The water came from Lake Magelungen by way of the Fors River. It rushed through crayfish traps and zander nets, striking the canoes that were resting ashore, bellies up. The bay filled from many lakes: Flaten, Dammträsk, Lissman, and Kvarnsjön. Its outflow went through the streams toward Lake Ådran; it made its way through Gudö River, through Gammelströmmen and Nyfors, all the way out to the Kalvfjärden inlet and the Baltic Sea.
Yet Lake Drevviken was perfectly still. The breeze moved gently through the tops of the pines and the tufted branches of the juniper bushes. Moss and boulders took over at the forest’s edge. Where the moss stopped growing, the slabs of stone plunged straight down to the water.
A hundred yards away, in the park outside the convalescent home, Stig Ahlin was out for a stroll with his mother. Her legs were still strong, and she liked to take walks, even if she couldn’t remember where she was going or who was holding her arm. Stig walked slowly. He was in no rush. Now and then he made a comment about the impressive view. But otherwise, the two of them were quiet.
Then he saw her. She was a little farther on, walking down the raked gravel path. Pushing a wheelchair in front of her. Stig took a firmer grip on his mother’s forearm, guiding them in her direction. When they got closer, she looked up at him with a smile.
Katrin sat down on a bench, turning the wheelchair toward the view and her gaze toward Stig.
“Wouldn’t you like to rest for a minute?” she wondered.
He was used to this. The attention. They wanted him. It had always been that way, especially with the ones who knew he was a doctor. The younger ones were the most persistent. After lectures they stood around in clumps, asking questions they already knew the answer to. Laughing at everything he said. They came to his office, with their lips gently moistened and with expectations he didn’t have the energy to fulfill. But they were around in other contexts as well. On the train. At the corner store. When he went out to restaurants. The women were always nearby. With their warm skin and darting eyes, their nervous odors and forbidden desires.
Stig helped his mother onto the bench and sat down next to her. Close — he brushed against Katrin. She was startled and drew a hasty breath. But she didn’t move. She just sat a bit straighter.
Stig picked Katrin up at the bus stop. The bus was right behind him, but still she took off her jacket and got in his car. Just like the first time. This time she had put on lipstick. She rubbed her lips together, breathed with her mouth open, let her legs slip apart.
He took her home with him. Afterward he wouldn’t remember if he’d asked first — it was obvious what was about to happen. She took off her shoes in the hall. He kept his on and didn’t have to tell her where to go. She walked into his bedroom, stepped out of her pants, lay on her back, and helped him take off her panties. He left her shirt on but pulled it up along with her bra so he could get to her breasts. They flattened out, but she didn’t say much. She brought her groin up to meet him, pressed it hard against him. Toward the end she braced her heels against the mattress. He penetrated her deeply. Hard. She was tight. Her shirt was over her face when he came, when he ejaculated all over her flat stomach.