Åsa Larsson - Until Thy Wrath Be Past

Until Thy Wrath Be Past

sa Larsson

UNTIL THY WRATH BE PAST

Translated from the Swedish by
Laurie Thompson

First published in Great Britain in 2011 by

MacLehose Press
an imprint of Quercus
21 Bloomsbury Square
London WC1A 2NS

First published in Swedish as Till dess din vrede upphr
by Bonnier, Stockholm, 2008

Copyright sa Larsson, 2008
English translation copyright 2011 by Laurie Thompson
Map Emily Faccini

The moral right of sa Larsson to be identified as
the author of this work has been asserted in accordance
with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

The translator asserts his moral right to be
identified as the translator of the work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic
or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information
storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publisher.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available
from the British Library

ISBN (HB) 978 0 85705 072 4
ISBN (TPB) 978 0 85705 073 1

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
businesses, organizations, places and events are either the
product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events
or locales is entirely coincidental.

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

Typeset in 11 17 pt Minion by Patty Rennie
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc

O that thou wouldest hide me in the grave,
that thou wouldest keep me secret, until thy wrath be past,
that thou wouldest appoint me a set time, and remember me!
If a man die, shall he live again?
All the days of my appointed time will I wait,
till my change come.

Thou shalt call,
and I will answer thee:
thou wilt have a desire to the work of thy hands.
For now thou numberest my steps:
dost thou not watch over my sin?
My transgression is sealed up in a bag,
and thou sewest up mine iniquity.

And surely the mountain falling cometh to nought,
and the rock is moved out of his place.
The waters wear the stones:
thou washest away the things which grow out of the dust of the earth;
and thou destroyest the hope of man.

Thou prevailest for ever against him, and he passeth:
thou changest his countenance and sendest him away.
His sons come to honour, and he knoweth it not;
and they are brought low, but he perceiveth it not of them.
But his flesh upon him shall have pain,
and his soul within him shall mourn.

Job 14:1322

I remember how we died. I remember, and I know. Thats the way it is now. I know about certain things even though I wasnt actually present when they happened. But I dont know everything. Far from it. There are no rules. Take people, for instance. Sometimes they are open rooms that I can walk into. Sometimes they are closed. Time doesnt exist. Its as if its been whisked into nothingness.

Winter came without snow. The rivers and lakes were frozen as early as September, but still the snow didnt come.

It was October 9. The air was cold. The sky very blue. One of those days youd like to pour into a glass and drink.

I was seventeen. If I were still alive, Id be eighteen now. Simon was nearly nineteen. He let me drive even though I didnt have a licence. The forest track was full of potholes. I liked driving. Laughed at every bump. Sand and gravel clattered against the chassis.

Sorry, Bettan, Simon said to the car, stroking the cover of the glovebox.

We had no idea that we were going to die. That I would be screaming, my mouth full of water. That we only had five hours left.

The track petered out at Sevujrvi. We unpacked the car. I kept stopping to look round. Everything was divinely beautiful. I lifted my arms towards the sky, screwed up my eyes to look at the sun, a burning white sphere, watched a wisp of cloud scudding along high above us. The mountains embodied permanence and times immemorial.

What are you doing? Simon said.

I was still gazing at the sky, arms raised, when I said, Nearly all religions have something like this. Looking up, reaching up with your hands. I understand why. It makes you feel good. Try it.

I took a deep breath, then let the air out to form a big white cloud.

Simon smiled and shook his head. Heaved his weighty rucksack up onto a rock and wriggled into the harness. He looked at me.

Oh, I remember how he looked at me. As if he couldnt believe his luck. And its true. I wasnt just any old bit of skirt.

He liked to explore me. Count all my birthmarks. Or tap his fingernail on my teeth as I smiled, ticking off all the peaks of the Kebnekaise massif: South Peak, North Peak, Dragons Back, Kebnepakte, Kaskasapakte, Kaskasatjkko, Tuolpagorni.

Upper right lateral incisor signs of decay; upper right central sound; upper left central distal filling, Id reply.

The rucksacks containing our diving equipment weighed a ton.

We walked up to Lake Vittangijrvi. It took us three and a half hours. We urged each other on, noticing how the frozen ground made walking easier. We sweated a lot, stopped occasionally to have some water, and once to drink coffee from our thermos flask and eat a couple of sandwiches.

Frozen puddles and frostbitten moss crackled beneath our feet.

Alanen Vittangivaara loomed on our left.

Theres an old Sami sacrificial site up there, Simon said, pointing. Uhrilaki.

That was a side of him I loved. He knew about that sort of thing.

We finally got there. Placing our rucksacks carefully on the slope, we stood in silence for a while, gazing out over the lake. The ice resembled a thick black pane of glass over the water. Trapped bubbles traced patterns like broken pearl necklaces. The cracks resembled crumpled tissue paper.

Frost had nipped at every blade of grass, every twig, making them brittle and crispy white. Sprays of lingonberry and stunted juniper bushes were a dull shade of wintry green. Dwarf birches and blueberry sprigs had been squeezed into shades of blood and violet. And everything was coated with rime. An aura of ice.

It was uncannily quiet.

Simon became withdrawn and thoughtful, as he usually did. Hes the type who can tell time to stand still. Or was. He was that kind of person.

But Ive never been able to keep quiet for long. I just had to start shouting. All that beauty it was enough to make you burst.

I ran out onto the ice. As fast as I could without slipping. Then I stood with my legs wide apart and slid a long, long way.

You have a go! I shouted to Simon.

He smiled and shook his head.

That was something hed learnt to do in the village where hed grown up. How to shake his head. Theyre good at that in Piilijrvi.

No way, he shouted back. Someone has to be here to repair your legs when youve broken them.

Cowardy cowardy custard! I yelled as I ran and slid again.

Then I lay down and gazed up at the sky for a while. Stroked the ice affectionately.

Somewhere down below there was an aeroplane. And nobody knew anything about it, apart from us. Or so we thought.

Standing up, I caught Simons gaze.

You and me, his eyes said.

You and me, my eyes said.

Simon collected some dry juniper twigs and birch bark. So that we could start a fire and have something to eat before we made our dive. To give us the strength to keep going.