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naturally wondering why I’ve come here,’ she said.
    The candle flickered without going out.
    â€˜It is unexpected.’
    â€˜Did you ever think you would see me again? Did you ever want to?’
    I didn’t answer. When a person has abandoned another without explaining why, there isn’t really anything to say. There is no abandonment that can be excused or explained. I had abandoned Harriet. So I said nothing. I merely sat there, watching the dancing candle flame, and waited.
    â€˜I haven’t come here to put you in the dock. I’ve come to beg you to keep your promise.’
    I understood immediately what she meant.
    The forest pool.
    Where I went swimming as a child, the summer when I celebrated my tenth birthday, and my father and I paid a visit to the area in the north of Sweden where he was born. I’d promised her a visit to that forest pool when I returned from my year in America. We would go there and swim together in the dark water under the bright night sky. I’d thought of it as a beautiful ceremony – the black water, the light summer sky when it never gets dark, the great northern divers calling in the distance, the pool said by the locals to be bottomless. We would go swimming there, and after that, nothing would ever part us.
    â€˜Perhaps you’ve forgotten the promise you made me?’
    â€˜I remember very well what I said.’
    â€˜I want you to take me there.’
    â€˜It’s winter. The pool will be frozen.’
    I thought about the hole in the ice that I made every morning. Would I be able to chop away at a frozen forestpool in the far north of Sweden? Where the ice is as hard as granite?
    â€˜I want to see the pool. Even if it is covered in snow and ice. So that I know it’s true.’
    â€˜It is true. The pool exists.’
    â€˜You never said what it’s called.’
    â€˜It’s too small to have a name. This country is full of small lakes without names. There’s hardly a single city street or country lane without a name, but lakes and pools without names are plentiful in the forests.’
    â€˜I want you to keep your promise.’
    She stood up with difficulty. The candle fell over and went out with a fizzing noise. It was completely dark all around us. The light from the kitchen window didn’t reach this far. Even so, I could see that she had brought her walking aid with her. When I held out my hand to assist her, she waved it away.
    â€˜I don’t want help. I want you to keep your promise.’
    When Harriet and her green wheeled walker came to where the light illuminated the snow, it seemed to me that she was walking down a moonlit street. When we were together almost forty years ago, we’d somewhat childishly pretended that we were moon worshippers. Did she remember that? I watched her side-on as she worked her way through the snow-covered stones and rocks. I found it hard to believe that she was dying. A person approaching the ultimate border. A different world or a different kind of darkness would take over. She parked the walker at the foot of the three steps and held on hard to the rail as she struggled up to the frontdoor. As she opened it, the cat scampered between her legs and into the house. She went to her room. I listened with my ear pressed against the closed door. I could hear the faint clinking noise from a bottle. Medicine from her bag. The cat miaowed and rubbed herself against my legs. I gave her something to eat, and sat down at the kitchen table.
    It was still dark outside.
    I tried to read the temperature on the thermometer attached to the outside of the window frame, but the glass containing the mercury column had misted over. The door opened, and Harriet came in. She had brushed her hair and changed into a new jumper. It was lavender blue. I was reminded of my mother and her lavender-scented tears. But Harriet wasn’t crying. She smiled as she sat down on the kitchen