Free A Darker Shade of Sweden by John-Henri Holmberg Page A

about God?” he said.
    â€œThere are different ways of talking.”
    â€œAren’t you suddenly the expert. On both people and God.”
    He didn’t reply.
    â€œIn any case, we’ll stop here,” he said. “When we’ve been chasing the sun this long we sure won’t leave when we’ve found it.”
    He turned right in the center of town, at another tree-street junction. A small church stood on a hill. It was plastered white and a thousand years old. Most people around here belonged to some nonconformist religion, but even so they took good care of their ancient state churches. Though maybe that had nothing to do with religion.
    A man in a peaked cap was mowing his way down the hill on a riding mower. The engine sound was soft, almost like the buzz of a bumblebee. The grass was thick and succulent; no sun had burned it. Perhaps they’ve waited for weeks to mow the grass here, he thought. A couple of days more and they would have had to use a scythe. Go get the guy with the scythe, he thought, smiling.
    The man in the cap raised his eyes as the car passed, then looked back down, without any greeting.
    â€œMaybe there’s some small place where you can swim around here,” she said.
    â€œIf there is, we’ll make camp,” he said.
    They were alone by the lake. Or the pond, or whatever it was. The creek ran past here and the townspeople had dammed the stream, creating their own small lake. He saw the dike on the opposite side of it, only some three hundred feet away.
    The swimming nook had a table with two benches and two changing rooms, one for men and one for women.
    â€œI haven’t seen any of those since I was a kid,” he said, nodding at one of the two red sheds. He stood in the middle of the grass. The water glittered in the sunlight. Suddenly the air was very warm. It was like suddenly being in another country.
    This is where I belong, he thought. I hope nobody else finds their way here.
    Close to the swimming pond was the campground, or whatever it might be called. At any rate there was a small wooden bench for washing and doing dishes, with two water faucets, an outhouse built from the same kind of wood, room for car and tent. What more could anyone wish for?
    She looked up from their luggage.
    â€œWe have to go shop somewhere. All that’s left in the cooler is some bottled water.”
    â€œI know, I know,” he replied. “But we’ll put up the tent first.”
    The closest town was less than twelve miles away, if it could be called a town: a closed railway station, closed shops with empty display windows, an empty main street directly beneath the sun. If a display window no longer displays anything you really can’t call it a display window, can you? he thought.
    But there was a cooperative store and a state liquor store.
    What more do you need on a vacation? he thought.
    â€œI’ll do the liquor store if you do the Co-op,” he said.
    â€œCan’t we shop together?” she said. “We’re not in any hurry.”
    He didn’t answer.
    â€œIt’s what you’re supposed to do on vacations,” she went on. “Take your time.”
    â€œYeah, yeah,” he said.
    The inside of the store was cool, verging on chilly. As far as he could see they were alone in there, apart from the girl at the cash register whom he glimpsed at the far end. Not a single customer. He had seen nobody in the streets as they drove through the town. Perhaps everyone had escaped before the sun finally arrived. This district was more or less midway between the east and the west coasts of Sweden. In the end people had lost their patience and went off to chase the sun in the west or in the east. He had done the opposite and it had paid off. The sun was up there to stay. Once high pressure had settled over the interior of the country, nothing could budge it.
    â€œThe chops look great,” she said.
    In the endless dusk