A Necessary Action by Per Wahlöö Read Free Book Online Page B

projects, assisted employment. This work was on a quota and could only just employ those who applied for assistance. The daily pay had a ceiling of very low sums.
    A little way out of the town, on the western slope, there was a military camp for two hundred men of the marine infantry. The soldiers were peasant boys who handled their carbines clumsily and awkwardly. They could often be heard exercising and shooting up in the mountains, but they were only to be seen in the town on Saturday and Sunday evenings.
    There were also ten bars, a civil guard-post of thirty-five men, twelve priests and a doctor. Most cases of sickness were nursed by a few nuns who wandered in and out of the houses like angels of death, with hypodermic syringes hidden under evil-smelling robes.
    This was the town up in the mountains. It was a quiet place and to the outsider it gave an impression of quiet contemplation and sublime calm.

7
    Dan Pedersen had rented a house in Barrio Son Jofre, just by the southern entrance to the town, and he moved there with Siglinde and Willi Mohr. Their possessions were somewhat varied, souvenirs, a dog, a cat, household articles, typewriters, clothes, books, raffia baskets, sketching blocks and even the odd piece of furniture, for Dan and his wife had lived in the country for nearly two years and had managed to accumulate quite a few oddments. Willi Mohr on the whole owned no more than he could carry, his rucksack, his box of oils and a roll of canvases.
    The whole lot was loaded on to the camioneta and Santiago Alemany’s fish-van and then they set off on the thirteen-kilometre climb up to the town. Dan Pedersen drove and Siglinde and Willi Mohr sat in the back trying to keep some sort of order in the carelessly stowed load. Santiago Alemany followed behind them in his fish-van, which was a Ford of the smallest kind and very old. Everyone was on good form and they sang, loudly and vociferously, to drown the sound of the engines.
    Halfway up, they had to stop and fill up with water before the radiator boiled dry on the Ford, and a moment later they passed two civil guards who, seeing they were foreigners, at once waved them on. Just this side of the entrance to the town they passed yet another road patrol, two men in green uniforms, who were standing leaning on their bicycles by the ditch.
    A fortified poor-house, thought Dan Pedersen, and at once forgot what he had thought.
    The house in Barrio Son Jofre had stood empty for a long time, but the owner had had it swept out, water brought in, and in the dark it did not look at all bad.
    ‘There’s one habitable room up there and one down here,’ said Dan Pedersen to his wife. ‘Which one do you want?’
    ‘The one up there, with the window,’ said Siglinde.
    Dan asked: ‘What do you think of it, the whole place, I mean?’
    Despite everything, he was still feeling a little uncertain.
    ‘It’ll be fine,’ said Siglinde.
    As long as it doesn’t go on too long, she thought.
    Outside, Santiago had lit a paraffin lamp and was unloading together with Willi Mohr.
    ‘Unload the camioneta first,’ said Dan Pedersen, ‘and let the things stay out there, and we’ll go up and fetch the other things at once.’
    The owner of the house, who ran the Café Central up in the square, was an old friend of Dan’s. He had promised to lend him a bed and a mattress for the time being. The bed was too big for the fish-van.
    Ten minutes later their luggage lay in a heap in front of the door.
    ‘The strongest can come and help,’ said Dan Pedersen. ‘The bed’s as large as a cathedral.’
    Willi Mohr climbed up on to the truck. He was used to heavy manual work.
    ‘Fine,’ said Dan. ‘You two can carry the things in in the meantime.’
    He was satisfied with the division of labour, as he had known Santiago for a long time and trusted him.
    Dan Pedersen at once wound the starting-handle of the truck and drove off. Siglinde was standing outside the house. It was dark and