The reference to the hermit was surely a cryptic instruction that I should pay this man a visit. The more I thought about it, the more certain it seemed to me that this had been Mia’s intention. I wouldn’t wait. I’d visit him right away. So instead of returning home, I cycled up the road past my farm, past Håkan’s farm, search ing for the hermit’s farmhouse. Eventually I saw the old house, stranded in the middle of the fields like a stray animal. It was hard to believe that anyone lived there since it was so run-down and neglected. The driveway was entirely unlike the perfectly maintained entrance to Håkan’s farm. There were waist-high weeds between loose stones and the fields on either side were closing in, the countryside swallowing the path. Abandoned farm equipment dotted the approach, eerie and sad. There was the footprint of a barn, recently torn down. I dismounted my bike. With each footstep I told myself there was no need to check if Håkan was watching. I was almost at the farmhouse when my willpower faltered.
