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with a lopsided roof, broken and patched-up windows and a door that threatened to fall out of its frame. Jukka knocked hard on the door. It was opened immediately by an old lady so wrapped up in shawls that the only parts of her that Hanna could see were her eyes and her nose.
    ‘Wallén,’ said Jukka. ‘Does the Wallén family live in this house?’
    The old woman gave a start as if he had punched her. Then she said something he couldn’t understand.
    ‘Take that shawl off, damn you!’ he roared. ‘I’m here on behalf of Jonathan Forsman, the businessman. He wants to know if anybody called Wallén lives here. I can’t hear a word of what you are mumbling behind all those rags you’re wearing.’
    The old woman removed the shawl that was covering her face. Hanna could see now that it was gaunt and hollowed, as if she was often left starving.
    ‘The Wallén family,’ said Jukka again, making his impatience obvious.
    ‘They’ve gone,’ said the old woman.
    ‘What do you mean, they’ve gone? Gone to heaven or hell? Give me a proper answer before I lose my temper.’
    The old woman backed away, but Jukka placed his large boot between the door and the frame.
    ‘There’s only one old man left here in the house,’ she said. ‘They left him behind. I don’t know where they’ve gone to.’
    Jukka sucked at his lips and tried to make up his mind what to say to that.
    ‘We’ll go in and talk to the old boy,’ he said eventually. ‘Show us where he lives!’
    The old woman led them up a staircase. Pale-looking children were standing in doorways, staring wide-eyed at the strangers going past. Hanna noticed that there was a stale, acrid smell, as if the house was never aired.
    They continued up to the attic floor where the old woman finally stopped outside a door, knocked, then immediately scurried away. When Jukka opened the door, he pushed Hanna inside.
    ‘Go and talk to your relative now,’ he said. ‘Either you’ll be living here, or you’ll have to come back home again with me.’
    The room contained a bed, a Windsor-style chair and a cracked mirror hanging on one of the walls. Hanna could see a reflection of her face in it – a worried face, somebody she didn’t really recognize. Then she looked at the old man lying in the bed who was staring at her as if she had just descended from heaven.
    She recalled what her father had said, the last words he had whispered secretly into her ear. About her being a mucky angel. Had he been right?
    Was it really an angel the old man seemed to see standing in front of him? Or just a confused serving girl from the distant mountains?

12
    JUKKA WAS IMPATIENT.
    ‘Talk to the old boy now,’ he growled. ‘We don’t have time to just stand around gaping at him.’
    He walked over to the window and opened it: it had been closed for so long that it was extremely difficult to move.
    ‘It stinks in here,’ he said. ‘A nasty stench of old man. The earth has already started to eat you up, without your noticing. Your body is already full of worms and maggots, chewing away at your flesh.’
    Jukka glared expectantly at Hanna. She went up to the bed where the old man was lying. He had bits of old food in his beard, his nightshirt was sweaty and dirty. She explained who she was, what she was called, and who her father and mother were. The old man didn’t seem to understand, or maybe he hadn’t heard. She repeated what she had said, but louder.
    In reply he raised a trembling hand. Hanna thought he was trying to greet her – but the hand was pointing to the window.
    ‘I’m cold,’ said the old man. ‘Close the window.’
    Jukka was standing by the window as if on guard. He took a step forward, as if he were about to attack.
    ‘The room stinks,’ he said. ‘It needs airing. But do you realize who this is, standing here in front of you? Hanna Wallén. Are you a relative of hers, or not? If you can tell us yes or no, we can leave you in peace.’
    But the old man