On the Trail of the Sqvader of Sundsvall

In the 1870s, the town of Sundsvall, in Sweden’s Medelpad province, had a bit of a gossip problem. Located at the mouth of a bay that opens into the Gulf of Bothnia, in 1874 the village of Sundsvall had grown into one of the key trading centres for fish and timber along the coast between Sweden and Finland. In winter, cold winds blow in from Östersund down from the hilltops in the west where Sweden and Norway border each other all the way across the forests of Medelpad and through Sundsvall to the sea. Before the construction of the Lovisa Ulrika church, the centre of village life was the old tavern that overlooked the river that ran along the edge of town and into the bay. It was where the fisherman docked their boats and headed out from every day to secure their catch to feed their families and sell at local markets and to trade with farmers in the other nearby villages. Visiting the tavern was a daily ritual and even those that had not set out for the sea that day would amble down at sunset to the tavern to laugh and to drink and to share stories.

For two decades, Håkan Dahlmark was one of those villagers whose daily life centred around taking his boat out in the day, unwinding at the tavern for a few hours in the late afternoon before, returning home to his wife at the end of the day. In that time, he had become quite a successful fisherman and owned his own home and his boats. He was even well off enough to hire two deckhands and a keeper for the house, and could take at least 5 days off every month to pursue his passion for hunting game in the woodlands of the surrounding countryside. On his hunting expeditions, he would often return home with wild grouse and hares along with the occasional deer which brought him enormous pride. It also helped him to develop a reputation that caught the attention of the local elites and administrators of Sundsvall and the nearby villages. In the early years of their marriage, this success brought great joy to his wife who grew fond of the luxuries that their upward social mobility could afford and of keeping company with the other well-to-do ladies and gentlemen of the province.

Dahlmark’s successes, however, came with a price. In concentrating his energies toward elevating his and his wife’s status and providing her with a life free of common worries, he had become neglectful of her other needs. She enjoyed the taste of game and the meals that the help were able to create from her husband’s hunting, but his willingness to leave her for days at a time in order to procure it left her lonely. For his days at sea, his all too common visits to the tavern she deemed to be selfish behaviour that she was not willing to ignore and she took up amorous relations with one of the local magistrates, Olson, who was himself a reputed philanderer.

Years of silence in the forest and developing skills needed for the hunt had made Dahlmark a keen observer of his surroundings. While at home, it did not take long for him to become suspicious of his wife soon after she had taken her affair. Subtle changes in her demeanour and how she moved about the house seemed slightly off from what Håkan had known as normal during their marriage. Weeks and months went by and at social gatherings, he noticed glances that went astray and how her attention was loose and would flutter about the room as it never had before.

The only thing more damaging to one’s reputation than loose morals is loose lips and both were regularly unfettered at the tavern. As his suspicions grew, he began to frequent the tavern more frequently so as to stay up to date on the latest gossip. News had not reached the city, but in order to spare himself the reputation of a cuckold and, most importantly, his wife the damnation of an adulteress, Dahlmark devised a plan to spare his family the embarrassment.

For more than a month during his visits to the tavern, Dahlmark began spreading false rumours of every kind and prefacing each lie by stating that it was not something he had witnessed himself, but that every rumour had spread to him from someone else. Among the lies that were spreading were: The newly minted coins that the German horse trader Claus had been circulating were counterfeit; After a drunken altercation the previous year Johan, the tavern keeper, had refused to sell Ulf Mullen any more alcohol for fear the incident might repeat itself and that every pint he served him thereafter was a non-alcoholic brew of trailings left behind in the cereals trough; The son of Kristian and Marina Kristianson was actually the illegitimate child of a wealthy banker from Stockholm – which seemed plausible to the townsfolk since the child had been conceived out of wedlock; Isak Odeburg had entered into a homosexual relationship with a shepherd boy in the nearby village of Vattjom; Rasmus Helveg had been born with a second penis which a surgeon had removed soon after he was born; And Jesper Ohlin’s wife Magda was, in fact, the long lost daughter of Ferdinand V and Maria Anna of Savoy and therefore a claimant to the throne of Austria and the titles of the Hapsburgs.

Dahlmark sprinkled in countless other lies in that time and allowed each one to simmer and boil in the stew of the tavern. Every night he would listen and on many occasions, the rumours circulated back to him and he would always then ask questions to track the rumour back as far as he could and in their drunkenness the lies grew and never led back to him. As all of the gossip began to spread, each story took on a life of its own and the longer it went on the less the stories began to resemble the original lie. New wild rumours even began to spring up in the pot that Dahlmark caught wind of and had no hand in starting. It was as if Dahlmark’s daily habit of spreading rumours to dilute the pool of lies had given license to the whole village to do the same.

The next phase of Dahlmark’s plan centred around a grand pronouncement he made before all of the ladies and gentlemen at an opulent dinner party where, on one of his hunting trips, he confessed to having seen a beast with the head and forequarters of a hare and the hind of a woodland grouse. The dinner guests thought it preposterous and laughed exclaiming that such a creature could not possibly exist. Dahlmark declared that if no one would believe him that he would go to the woods to hunt and within a month would return with the remains of the animal. Having made his pledge to the upper-class citizens of the town, before heading off to the woods to hunt the mythical creature, Dahlmark made one last visit to the tavern to spread one last rumour – that his wife had begun an affair with one of the wealthy citizens of Sundsvall whom he had no less sat across from at a dinner party the night before. It was delivered casually, but deliberately, and was immediately believed by his drunken audience of one, Olo Ürro, a good gossip in his own right. All of the lies, including that of the imaginary grouse-hare which had already spread from the table to the tavern, were now out.

Rudolf Granberg lived a quiet life inland from the river a day’s hike from the town of Sundsvall. He lived alone and his small wooden home was a frequent stopover for Dahlmark during many of his hunting trips. It was from here that Dahlmark would begin his search for the creature he created from his imagination. He arrived at Granberg’s cabin with his rifle and a small satchel of gold and explained his predicament.

“What do you want me to do about it?” Granberg asked.

Inspecting the cabin where there hung the trophies of heads and antlers of deer and elk, Dahlmark pointed to them and said, “I want you to make me one of these animals just like the ones you have hanging in your cabin. I will pay you.”

Dahlmark placed the satchel of gold coins in front of Granberg who considered his proposal. “I have never had much use for gold,” he said. “But we have always been good friends and I find your story amusing. I will do it on one condition.”

“What is that?” Dalhmark asked.

“When you return you must include a lie about me.” 

It was settled, and Dahlmark and Granberg set out each day to hunt and enjoyed the solitude away from the village. They would hunt from sun up until they had killed what they could carry back to Granberg’s cabin where they would play games of chance betting on the worthless gold coins from Dahlmark’s satchel. They would drink Granberg’s moonshine and eat a hearty stew. Every three days, Granberg would travel to the village and purchase a loaf of bread for them to eat and while in town he would listen for news of the spreading rumours.

When a month had passed, Dahlmark announced to Granberg that it was time for him to return to the village with his hunting trophy. Together they went to the woods to trap a grouse and a hare which, with their experience, took them no time at all. As though he had done it a million times, Granberg gutted both animals and hastily tanned the insides so that the kill would seem fresh, and with expert-like precision, he then grafted the head of the hare onto the hind of the grouse.

“Marvelous!” Dahlmark exclaimed. “You truly are a magician. It seems only fair that you should have naming rights. So, what should we call it?”

“How about ‘chirping grouse’?” Granberg suggested.

“It’s perfect.”

With a formal dinner scheduled for the evening of his return, Dahlmark went to his home to wash off the smell of the hunt and collect his wife for the festivities. When he arrived, he found his wife in the foulest of moods and she slapped him across the face when he entered.

“People are saying that I have been having affair with Olson the town magistrate!” she screamed.

“Well haven’t you?” Dahlmark responded matter-of-factly. He was so assured of himself in his response that, expecting him to react with astonishment, it left his wife stunned.

“How dare you!” she screamed again that half the village could hear.

“My dear,” Dahlmark continued calmly, “I have returned with proof of the legendary sqvader that roams these woods. Everyone will be so astonished when they see it, that no one will make anything of your trivial infidelities.”

“You’re mad!”

“No, my dear, I love you. But more than that I would prefer to be remembered as someone who discovered something extraordinary because I know full well that all of the men of this town are cucks.”

“And so are you!”

“Yes, but because I love you I would also prefer you to be spared the ignominy of being branded an adulteress. We have done well to climb as high as we have in this town and I imagine you would prefer for your reputation to remain as unsullied as possible.” Dahlmark paused and looked deep into his wife’s eyes before kissing her on the cheek and said, “You know, perhaps I am mad”.

Dahlmark disrobed, grabbed a bar of soap and heated some water for a bath. Believing that her reputation was already in ruins, his wife did not know what to say. “Collect yourself and get dressed,” Dahlmark continued. “We have a dinner to attend. And do try to smile.”

The mood was tense at the cocktail. So many wild rumours had bubbled to the surface leaving everyone on edge and unsure of what to say. Dahlmark’s wife had a withdrawn look like that of a woman whose husband beat her regularly, but without the bruises. People barely spoke to each other unable to look into each other’s eyes. Dahlmark, however, strutted about the parlour with the swagger of a made man.

When dinner was finally served, Dahlmark finally addressed the silence. “Do we suspect that the cooks have pissed in the soup?” he said to all within earshot as they all found themselves timidly stirring their broth.

“You have been away a while, Dahlmark,” Olson responded.

“And what I have missed?”

“There have been many things said about all of us,” Olson continued. “None of which are true. And many of these lies, it seems, trace themselves back to you.”

The issue was now out in the open and the dinner guests began to stir and whisper to each other.

“What kind of things then?” Dahlmark asked wiping the broth from his beard.

“That the mayor has a half man, half dog, child which he keeps in the attic; That Blomquist has buried gold doubloons from the Spanish Main below his house; Or that the names on Anders and Hilde’s marriage certificate are forgeries and that they are actually half brother and sister.”

Olaf Petterson rose from the table and chimed in, “It has also been rumoured that Daniel Eriksson is using an alias and that he is actually Sven Balberg and is a wanted man in Sjaelland.

Next Tomas Berglund rose from his chair and exclaimed, “It might interest you to know that there is also a rumour that your own wife is having an affair.”

At this Dahlmark rose up and put out his hands to calm the furor. “Yes, yes, there are many lies that seem to be circulating through our tiny hamlet. It appears that there is something wild and audacious about everyone including yours truly. Yes, all of these lies come back to me because one of them is true. Wanting to spare that individual the embarrassment I flooded our town with lies so that no one would know their shameful truth from all of the hearsay.”

“Well which is it?” several of the women at the table screamed in unison.

“Yes, which is it,” Berglund chimed in. “All of our lives have been upturned by one or several of these lies in one way or another. We have a right to know.”

Dahlmark carefully shifted his gaze to Olson and said, “It’s the lie that none of you wanted to believe. I imagine none of you have talked about it in months.”

His audience was struck dumb. No one could tell what Dahlmark was talking about. “You are all so quick to turn on each other and smear your good names with gossip and when it came to the one unthinkable truth you all simply dismissed it as pure poppycock. Where have I been all of this time?”

Dahlmark drew his satchel from his waistcoat, grabbed the carcass of the sqvader and smashed it on the table. The remaining dried guts and blood sprung up into the air as the long ears and forelimbs of the hare flopped onto the table upturning more than a couple of bowls of soup and feathers from the tail of the grouse delicately swayed to and fro in the air before gently landing on the laps of some of the dinner guest seated nearest to Dahlmark.

“I told you lies you believed to be the truth and the truth you believed to be a lie. How can any of you even tell which is which? Now here is at least some proof so that you can see with your own eyes.”

The shocked dinner guests could not think to utter a single word as Dahlmark sat back down in his seat. Turning to the servants he remarked that the broth was quite delicious but that he was ready to begin his main course.

The following day Dahlmark sent his fisherman away and spent the day on the water fishing. When the sun was beginning to set, he returned to the harbour and visited the tavern where word of the commotion that he had caused at the dinner the night before was already spreading.

“Is it true?” one man spoke up over the crowd addressing Dahlmark when he entered. “You hunted one of the mythical sqvader that live in the nearby woods?”

“Yes, it’s true,” he replied. Once again, he reached into his satchel and pulled out the carcass and lifted it high so that all could see it and a great roar went out around the tavern.

Everyone at the tavern was keen to inspect the beast and all cheered and applauded Dahlmark for bringing back solid evidence of the existence of the creature he had claimed to have seen a month earlier and which nobody believed.

“I do have a confession to make, though,” Dahlmark bellowed so that all would pay attention. He looked over at Ulf Mullen and then to the tavernkeeper, “Johan! Get Ulf a good and proper beer, on me. Oh! And a beer also for Claus, and I am happy to pay for it with proper Swedish coin! And one beer for Isak too – the manliest womanizer I know! One for Long-Dick Rasmus among whom we should all feel a little inadequate! One for everybody! Let’s all raise a glass for all of the lies ever told about us and for the sqvader for which there is actually some proof!”

Huge cheers rang through the hall well into the night and Håkan Dahlmark was at the centre of everyone’s attention. He had not been seen in Sundsvall in a month and all wanted to hear the story about how he had spotted, stalked, and then killed the mysterious creature. For over an hour, Dahlmark shared precise details about how the sqvader interacts with its habitat and other animals in the forest. He laid out everything from its diet to its courtship and mating behaviour to where well into the night each person at the tavern felt assured that they could enter the woods and themselves trap a sqvader. When it came time for Dahlmark’s story to reach its resolution, a smirk went across his face. His eyes dropped and as he stared at the floor, with a touch of embarrassment, told his audience how he had trapped a hare and a grouse and had his woodland friend Rudolf Granberg use his skills as a taxidermist to make the carcass of the sqvader they now saw before them. There was an awkward moment of silence before the whole tavern erupted in a roar of unrestrained laughter. And, raising their draughts to the ceiling they all cried out together, “To Lies!”