The Survivors Page 8

  Dad sat down next to Benjamin and Pierre.

  “Well then, boys,” he said, looking out at the yard. “What damn shitty weather we’re having.”

  Molly snuck up the stairs and crept into Benjamin’s lap. Dad quickly grabbed her, trapped her by pressing her to his body, and gently stroked her head. Dad had decided to tame her fear, force her to accept his love. A few times each day he chased her down to show tenderness.

  “Why don’t you cuddle her a little too,” he said to Pierre. Pierre ran his hand over her head, and Benjamin saw the fear streaming off her; she was stiff and afraid and on alert, ready to run as soon as she got the chance.

  “What are we going to do today, with such shitty weather?” Dad said.

  “I don’t know,” Benjamin replied.

  “Why don’t you go have an adventure in the forest?”

  Pierre and Benjamin didn’t respond.

  “You can take Molly,” said Dad.

  “She never wants to come anywhere with us,” said Pierre.

  “Sure she does. Benjamin can take care of her.”

  When Dad relinquished his hold on Molly, she immediately tried to escape. Dad cursed, watched the dog vanish into the house, heard her whine, and from the murky dark inside, through the veils of cigarette smoke in the living room, they heard Mom’s voice, contorted and childish, as she called for her: “Hey there, hi there.” And Molly slipped into the fog.

  Pierre and Benjamin put on their raincoats and boots and went out. They followed the power line that ran from the house and up through the fir trees, and Benjamin thought that as long as that black thread in the air was within sight he would know his way back. There was a gentle rain; the forest seemed heavy. They leapt between the slippery stones. They went farther in than usual, behind the overgrown path that led to the dam, past the big boulders that lay scattered in the enormous swamp. They kept walking in where the forest grew more dense.

  “Look at that,” Pierre said, pointing up at a little rise.

  Past the tall trees was an electrical substation. A small building surrounded by rows of poles, black spears with white tips, like firework rockets aimed at the sky. And outside of them were two larger structures, towering poles like steel spiderwebs on either side of the building, sending out their black lines in three directions through the forest.

  “What is that?” Pierre said.

  “That’s where all the electricity comes from,” Benjamin told him. He took a few steps toward the building. “Let’s go take a look.”

  A tall security fence surrounded the building; on it were yellow signs showing red lightning bolts. Benjamin looked up and saw the power lines, black wires dividing the low, gray sky into perfect fields. He looked at the building, its mottled façade; the bricks were coming loose and lay in little piles at its base. Two small windows on the back side made it look like a house. When they got to the front, they saw that the door was wide open.

  “Did it blow open?”

  “Doesn’t look like it,” said Benjamin. “It’s been broken into.”

  “Why would someone break in here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Benjamin and Pierre stood side by side at the fence, their fingers through the gaps, trying to peer in through the open door, but they couldn’t see a thing, could only hear the sound of electricity from inside, a dull rumbling that didn’t sound like anything Benjamin had ever heard before, almost mystical, as if he could make out only part of the sound, as if there were frequencies he couldn’t hear. And he thought maybe that was true, that electricity is actually much louder, like a restless, prolonged screech, and the noise is unbearable for the creatures of the forest, but his human ears could perceive only a low hum, as if the electricity wanted to broadcast a reminder of its existence, and a warning: Don’t come any closer.

  They walked on, into the forest. They picked blueberries and mashed them into their faces, pretending it was blood and that they were badly wounded. They threw rocks at a dead tree trunk, and each time they hit their mark there was a strange, hollow echo through the forest. They used a stick to poke at an anthill and watched the whole mound start to teem with life. They waded through a marsh so deep that it almost came over their boots, the water pressing the rubber to their shins. They found scat and did what their dad always did: poked at it with a stick and raised their eyes, grim, to see where the animal had gone. They walked farther and farther into the forest, and when Benjamin looked up to orient himself again, the electrical wires were gone. He couldn’t see them anywhere. He turned around and turned around again. Identical scenery in every direction. The exact same hilly woods, the same heavy pines, under the same rainy sky. All of a sudden, he panicked.

  “Come on!” he shouted to Pierre. “We have to go back.”

  He took off running, Pierre close on his heels. He heard his own breathing, branches cracking under his feet, looking for clues in the land. He stopped, turned around, slowly becoming certain: he had run in the wrong direction. And he turned around to run just as fast in a different direction, Pierre following. His foot landed in a marshy spot, his boot filled with water and his leg became heavy, his steps squishy, but he kept running, his eyes searching for the electrical lines that would lead them home. He stopped, out of breath, hands on his knees. Pierre caught up and Benjamin could see that he was flushed, that red spots were blooming on his neck as they always did when he was scared.

  “Don’t we know where we are?” Pierre asked.

  “Sure we do,” Benjamin said.

  “Then how do we get home?”

  * * *

  —

  Benjamin called up a memory of hiking with his father in the woods; his father had said that if he ever got lost he should walk toward the sun. “That way you’ll always make it back to the lake eventually.” He looked up, tried to find a spot, a bright point in the gray sky, but everything was milky and shapeless.

  They walked slowly. Benjamin felt that the forest was getting bigger and taller, or that they were getting smaller, as if they were slowly sinking into it and if the bog rose another two inches they would drown. They sat down on a large rock. It was getting darker and lighter—dusk was falling even as the layer of clouds scattered and the tops of the trees captured the last of the sunshine. Pierre began to cry, and Benjamin got mad at him.

  “What are you crying for?”

  “We’re never going to get home.”

  “Stop it!” he hissed. “Just stop it.”

  Benjamin imagined that eventually Mom and Dad would wonder where the kids had got to, and they’d come looking in the forest. But time passed and the light grew dim. They’d been sitting there for a long time, it felt like two hours, maybe three, when Benjamin suddenly heard something far off in the forest. A bright rumbling sound he recognized immediately, a sound that he otherwise associated with despair and loneliness but that now sparked hope—it was Nils’s moped. He realized that his older brother was on his way home from work, that he was whizzing down the gravel road above the cottage.

  “Run!” Benjamin cried to Pierre.

  And they ran toward the sound of the engine, heard Nils revving hard, heard the engine scream as he downshifted on an uphill stretch, and they ran over the rises and hills, through the thickets and between the trees, and suddenly everything fell into place around Benjamin. He saw the puddles in the excavator tracks they’d balanced across earlier, he saw the piles of timber and the leaning firs, and then the worn electrical poles with black strips of electricity above them that ran through the forest. They hurried down the tractor path and could see the cottage between the trees. Nils’s moped was standing hot next to the patio. Benjamin could see Mom and Dad sitting outside the sauna down by the lake. Lit candles and bottles on the table. Nils was unpacking a bag from the store in the living room. He’d bought cola, still cold and pearled with sweat, a
nd cheese curls, which he poured into a bowl. He tossed a bag to Benjamin when he spotted him.

  “Damaged candy,” Benjamin called to Pierre. Pierre came into the living room.

  “Shouldn’t we go tell Mom and Dad what happened?” Pierre asked.

  “No, why would we?”

  “Because we were lost. For a really long time.”

  “But now we’re back,” Benjamin replied. “Want some candy?”

  Nils took a few steps toward the window and looked down at the lake, reassuring himself that Mom and Dad were still down there, and then he went over to the TV. Without a moment of hesitation, he plugged it in and turned it on. Benjamin watched mutely as Nils pulled up an easy chair so he could hear the low volume, and he sat down with the cheese curls in his lap. Nils did the most unimaginable things with a sense of confidence that Benjamin simply couldn’t comprehend. Pierre and Benjamin sat down on the rug behind Nils and poured out the candy between them.

  “How did it go with the envelope?” Benjamin asked. “Did you mail it?”

  “Yeah,” Nils said.

  “Great,” said Benjamin.

  Benjamin was chewing on a red race car that got stuck first between his teeth and then on the roof of his mouth; his tongue hurt when he shoved it away.

  “Super important that you sent off that envelope,” Benjamin said.

  Nils looked at Benjamin, then turned back to the TV.

  “Now the whole family can relax,” Benjamin said.

  “Right,” Nils replied. “Because it’s not exactly likely that you two will ever get into a single school, you idiots.”

  Benjamin and Pierre looked at the back of Nils’s head, taking in his hunched posture as he leaned toward the TV. Benjamin stood up without a sound. He knew Nils’s weak points, and which one was weakest. Nils’s hair was sparse on the crown of his head; there was a patch the size of a snuffbox where you could see the pale skin of his scalp through the thin strands. Mom liked to put sunscreen on it so he wouldn’t get a sunburn, but she usually used too much, which meant Nils was often walking around with a sticky patch on the top of his head. Benjamin and Pierre sometimes teased him about his bald spot, but only when they were sure Mom couldn’t hear. Benjamin snuck up and cautiously gathered up the sparse hair on the top of Nils’s head by swirling his finger around the affected area. Nils gave a start and turned around.

  “Fucking stop it!” he shouted.

  “You’re such a good student, sweetheart,” said Benjamin.

  Snickering, Benjamin sat back down. Pierre and Benjamin waited a moment, and then Pierre stood, snuck over, and did the same thing. Nils flailed his fist wildly behind him, but missed. He got up and stood there holding his bowl of cheese curls. And then Nils’s eyes crossed slightly, as they always did in the evening when he was tired, and his brothers pounced on the fact immediately and mocked him by crossing their own eyes.

  “I swear, I’m going to kill you both,” Nils said, sitting back down.

  Benjamin, who could see their parents’ fights coming long before they themselves were able to, was blind to what was about to happen to him. He snuck up once more, his finger raised, as Pierre tried to muffle his giggles by covering his mouth. No sooner had his finger landed on Nils’s head than Nils whipped around and lashed out again, with a hard blow that hit Benjamin in the shoulder. Nils had turned so violently that the bowl of cheese curls had fallen from his lap, and they scattered across the floor.

  “Dammit!” Nils shouted, looking at the ruins.

  Benjamin realized that they were out of chances to control the situation. He took a few steps toward the kitchen, but Nils quickly caught up and captured him in his arms. Nils was bigger and stronger, and he shoved Benjamin to the floor. He pinned both of Benjamin’s hands down with his own left hand and punched him in the temple with his right. Benjamin’s ears rang and for a moment he lost consciousness; it returned just as Nils dealt another blow and another and another, his fist hammering into Benjamin’s head. He couldn’t see anything anymore, just heard the dull thuds against his skull, and Pierre’s desperate voice in the background: “Stop! Stop hitting him!”

  The blows ceased. He felt Nils relax his grip. He lay there, saw Nils looking out the window and dashing up the stairs. After a few seconds the front door opened, and Mom and Dad came inside with bottles, plates, and glasses. Benjamin tried to get up, because he didn’t want them to see him lying there, didn’t want them to find out what had happened.

  “Nils punched Benjamin in the head,” Pierre cried.

  Mom stood in the doorway and looked at Benjamin. “What did you two do to Nils this time?” she said.

  “Nils was watching TV,” said Benjamin.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Mom said. “What kind of brother tattles on his sibling?”

  Benjamin gingerly touched his face, to find out if he was bleeding.

  “What did you do to him? What cruel things did you say to him this time?” Mom asked. When they didn’t answer, she took a step into the room and screamed, “Answer me! Tell me what you did to Nils!”

  She turned to Pierre.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “We were playing in the woods and we got lost.”

  “No we didn’t,” Benjamin said.

  “Did too, we were lost for hours, and I cried.”

  Mom looked at her sons, that half-open mouth, her shock and hatred. “Nasty brats,” she said, then turned and walked into the hall. Benjamin heard her heavy tread on the stairs. He was still sitting on the floor, listening as she opened the door to Nils’s room, closed it, and then the muffled murmur of Nils’s lies. He tentatively got to his feet. Pierre sat down with the pile of candy on the living room floor. He set aside a ten-öre coin that had tagged along in the bag, selected a raspberry gummy that seemed unharmed, and popped it into his mouth. Benjamin tackled him and wrestled him to the floor.

  “No, not the ghost hand,” Pierre shrieked. Benjamin used his knees to pin Pierre’s hands and tickled his chest, belly, and armpits. Pierre laughed, tried to get away, tried to yell at him to stop, but his red grimace couldn’t produce words. After a few seconds, an anxious expression passed over his face. “Stop for real, Benjamin. I’m going to pee my pants.” Benjamin pressed his knees down more firmly, tickled him harder, and Pierre stopped laughing. He tried to wriggle away, he yanked and lurched with his whole body, but Benjamin was heavy on top of him. He got one hand free and smacked Benjamin in the chest and face. His desperate look, as he hit and hit without success, and then came the tears as the puddle of pee formed beneath him.

  | 11 |

  2:00 P.M.

  He rounds the last curve and soon the red wooden house emerges from among the trees. He sees the overgrown lot, glances up over the impressive firs, which make the place seem so small. The tall grass rustles under the car. He drives all the way up to the root cellar and turns off the engine. The brothers sit in the car for a moment and look out.

  They’re back.

  They open the doors, squeeze themselves out of the cool, temperature-controlled interior, and step straight out into summer. The sounds of the cottage reach them, the familiar swish of the swallows coming and going, patient bumblebees and anxious wasps. Insects everywhere, one in each flower. And all across the yard, the wind makes its presence known, catching the treetops, whistling through the firs, and fanning the car, which pops and creaks after its long journey.

  “Should we go in the house first?” Pierre says. “And make sure everything’s okay?”

  “No,” Benjamin says. “I want to do it now.”

  Neither Nils nor Pierre responds, but they set their suitcases down and take a few steps toward Benjamin, and side by side the three of them walk down the little path between the house and the barn and slip into the forest.

  This is Benjamin’s forest
.

  He has it inside him, has carried it with him all these years. He knows every rock, every tricky trail, every fallen birch. It’s all closer than he remembers—the marsh, which was once eerie, endless, now takes seven steps to cross. The giant, mysterious boulders are now perfectly ordinary. But the spruces are still inconceivable. When he looks up at the treetops he feels dizzy, as if he’s going to fall headlong through them.

  “Are we going the right way?” Pierre asks.

  “Yes,” Benjamin replies. “Just keep walking straight ahead. Past that rise there.”

  Benjamin is bringing up the rear and studies the backs of his brothers’ necks as they look down to see where to place their feet. They’re walking more slowly now, like you do when you’re approaching a large animal, cautious steps through the dry forest. He’d hoped that it would all be gone, that the fence would have been removed, the building leveled, that there would be bushes and thickets where its foundation once stood. But it’s not so, of course. The substation is still there among the pines, and the fence is there, and the poles. It’s as if it has always been there, and always will be. The brothers stand at a distance.

  “We don’t need to get any closer,” Pierre says.

  “Yes, we do,” Benjamin says.

  Benjamin walks ahead and his brothers follow. The windows are broken. Weeds are growing between the bricks of the façade. The black cables that used to extend from the tall poles, supplying the world, have been removed.