good. The biggest young pigeon race of the year and he had illness in his flock. Yet they had been vaccinated, although for what he couldn’t say right offhand. It was Cederroth who brought the bottle with him. The syringes and the needles were still in the drawer in the cupboard next to the cages. This was really too bad. If he called the veterinarian the rumor would spread to the other guys in the club and he would mercilessly be denied entry into the competition with his pigeons.

  It must be resolved some other way. With discretion. Ruben sat down on a stool by the window and leaned his head against the wall while he thought. Out in the garden Berit Hoas was taking in laundry. Under the kitchen towels she had hung up her salmon-pink unmentionables, so no one would see she had washed them. What a god-awful color—salmon-pink. Ruben chuckled to himself. Berit had never married either. No wonder, with such solid underclothing. There was no place for levity and shameless display. He had seen the slips and corsets swaying in the wind from his outlook in the dovecote and they were at least as terrifying as the salmon-pink underpants with legs.

  But, undergarments aside, Berit had her good sides, of course. She was not one to run around gossiping and she was helpful. Perhaps he could ask Berit for advice. Ruben took out his cell phone. He did not use it very often. The buttons still felt unfamiliar. He had it mostly because the other old guys in the homing pigeon club had cell phones.

  “Berit Hoas,” she said, and Ruben said his name and explained his predicament.

  “I think they need medicine, but it’s awkward to talk to the vet. You don’t have anything at home? Something strong?”

  “Penicillin, you mean. I think I have a little left in a bottle from when my sister had tonsillitis. She can’t swallow tablets so she got liquid medicine, but it tasted so disgusting she stopped after half the round when she was feeling better. I got the rest in case she infected me while I was there. Although I never needed it.”

  Ruben smiled and his spirits rose immediately from the good news, despite the fever. “If you can spare those few drops I’ll be eternally grateful to you.”

  “Are you sure it’s a good thing to give penicillin to the pigeons? I mean—can you give animals and humans the same medicine?” Her voice had become astringent, the teacher’s voice he had never liked and which demanded an answer.

  “Absolutely. It’ll work out fine. Do you think you can bring the medicine over to me? I’m up in the dovecote.”

  If he were to draw the medicine up in a syringe and then remove the needle he could feed it right into the beak, just like Angela did when she fed the pigeon the hawk had attacked. Angela, Angela, Angela. This wasn’t working. He had to stop this foolishness now and think about something else. Ruben scratched his beard stubble. He had definitely forgotten to shave.

  “There was a painting salesman here yesterday,” said Berit while she puffed up the steps. “Was he at your place too?”

  “No.” Ruben had not seen anyone the whole day yesterday. In the morning he had gone down to the harbor and bought fish. But after that he stayed home. “I don’t like people wandering around here. Maybe we should be more careful about locking up.”

  “I thought it was so sad,” said Berit. “He didn’t know any Swedish, but he had a piece of paper where it said in English that he needed money because his son needs a new kidney.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t like them begging for money. Didn’t he have a job?” Ruben muttered a long string of oaths to himself while he waited for her to come up the steps.

  “He paints pictures. Really beautiful pictures with the sea and reeds and boats and—”

  “Did you buy a painting from him? Then we’re going to have them swarming around here, you can bet on that.”

  “I felt sorry for him. Imagine if you had a boy who was sick and needed a new kidney. Imagine that, Ruben. Then you would probably do anything at all to get the money.”

  Chapter 4

  The next day Ruben did not wake up until eleven o’clock. A persistent fly was wandering over the bridge of his nose. He did not have the energy to swat it. The sheets were sour with sweat and were wrapped around his legs. It was thirst that drove him out of bed. His tongue felt like a chunk of wood in his mouth and the dizziness made him grab the bookcase, which swayed alarmingly and almost fell on top of him. When he had drunk from the faucet he realized that he would not have the strength to make it up the steps to the outbuilding to give the pigeons feed. The fact was he barely had the strength to go back to bed. The last stretch he crawled on his knees while his chest heaved like a bellows. He didn’t feel like he was getting enough air. Every breath hurt and his muscles ached. As he pulled himself up over the edge of the bed he was like a drowning man taking hold of the railing of the boat. Only by summoning his last ounce of strength could he heave himself up.

  He would have to ask Berit to look after the pigeons. Maybe, if a miracle occurred and he got better, he would still make the deployment of the homing pigeons tomorrow. Ruben decided not to call Cederroth until he was absolutely compelled to drop out. Berit he would call right away. But as soon as he put his head on the pillow, he felt himself gliding away. Berit, he was going to call Berit. Soon. Just wanted to wait a little and rest. Close his eyes a little, just a little while and then he’d call …

  When he woke up it was three o’clock in the afternoon. Ruben sat up with a jerk and then fell back on the pillow. His head felt like it was bursting when he coughed and his chest rattled. Berit. He had to call that very minute. Someone had to look after the pigeons. His arm felt heavy as lead as he raised it to reach the cell phone. It was a great relief when she answered at the first ring. Of course she could give them water and feed. Not right now, but a little later in the evening. If he would just tell her what he wanted done. Neighbors should help out. As luck would have it, he had left the outbuilding unlocked and didn’t need to get up again to give her the key. Now that it was arranged, he could go back to sleep a little. Release his hold and go with the wave out toward rest.

  And she came to see him over the sea as he had hoped. Angela the angelic. She cupped her hands and filled them with water. Drink. And he leaned forward to drink from her hands, but just as his lips reached the surface of the water she pulled them back. His thirst was excruciating, but the answer to the riddle she had asked was the requirement for him to satisfy his thirst and she vanished in the waves when he hesitated. The fear of losing her again made him beside himself. The sea was endless. Would he ever see her again? He sank down and searched the seabed. His mouth was dry and he tried to drink the water where he was lying, but it was salty and brown from rotten seaweed. Angela! He never should have let her go. Then he felt her hand against his cheek. He heard her, but was unable to open his eyes and could not understand everything she was saying. But the voice was Angela’s.

  “I came,” she said. “At last I came. Are you still angry with me?” He took hold of her hands and pulled her to him. He breathed in her scent. It was just like then, sweet and full of summer.

  “You came.” And everything he wanted to say and ask about her sickness and about the little girl whose name was Mikaela and about the time that had passed became a wordless stream of mutual understanding.

  “I’m thirsty.” When she handed him the glass he drank until it was empty. With this toast, everything was reconciled and forgotten, and only the present was left and her soft skin against his bare arm. Angela. She was running over the meadow with outstretched arms, just like then. He struggled to keep her there but the dreams were leading him farther away and suddenly he was sitting on Grandfather Rune’s lap in the good, warm silence where all dreams were allowed, everything was understood, and nothing had to b
e explained.

  “I’m thirsty.”

  Angela was standing over him again and her face was like the sun and he smiled back. I never want to be apart from you again. As he raised his hand to caress her cheek she was transformed before his eyes and the face was rubbed out and assumed the graying form of Berit Hoas.

  “How are you feeling, Ruben? You don’t look healthy at all.”

  “I was on the bottom. I couldn’t get air, but it’s better now. A dove came, a present. Did you see her? She was here.”

  “You know, Ruben, I think you’re delirious. You must have a high fever. I think you should go to the hospital. It’s too bad I don’t have a driver’s license; otherwise I would wrap you in a blanket and drive you into town. Perhaps we could call Cederroth?”

  “Never. Then she won’t find me when she comes back. I have to stay here.”

  Berit shook her head at his foolishness. “Would you like a little something to drink? I set a pitcher here on the night table and then I brought a twig of mock orange for you so you would notice the scent when you woke up. I know how much you like that. I’ve seen you standing there sniffing at it sometimes. Have you eaten anything at all today? No, I doubt it. There’s a little of the omelet left.”

  “I don’t have the energy and my throat hurts when I swallow. It will have to wait until tomorrow.”

  “I think you should go to the doctor. I definitely think so.” Berit looked at his feverish eyes and the damp sheets. “You may have pneumonia. That’s not something to play around with at your age, Ruben.”

  “No. I’ll take a couple of Tylenol and I’ll be better tomorrow. It will be fine. I’m okay.”

  Without convincing him to get help, Berit Hoas went over to the outbuilding to look after the pigeons. People always said that Ruben Nilsson was contrary and headstrong, and they were quite right. It would be hard another man so bullheaded. He never let anyone get close to him, seldom left his house even to go to the store, and did not associate with anyone except the old men in the homing pigeon club and his dead ancestors. He was often up there at the cemetery, and a number of people told her they had heard him talking out loud to himself as he walked around raking the graves.

  How peculiar do you have to be to be considered sick? It was if he lived in the borderland and did not have strength enough to choose a side. He should go to the hospital. Perhaps they could do something about his head too while he was there. What a strange old curmudgeon he was! Maybe she should have called Cederroth anyway and asked him to try to take Ruben into town with him. Berit opened the door to the outbuilding and listened to the cooing sound from the nests. There was a dead pigeon in a galvanized tub by the door. She went up the stairs with effort. The first thing she noticed were the binoculars sitting by the window that faced her garden. Had he been sitting here spying on her, that old coot? She was about to get really angry when it occurred to her that naturally he was watching the pigeons. Of course, to think anything else was unfair to him. He would stand with his binoculars and watch as they circled over the roofs. From a distance he could see which pigeon it was and identify it by name. Panic, Sir Toby, or whatever their names were.

  There was a dead pigeon right above the steps and another one between the cages, and the two who had been given penicillin the day before were dead too. He should have listened to her. It’s not a certainty that animals and people do well from taking the same medicine. When Berit found three more dead pigeons she started to think seriously about what had happened. Did the hawk get in, or a polecat? She had heard stories about henhouses where a polecat got in and then all the hens were found dead. Polecats kill for sport. Kill until all life is extinguished, without needing to do so to feed themselves, not so different from humans in that respect. She looked around with a shudder. Or was there perhaps something in the water that was making the animals sick? Ruben had a separate well he took water from for the garden. As far as she knew it was not approved as drinking water. But he also had municipal water. Could he have given the pigeons bad water? Seven dead pigeons besides the one lying down there in the galvanized tub, that was not good at all. Should she tell Ruben or should she leave it until he felt better? Right now he didn’t have the strength to do anything about it anyway. She decided to spare him the bad news for the moment.

  Berit Hoas sat down in front of the TV with her knitting. She was used to solitude, yet it felt silent and empty in the house. She was actually retired, but when she got the invitation to serve food at the soccer camp she could not refuse the offer. She missed her work in the cafeteria at Klinte School. She liked the children and they liked her. Even though there were so many of them she got to know them quickly and prided herself on knowing which foods they liked and didn’t like. If Pelle ate poorly a couple of days in a row she tried to change the menu a little so he got something he liked, and when Sofia poked at her food three days running Berit cautiously asked how things were going and Sofia told her that her mom and dad were planning to separate. It was the same with Gabriel. He sat on a stool in the kitchen with Berit after school and said that his whole tummy was sad because his rabbit was dead. It got a cold and was given penicillin and then it got diarrhea from the penicillin and then it got an overbite and then it died. He brought the dead rabbit with him to school in a shoebox and together they buried it under a tree by the creek, and Gabriel played “Three Blind Mice” on his recorder in farewell.

  It felt cold and raw in the old stone house. Berit went to get a cardigan and put on a cup of tea. But the chill in her body would not go away. She was not feeling well. Her muscles felt stiff and strange. She wasn’t getting sick, was she? She had a job to do. The children needed food. The TV news was on. She must have fallen asleep for a while and missed part of the program. She couldn’t understand how it was all connected: was it the present or the past or a film she had seen … there was a stock report. It used to be that ordinary people didn’t pay any attention to the stock exchange, and now the numbers took up more and more of the TV screen. She must have fallen sound asleep in her chair. Toward dawn she woke up, sweaty and cold at the same time. She took a detour to the kitchen and drank some water before she set the clock for six and went to bed.

  It was difficult to wake up a few hours later. She almost struck her head on the kitchen table when she nodded off over the news in the morning paper about the annual gathering of politicians in Almedalen. Was it that time again? Berit washed herself quickly in the sink instead of taking a shower as she had intended. If she was just able to get lunch for the children she free for the day. In the evening they would grill hot dogs down on the beach and play Kubb. She could manage the morning hours even if she was feverish and coming down with a cold. She shouldn’t have sat out in the wind peeling potatoes. You have to be careful not to get cold.

  If on this morning Berit Hoas had followed her initial instinct to check on Ruben Nilsson, several lives might have been saved. But she didn’t have the energy. Not then. Not later either, when she came home after serving lunch at the soccer camp. As soon as she was inside the walls of her house she collapsed on the bed. The headache made her nauseated and she couldn’t stop coughing. When she had to rush to the toilet to avoid an accident, she started wondering about the creamed morels she had shared with Ruben. Could it be that through her good intentions she had poisoned them both? She knew they were morels and she had parboiled them exactly the way it said in the cookbook. Could she have misunderstood something or mixed in an inedible mushroom? She had to call Ruben. If she could just rest for a little while she would call him later.

  It didn’t turn out that way. Instead she was wakened an hour later by a hard knocking on the door and Cederroth’s deep bellowing out on the porch.

  “Open up, Berit! Open up! Something terrible has happened! You’re not going to believe it unless you see it yourself. It’s too awful! Damn it, it’s worse than awful! I can’t even say how awful it is!”

  Chapter 5

  “Calm down, Petter,
and tell me what it is.” Berit Hoas was holding onto the doorframe; everything was swimming before her eyes. All she wanted to do was crawl back into bed. Her whole body ached and her eyes were stinging and now she was standing in a draft in the doorway. Cederroth was gesturing and whimpering like a dog. He was usually fairly wound up when he was telling stories, but this was going to extremes. She couldn’t deal with him right now and was about to shut the door when he said, “Ruben’s pigeons are dead. Every single one. Do you get what I’m saying, Berit? Every single damn bird has its legs in the air! What is going on? I banged on the kitchen door but the old man doesn’t answer. Do you think he may have had a fit and killed them? You know how he is.”

  “I don’t know, Petter.”

  “He has pigeons that are worth five thousand kronor apiece or more. The lunatic could have sold them or given them away. What has he done? Gassed them, given them arsenic? I don’t get it! He didn’t come to the pigeon deployment, even though he has every chance of winning the competition. Of course you wonder. He could have phoned anyway. Someone must have said something that put his nose out of joint.”