As I completed my preparations, dusk began to steal over the lake. Time had flown by, and my undertakings had been more demanding than I’d expected. And since Ulrika was working in Stockholm, there was no real reason for me to rush home. All that remained was to bid farewell to Robin. I was hoping to avoid Stella to keep from annoying her even further. It was largely thanks to Robin that the camp was having such success once again, there was no denying it. I was so pleased that everything had gone well. A great weight had lifted from my chest, and I enjoyed every crisp breath on my way across the courtyard.
The camp was held at a conference retreat center that was made up of three separate long buildings. The main building contained the dining room, kitchen, and common room; directly across the courtyard was the dormitory. Not far off, partially hidden behind the trunks of tall beeches, was the smallest building, where the counselors slept when they weren’t on night duty.
The confirmands appeared to be enjoying free time. Some were out on the lawn, but most of them were keeping to the dormitory.
“Have you seen Robin?” I asked one of the female counselors.
“I think he went to the counselors’ cabin.”
I hurried through the small grove of trees. The teens’ laughter echoed off the evening sky.
I approached the door and knocked. There was no response. Perhaps Robin was on the toilet? Or in the shower? I tried the handle, but the door was locked. Surely he hadn’t fallen asleep?
I rounded the corner of the building and peered through the window, but all I saw was an empty bed. With little hope, I moved on to the next window. The curtain was down, but I could see faint light coming from inside thanks to a small gap. Robin must be sleeping. I leaned forward to knock but was startled as I realized I could see straight into the room through the gap. There, in the dark, sat two people who were staring at each other in panic.
That brief glimpse was all it took. Three years have passed, and I can still evoke that unpleasant image whenever I want. Presumably it will never go away.
The image of Robin and Stella scrambling to get their clothing back in place.
25
By Thursday morning, Stella had spent five nights under lock and key. I pictured her on a dirty bed in a cramped, dark jail cell and my heart ached. During breakfast I paced back and forth across the kitchen, harping on all my worries.
“Stop that,” Ulrika said. “Dwelling won’t help.”
“Then what should I do?”
“I’m going to work,” she said. “Maybe that would make you feel better too.”
It would at least help me think about something else. I reported myself healthy again over the phone and walked over to the church hall. September is like Advent for this university town. After the summer lull, the streets are full of giddy students trying to find their way, confused, consumed with putting their identities on display. Wobbling cyclists everywhere, GPS voices in their pockets, twenty-year-olds with answers to all of life’s difficult questions in their leather briefcases or Fj?llr?ven backpacks. Lund never recovers until October, when the worst of the coquetry has settled, after people have exchanged saliva during orientation and the very strangest of newcomers have been reabsorbed back into their hometowns. This is the downside to a university town as much as it is its charm. To be invaded, each autumn, by fresh dreamers and do-gooders, to shed its skin for a few weeks of Indian summer before the leaves fall. Love it or hate it, you never quite get used to it.
My colleagues were in the church-hall kitchen and their voices carried into the entryway as I hung up my coat.
“I was shocked at first, but when I gave it some thought, well…”
“She’s always had a terrible temper.”
It was impossible not to hear what they were saying.
“They haven’t set limits. There’s only one language a girl like Stella understands.”
“Ulrika and Adam have been too tolerant.”
I stood stock-still in the entryway, taking in their words.
“Of course it’s not Stella’s fault,” said Monika, one of the deacons. “She’s only a child, or at least a teenager.”
They were silent for a moment. I closed my eyes and felt myself slowly rising from the ground and floating. Then they went on:
“Stella’s seen a psychiatrist before, you know.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“She’s always had some sort of mental health issue. Even as a little girl, there was something different about her.”
Silence again. Someone coughed.