It could not be denied that sometimes she compared her father Aron to the professor. Their capricious moods and will to dominance were common denominators, likewise their vocal resources-in any event, when the professor was younger.
She had been reconciled with her father. Now Agnes was afraid of neither God nor Bertram von Ohler. He was a piece of meat and bone that staggered around the house, nothing more. The reluctant respect she once felt was completely gone. If anything she felt contempt, sometimes even loathing.
It was Greta who pointed that out, saying something to the effect that now and then Agnes looked at her employer with hate in her eyes. Agnes had indignantly dismissed it, but of course it was that way, although she had a hard time admitting it even to herself.
Hate, she thought, standing by the window toward the back side of the house, was that what made Anna leave the island the second time? She was living with Viola and waiting in vain for her parents to restore her to favor, but they barely noticed their daughter. She might just as well have been on the other side of the globe. After a year Anna left and was never heard from again.
What was it that created these awful emotions? Perhaps Viola knew? Or Greta? But she never said anything about Anna. It was as if she never existed.
The regret at the loss of her sister had always rested like a black clump inside Agnes, and the sorrow at having lost her had increased over the years. What she could not understand was why she should be punished, she was only a child, ten or eleven years old, who loved her sister. Anna could have sent a card, shown that she was not angry at Agnes. But nothing.
Anna had always been the happy one, unlike her sisters not only in terms of appearance but also in her disposition. She was the one who came up with mischief and lightened the mood in the home. Despite her father’s protests she could sometimes hum popular songs that she picked up from the radio at her neighbor, perhaps at Viktor’s.
In Lundquist’s yard the gardener worked on. Now he was pruning lilacs and other bushes. It was about time, thought Agnes, it was drab and dark back there.
Perhaps she should ask him if he could prune the fruit trees? It was a long time since that had been done. The professor would surely have no objections.
Shame! It was shame that drove her parents to such implacability. This idea had occurred to her before, but now it seemed obvious. It was something Liisa had talked about when they were having morning coffee. She had read an article about a mother who kept her mentally disabled daughter locked up in the cellar her whole life. When she was asked why, the only explanation she had given was that she was ashamed of showing her daughter to the outside world.
Shame. Anna had left her position even though Aron Andersson promised that she would serve with Professor Carl von Ohler. That was why he had so quickly sent Greta there as a replacement. You don’t disappoint the powers that be, whether they are heavenly or earthly. For that reason Anna had been punished in this cruel way, outlawed from the family. But was that the only reason?
Agnes sighed. She envied the gardener. He stood with a saw in his hand observing his work. She had studied him on several occasions. He always worked alone. Perhaps that was why she felt a certain affinity with him?
Then he suddenly turned around and it looked as if he was staring right toward the kitchen window where she stood. Agnes quickly stepped back.
In order to justify her curiosity-he must have seen her-she decided to exchange a few words with him. She pulled on her boots, hung the old coat over her shoulders, and went out.
She saw that he noticed her at once and set a course toward the corner of the lot. He came up to meet her.
“Excuse me,” Agnes began, “I saw that you were outside.”
“Yes, I am most of the time,” said the man with a smile.
“I was thinking… it looks so nice there where you’ve pruned, and perhaps you might want to look over our overgrown bushes too.”
The man let his eyes travel over the professor’s yard.
“There are lots of things that are neglected,” Agnes continued. “The trees too for that matter.”
He had taken off his work gloves and set them up on Bunde’s fence. There was something thoughtful in his features. He appeared to hesitate, as if he did not know how he should respond to the offer.
“Maybe you don’t have time?”
“Time lives a life of its own,” the gardener said.
Agnes stared at him with surprise.
“You don’t rule over it,” he added.
Agnes shook her head.
“What’s the matter?”
He reached out one hand, as if he thought she would fall down over the fence.
“You’re as pale as a sheet.”
Agnes backed up a couple of steps.
“What did you say?”
“That you’re pale.”
She turned around and walked quickly back to the house.
Twenty-two
The rear of Ohler’s house was in darkness. No lights were on and the many overgrown apple trees effectively blocked the sparse light from the neighboring lots. Only two windows were illuminated, but they were at the other end of the house.
Karsten Haller had changed his mind several times while he waited for it to get dark. He would get up from his hiding place to leave Lundquist’s yard and go home, and then sit down again on the upside-down bucket he was using as a chair. It was an idiotic idea, he understood that, but once it had taken hold he had a hard time letting common sense decide.
Now and then he had been startled when an apple fell with a dull thud to the ground. Otherwise it was eerily quiet. Even the organ music from the neighbor had fallen silent.
He pushed aside a few branches in the brushy thicket where he had hidden to keep an eye out. The light in yet another window had been turned off. He looked at his watch. Both the professor and the old housekeeper certainly must go to bed early. He had realized that she was not, as he thought at first, home assistance from outside, but that she lived in the house. He drew that conclusion after their conversation earlier in the day when she offered him work in the professor’s garden. What surprised him was her strange reaction to something he had said. She looked as if she had seen a ghost.
An hour ago she had gone around and drawn the curtains in what he thought was the library.
Another half hour, he thought, letting go of the branches. He was very tired. Hungry besides. But since his time in Etosha he was used to sitting for long hours on shift simply biding his time. He had developed a kind of mental technique for sinking into a trance that could be immediately broken when required. He made use of that capability now. He saw and heard but was taking it easy, resting.
What did he want to achieve with his expedition? He had repeatedly asked himself that question, but was not able to give any complete and unambiguous answer. Sure, he wanted to see the environment, the home where his mother worked and which changed her life forever and thereby also affected his, that was true. But curiosity could never be a reason for breaking into another person’s residence.
He suspected a deeper motivation. It was a thought that he did not dare let out, not even vaguely formulate into a complete sentence. “Damage”-he had been content to summarize the vague motivation to sneak his way in under cover of darkness. He thought he knew how to conduct himself. Once inside the house he would have to see what that might lead to.
When half an hour had passed he got up, picked up the bolt cutters, left the bushes, and walked quickly over to the fence. He had decided to make his way over to Ohler’s by way of the organ man’s lot. That maneuver was the riskiest. For a short time he would be visible, with only a currant bush that could partially conceal him. He waited, but everything was calm except for a dog barking in the distance. He quickly climbed over the fence, disappeared crouching behind the bush, then ran a couple of meters and squeezed through the hedge onto the professor’s lot.