Stallo by Stefan Spjut Page B

went therebut she was convinced they were hoaxers, so she didn’t write anything about it.
Nothing much happened after that.
She went out and set up wildlife cameras a couple of times, but that didn’t result in anything.
Not until Edit Mickelsson from Vaikijaur got in touch.

The icy wind whipped in grainy blasts along Adolf Hedingsvägen. It tugged at the tassel of Susso’s hat and made her eyes water. The moon was dissolving like an ice floe in a black ocean and her footsteps were heavy as she trudged along Gruvvägen. She really should have stayed at home because the walk had exhausted her. She was not completely better and there was a risk she would pass it on to the old folk. Turn up like an angel of death. But she could not afford to be ill, and anyway she had brought ginger biscuits for Lars Nilsson.
She took off her hat in the lift, straightened her hair and pulled a strip of tinsel out of her jacket. She wound it a couple of times around her head and after ringing the doorbell she opened the door, singing the traditional Lucia Day song:
‘Outside it’s dark and cold …’
Lars Nilsson was sitting in an armchair watching the Channel Four morning news. He was dressed in a tobacco-brown leather waistcoat and a green and black checked shirt. The light from the TV fell on his lined face like a mask. When Susso strode into the room he picked up the remote and lowered the volume, greeting her with a smile which spread into the grid of wrinkles surrounding his eyes.
‘Good morning, Lars!’
She broke open the lid and held out the box.
‘Ginger biscuits.’
The old man took a star-shaped biscuit from the tin, and half of it disappeared immediately between his teeth.
‘So you’re out spreading festive cheer …’
‘Why haven’t you lit the candles?’ she asked, walking over to the window where the electric Advent candleholder stood, with a yellowing geranium on one side and an amaryllis on the other. It had seven carved arms and an impressive base of unvarnished wood. Around each candle was a small ring of fake lingonberry leaves. Susso twisted the top of the bulb furthest to the right. The reflection in the window made two candleholders light up the dark room.
‘Have you eaten breakfast?’ she asked, pinching off a geranium leaf.
After thinking for a moment Lars held up the ginger biscuit. Only one corner of the star remained.
‘What would you like?’ Susso asked, walking into the kitchen and opening the fridge. When there was no reply she called:
‘Shall I fry a couple of eggs?’
While she stood by the stove under an extractor fan roaring away at storm force, the old man sat at the kitchen table with the palms of his hands resting flat on the Norrländskan newspaper, waiting. When the silence had gone on for too long Susso had to bring it to an end.
‘Well, Lars?’ she said, knocking the spatula against the frying pan.
‘Why not?’ came the reply.
*
Susso put salt and pepper on the eggs, slid the two glistening eyes onto a plate and, after moving the newspaper out of the way, placed them in front of him on the table.
After the coffee had been brewed and poured into the cups she read the newspaper out loud to Lars. Slumped at the table, the old man studied his fingers. They were well worn, gnarled and the colour of bronze, with cracks around the nails. He had owned reindeer once and also worked as a reindeer herder for many years.
Susso soon tired of her voice, which was nasal from her blocked nose, and put down the paper. What about doing the crossword? Lars nodded and Susso turned the newspaper so that they could both see the puzzle. They sat for a while, thinking, Susso wiping her nose repeatedly on sheets of kitchen roll. Eventually she sat up straight. This was not a good idea. She could pass on her cold to him if they sat like this, almost cheek to cheek. They would have to do the sudoku instead because numbers were not as hard to read upside down, or so she thought, and they could sit opposite