[If you haven’t yet read The Letter, an earlier post about a letter I found on a New York City sidewalk sent to a Swedish woman in 1970, please do so. The rest of this post won’t make any sense otherwise.] I don’t know why I didn’t follow my one big lead on this story until tonight; I’ve been meaning to, and were I a paid private detective all this would have been over months ago. Maybe I was afraid the lead would be a dead end; perhaps the mystery of the letter was something to savour before solving, much like one lets fine wine linger under the palate. Or perhaps my Swedish was just so godawful until now that I didn’t want to subject anyone to a cold-call of mine.

But tonight I did call Gunnar Lennerbring, the only Lennerbring I had found in the Swedish phonebook. After a few rings, a woman picked up. I couldn’t tell from her voice how old she was. I asked for Gunnar Lennerbring, and she immediately said Gunnar är död, Gunnar is dead.

What a start.

I knew that there is a phrase in Swedish for such moments, and I knew that I had forgotten it. So instead of saying Jag beklagar — I’m sorry (for your loss) — I stammered Ursäkta — excuse me. Dumb dumbMaybe I should have waited a few more months before finally calling.. I thought I should perhaps explain, before she slammed the phone down on my manners, that my Swedish wasn’t in fact that good, and that I was looking for a person called Margaretha, and that this phone number was my only lead.

Margaretha is my daughter, the woman said gently. She married. She lives in Stockholm. Her married name is I—. Would you like her number? Here it is…

Suddenly somewhat breathless, I now dial Margaretha’s number. A male voice picks up. Can I talk to Margaretha? The voice calls for his mom. And then I’m talking to her. Aware that all this might sound a bit bizarre, and nervous because of it, I begin telling the story of how I found a letter in New York four years ago mailed in 1970 to someone that I believe to be her.

I read out some of the letter’s place names. Do they sound familiar? She sounds noncommittal, though my ear is untrained in the various ways Swedes signal assent…and there are many ways of signalling assent: Å, Nja, Ja, Jo, Jaha, Just det, Kanske det, Visst, Klart, Möjlig, Säkert, silence… And then there are all the ways in which they don’t: Å, Nja, Jaha, Kanske det, Möjlig, silence…. Perhaps she is understandably wary of disclosing her personal history to a stranger bearing leading questions.

Not knowing how I’m coming through, I ask her if she has web access. She does, at work. Then she can see the letter online, just type Lennerbring into Google and it’s the only page that comes up… Does she know about Google? She asks, does her son know about Google? Yes, he does. I posted the letter there in my attempt to return it to the addressee, I say — and in a retreat to the tentative — if that is her.

But about that she is sure: She is the only Margaretha, maiden name Lennerbring, there isMargaretha should stay anonymous, I’ve decided, because while I’m fine with posting anonymous letters on the web, I am not, absent her permission, fine with posting personal letters on the web..

In that case, I say, perhaps she could look at the letter tomorrow, and then email me, so that I could arrange to meet her sometime and return it?

She will. She said so.