Roslags-Kulla is a small church made of reddish wood. But it has a tall, beautiful clock tower. The church is in the quiet countryside near the Vira factory, just a bit further away than the heavily trafficked roads in the Österåker district. The sky is clear and blue and the air is clean. The wind blows the scent of wildflowers over the peaceful cemetery by the church.
Yesterday Björn Almskog was buried at Norra Cemetery, and today four men in black suits are carrying Viola Maria Liselott Fernandez’s coffin to her final resting place. Following the pallbearers, two uncles and two cousins from El Salvador, Penelope Fernandez and her mother, Claudia, walk with the priest.
They gather around the open grave. One of the cousin’s children, a girl of about nine, looks at her father questioningly. When he nods to her, she lifts up her recorder and begins to play Hymn 97 while the coffin is lowered into the ground.
Penelope Fernandez holds her mother’s hand while the priest reads a passage from the book of Revelation.
And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death.
Claudia looks at Penelope and straightens her collar. She pats her cheek as if Penelope were still a small child.
As they return to their cars, Penelope’s phone buzzes. It’s Joona Linna. Penelope disengages her hand from her mother’s and walks to the shade underneath the large trees to talk in private.
“Hello, Penelope,” Joona says in his characteristic voice, singsong but serious.
“Hello, Joona,” Penelope replies.
“I thought you would want to know that Raphael Guidi is dead.”
“And the ammunition to Darfur?”
“We’ve stopped the shipment.”
“That’s good.”
Penelope looks around at her relatives and friends; her mother, who stands where she left her. Her mother, who won’t let her out of her sight.
“Thanks,” she says.
She goes back to her mother who watches her anxiously. She takes her mother’s hand again, smiles, and they walk together to the cars. She stops and turns round. For a second she’d thought she heard her sister’s voice right beside her. She shivers and a shadow passes over the neatly mown grass. Her young cousin with the recorder is standing between the gravestones looking at her. Her hairband has slipped free and her hair is loose in the summer breeze.