doesn’t have a proper lock on a single door! Well, she’s going to have to take care.”
Katri stopped on the stairs.
“Didn’t he see anything, poor man?” Liljeberg asked.
“Nothing. He heard someone making noise in the house, so he went in, and before he knew it they hit him on the head. That’s how they do it.”
Mats was lying on his bed reading. “Hi,” he said. “Did you hear about the break-in at the ferry slip?”
“I heard,” said Katri, hanging up her coat.
“But isn’t it exciting?”
“Yes, very,” she said. At the table by the window, with her back to Mats, she opened one of his books at random and let the room go quiet. Katri never realized that the book she hid her thoughts behind was called Karl Outwits the Police , which was just as well. She wouldn’t have seen the humour in it.
As Katri planned her fictitious break-in at the rabbit house, she did not for one moment have a sense that the enterprise was rather childish. She knew only that she had a chance, an opportunity she must exploit before the wind shifted and the excitement in the village died down.
It was late at night when Katri motioned for the dog to follow. She took a torch, her gloves, a potato sack, and went out into the blizzard. The wind howled in over the coast the way it would in a really good adventure story, and she had a hard time finding her way. The torch wasn’t much help. Again and again she stumbled into snowdrifts by the side of the road and had to back up. It was slow going. She missed the turnoff road and had to retrace her steps. The dog waited in his usual place outside the kitchen door, but Katri did not take off her boots. On the contrary, she dragged in as much snow as she could across the carpets. Inside, the storm seemed closer, the wind came in gusts, in violent onslaughts like some consciously malignant force. Katri put the torch on the sideboard where the family silver stood in a row – Katri had polished it herself – and in the narrow beam of light she put it all in the potato sack: the coffee pot, the sugar bowl, the cream jug, the samovar, the dessert bowl. Very carefully she pulled out several drawers and emptied them out on the floor. She left the kitchen door open when she left.
It was a very simple break-in. Katri saw it as a purely practical matter without a trace of drama or questionable ethics. She had simply moved a piece on the board game of money, and Anna was nothing more than an opponent confronting a new move.
Down on the road, Katri tossed the potato sack into a snowdrift and went home. For the first time in ages, she slept in a cradle of gentle dreams free of desolation and anxiety.
Anna took the break-in with surprising calm, but the villagers were extremely upset. They didn’t know Anna Aemelin, most of them hardly knew what she looked like, since she almost never appeared on the road, but she had become a concept, something of an old landmark that had been in place forever. Laying hands on old Miss Aemelin’s rabbit villa was unseemly, almost like vandalizing a chapel or a shrine. One neighbour after another came to offer sympathy. Those who had never been inside the rabbit villa made up for it now. The sideboard drawers still lay on the floor in disarray, and no one was permitted to touch them, or anything else, until the constable had been there. Anna explained that there could be fingerprints. The potato sack full of silver stood inside the kitchen door and was also not to be touched. Several of the guests had made coffee cakes and the Liljebergs brought a small bottle of cognac.
Anna got a good deal of pleasure from her meeting with the town constable. She told her story and tried in every way to help him reconstruct the crime. Katri made coffee for everyone, and Anna was given more good advice than she could remember. It was Madame Nygård who summed up the general view: as long as the neighbourhood was unsafe, Anna Aemelin could not live alone. The village
Katri stopped on the stairs.
“Didn’t he see anything, poor man?” Liljeberg asked.
“Nothing. He heard someone making noise in the house, so he went in, and before he knew it they hit him on the head. That’s how they do it.”
Mats was lying on his bed reading. “Hi,” he said. “Did you hear about the break-in at the ferry slip?”
“I heard,” said Katri, hanging up her coat.
“But isn’t it exciting?”
“Yes, very,” she said. At the table by the window, with her back to Mats, she opened one of his books at random and let the room go quiet. Katri never realized that the book she hid her thoughts behind was called Karl Outwits the Police , which was just as well. She wouldn’t have seen the humour in it.
As Katri planned her fictitious break-in at the rabbit house, she did not for one moment have a sense that the enterprise was rather childish. She knew only that she had a chance, an opportunity she must exploit before the wind shifted and the excitement in the village died down.
It was late at night when Katri motioned for the dog to follow. She took a torch, her gloves, a potato sack, and went out into the blizzard. The wind howled in over the coast the way it would in a really good adventure story, and she had a hard time finding her way. The torch wasn’t much help. Again and again she stumbled into snowdrifts by the side of the road and had to back up. It was slow going. She missed the turnoff road and had to retrace her steps. The dog waited in his usual place outside the kitchen door, but Katri did not take off her boots. On the contrary, she dragged in as much snow as she could across the carpets. Inside, the storm seemed closer, the wind came in gusts, in violent onslaughts like some consciously malignant force. Katri put the torch on the sideboard where the family silver stood in a row – Katri had polished it herself – and in the narrow beam of light she put it all in the potato sack: the coffee pot, the sugar bowl, the cream jug, the samovar, the dessert bowl. Very carefully she pulled out several drawers and emptied them out on the floor. She left the kitchen door open when she left.
It was a very simple break-in. Katri saw it as a purely practical matter without a trace of drama or questionable ethics. She had simply moved a piece on the board game of money, and Anna was nothing more than an opponent confronting a new move.
Down on the road, Katri tossed the potato sack into a snowdrift and went home. For the first time in ages, she slept in a cradle of gentle dreams free of desolation and anxiety.
Anna took the break-in with surprising calm, but the villagers were extremely upset. They didn’t know Anna Aemelin, most of them hardly knew what she looked like, since she almost never appeared on the road, but she had become a concept, something of an old landmark that had been in place forever. Laying hands on old Miss Aemelin’s rabbit villa was unseemly, almost like vandalizing a chapel or a shrine. One neighbour after another came to offer sympathy. Those who had never been inside the rabbit villa made up for it now. The sideboard drawers still lay on the floor in disarray, and no one was permitted to touch them, or anything else, until the constable had been there. Anna explained that there could be fingerprints. The potato sack full of silver stood inside the kitchen door and was also not to be touched. Several of the guests had made coffee cakes and the Liljebergs brought a small bottle of cognac.
Anna got a good deal of pleasure from her meeting with the town constable. She told her story and tried in every way to help him reconstruct the crime. Katri made coffee for everyone, and Anna was given more good advice than she could remember. It was Madame Nygård who summed up the general view: as long as the neighbourhood was unsafe, Anna Aemelin could not live alone. The village
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