Free A Necessary Action by Per Wahlöö Page A

bus had killed fifteen sheep at once in exactly the same way. The shepherd was a weak-minded old man who had sold most of his bells and had not got the sense to keep the flock moving along the edges of the road. So it was not a very serious accident, but the sheep, a ewe, was undoubtedly dead and lay on its back with pitifully splayed legs. The shepherd came up to the truck and jabbered excitedly as he gesticulated with his gnarled stick. The sheep-dog crept up to bite Dan Pedersen’s leg. Dan swore and kicked out at it.
    ‘Yes, yes, we’ll pay you tomorrow,’ he said irritably. ‘We’ll go up to the owner and pay him. But we’ll damn well have the meat in that case.’
    The shepherd jabbered on in his almost incomprehensible dialect.
    Two civil guards came up out of the darkness and shone their torches. When the shepherd caught sight of them, he stopped abruptly and seemed to sink into his rags. He stood there with his head down, as if waiting to be beaten. His whole body was shaking, but perhaps that was just old age.
    ‘We must apologize,’ said one of the civil guards. ‘Sheep should not be on the road and they’re supposed to have proper bells on them.’
    The other one went up to the shepherd, lifted his head by putting his finger under his chin, and barked a few sentences in gutteral Catalonian. Then he boxed the old man’s ears and the old man began to weep.
    Dan Pedersen and Willi Mohr climbed up into the camioneta again.
    The civil guards saluted.
    The truck rolled on.
    Five minutes later the bay opened out before them and they saw the scattered lights of the puerto. Out at sea they could seethe petrol lamps of the calamary boats like a pearl necklace of etched white points of light against the dark water.
    Dan Pedersen let the camioneta free-wheel until it stopped by itself in the middle of the quay.
    They sat down outside one of the bars facing the harbour and ordered vermouth and iced-water. It was a trifle cooler here, and it smelt of the sea.
    They had only been sitting there five minutes when Santiago and Ramon came sauntering along the quay. They shook hands, pulled out two cane chairs and sat down at the table.
    Dan Pedersen went into the bar and fetched a chess set, placed the board between himself and Santiago and began to set out the pieces.
    Willi Mohr sipped carefully at his vermouth as he watched the others.
    Ramon looked listless and depressed, although he hurried to smile when he felt himself observed. Several times he held his forehead and the back of his head as if he were trying to loosen an invisible noose. Now and again he looked covetously at Siglinde’s naked feet and long bare legs.
    Siglinde kept shifting her body as if she were uncomfortable and she kept changing the position of her legs. Sometimes her eyes flickered from one person to another. In between she looked at Dan, her eyes running down the length of his body and often resting on his face or hands. She seemed nervous. Perhaps it’s the heat, thought Willi Mohr, who had no great experience of women.
    The chess game was rather uneven at first. Dan Pedersen made some inspired moves in the middle of the game and took several pieces. A moment later he grew careless and lost a piece. Then he concentrated and played coldly and systematically to make the most of his lead.
    Willi Mohr gradually went over to watching only his opponent.
    Santiago saw that he was losing and his situation worsened slowly and inexorably, but he did not give up. The look in his eyes deepened and grew more and more ill-humoured. He made no more mistakes, but it was already too late. For each move he was driven nearer and nearer to the impotence which is one of the logical conclusions of this nerve-racking game.
    Not until Dan Pedersen took his queen with his freed pawn, did Santiago give up.
    Willi Mohr had the impression that he would have done almost anything to hinder his defeat.
    ‘Did you win?’ said Ramon.
    Santiago shook his head and his