The Shapeshifters by Stefan Spjut Read Free Book Online Page B

a fluffy crown.
    â€˜How the hell did you do it last time?’ he asked.
    â€˜We just tipped it back,’ she answered, making a pushing gesture with her hands. ‘But then it was lying on its right side. And Lennart was with me.’
    â€˜I’ll have to use the tractor.’
    â€˜Shouldn’t you wait until Börje comes home?’
    â€˜It can’t be left like this. What if I fasten a strap between the front and back wheels and hook the chain in the middle? Then I ought to be able to turn it upright with the tractor, don’t you think?’
    Ejvor stood silently and tried to work out what he meant.
    â€˜As long as the car doesn’t drag along behind you like a plough.’
    â€˜I’ll have to pull slowly.’
    â€˜I honestly think you should wait. It won’t hurt the car.’
    â€˜What if something happens and we need to get away?’
    He threw the question over his shoulder as he strode off to the barn. He knocked the bar across with his fist and opened up both doors. One door always swung shut, so he propped it in place with a pointed stake.
    The chain and hook hung on a wall and rattled heavily when he laid them in the tractor’s snow bucket, where patches of snow still lingered. He climbed up into the cab, took the headphones off the steering wheel and put them over his head. They were painfully cold on his ears but would soon warm them up. The engine spluttered a couple of times before it rumbled into life, spewing out exhaust fumes which rose to the roof of the barn.
    After bringing out the tractor he jumped down. He pushed the strap’s tapered end in behind the front axle, lifted the chain out of the snow bucket and placed the hook at the centre of the taut strap. He wound the other end of the chain around the arm of the bucket, then climbed up into the cab and put the tractor in reverse.
    Â 
    They ate Mekong soup that Edit had cooked from a packet. The taste eluded Susso, whose nose was streaming, but it was scalding hot and she liked that. It almost burned her palate. It was no more than thirteen or fourteen degrees in the house. She ate with her face over the bowl, strands of her hair hanging loose. Her skull felt worryingly heavy.
    The old woman talked slowly but almost uninterruptedly. Carrying an experience like that had been unbearable, she explained. She had tried talking to her son but he did not know what to believe. Normally he always trusted her.
    â€˜But he’s too scared,’ said Edit. ‘Afraid of conflict, as they saythese days. He doesn’t dare go against Carina, and she will absolutely not hear a word about . . . these things.’
    Edit had phoned her sister, but had detected a sneering hostility. Talking about mythical beings and supernatural happenings was all right, it could even be amusing, but only as long as they were joking. When it was serious, the mood changed.
    Edit sighed.
    â€˜So in the end I kept my mouth shut,’ she said.
    â€˜So you haven’t told anyone else?’ she asked.
    â€˜Oh yes,’ she replied. ‘I phoned the
Kuriren
, of course.’
    â€˜You’re joking?’ said Susso, smiling.
    Edit shook her head.
    â€˜They thought it was an amazing story and said they might send a reporter.’
    â€˜They said that?’ said Susso, wiping her nose and still smiling. ‘They said they would send someone?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Edit, and looked out of the window. It was completely black out there now. All that could be seen in the glass was the reflection of the candles and the white oval of Edit’s face. ‘But nobody came.’
    And then she added:
    â€˜It’s too far to come for something like this, I suppose.’
    â€˜Haven’t they got a local reporter in Gällivare?’
    Edit was not listening. She pushed her bowl aside and looked at her fingers before continuing.
    â€˜Hockey they can write about, and basketball, day after