by Tove Jansson
There was a silence, and Anton asked the easiest question:
“Do you ever see any of them?”
“No, why should I? I quit in the sixth. And anyway, who cares? Why not just forget about them. You know, it’s like you’re some kind of old pine tree with dead branches clinging on at the bottom, you know, what’s the word, obseek …
“Obsequious?” Anton suggested.
“Right. This coffee tastes like shit. Wait a second.” Bob took his flask from his pocket. “They don’t even have booze on this train … And your obsequious eyes. They were on me all the time. You followed me everywhere. You know what, Alan? They laughed at me. Ha ha, you’ve got a little admirer! God what a pain.”
“Anton,” said Anton. “Not Alan.”
“You were like a puppy trying to ingratiate itself, begging to be beaten. Did you get a beating? No. Never from me. Attacking a little kid, skinny and weak – I don’t do that.”
“Be quiet for a minute,” Anton burst out. “How was I supposed to know what it felt like for you? Okay, okay, of course, I was annoying, childish, comical, but what do you expect? Didn’t you ever have an idol, some kind of superman, someone even stronger than you? Who did you worship in those days?”
“Don’t make a scene,” Bob said. He hadn’t been listening. He sat there playing with his napkin, folding it into smaller and smaller squares, then he crumpled it up and threw it on the floor. “Funny,” he said. “Somehow everything gets smaller and smaller … Now listen to me, this is what I’ve been thinking. I’ve been thinking that if you admire somebody, you think you have the right to own them, you own the other person. Do you get what I’m saying? You use him, somehow. And he can’t do anything about it. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” Anton said.
“Good. I was right. And how much fun do you think that is? It’s shitty. You never feel free.”
“Trying to live up to expectations!” said Anton rather sharply.
“No, no, not at all. Don’t be dumb. But you’re being watched, you know, all the time. I suppose no one has ever admired you, so you can’t understand what it’s like. Now let’s have another little drink and forget the whole thing, just draw a line through it, as if nothing happened. Okay? I got this flask in Tibet. Genuine.”
“No,” Anton said. “You got it in a business deal. You said so. You’ve never been in Tibet. And you use a tanning lamp.”
“Whoops,” said Bob. “Someone’s feelings got a little hurt.” He laughed good-naturedly and raised his glass to his travelling companion. “You know what? It happens to some people all the time and others not at all. Know what I mean? What time is it? Left my watch at home. Never mind, doesn’t matter.”
Right now, right then, in the schoolyard I should have attacked him, blindly, fearlessly, and settled accounts with him. I really should have.
“Shall we go back?” Anton said.
“Yes, yes,” Bob said, “but you know you can never really go back … You were so little, a nothing, a little nothing. When you start out, everything is a nothing, isn’t it? Unless you’re nothing but eyes …”
“Come on, let’s go,” Anton said.
“But I have to pay.”
“It’s all taken care of. Let’s go.”
“Fine,” Bob said. “Very good. Excellent. Have I got my case?”
“No, we left it behind.”
“Very careless, very, very careless …” Bob got to his feet. The train shook and jerked. Between cars they were walking on screeching metal plates. It was a very old train. An outside door was open, slamming back and forth.
“Anton!” Bob shouted. “The door!”
Anton grabbed hold of him and they were thrown against the wall. Bob’s whole body was shaking. “Hold on to me,” Bob said. “Don’t let go.”
Outdoors, it had snowed. The spruces trees were completely white. Anton closed the door. They got back to their seats.
“I need some water,” Bob said.
Anton went to the lavatory and filled the empty flask with water.
Bob fell asleep immediately and slept for several hours. He didn’t wake up even when the train stopped and Anton got off with his attaché case. It was a very small station, a long way from Ida’s town. The train stopped for only a minute or two, then whistled and went its way.
Anton sat down on the bench outside the station. The silence was absolute. It was warm in the sun, and nothing seemed terribly important. He would send Ida a telegram and travel on with the next train, whenever it came.
When Anton opened his case, a bunch of papers fell out in the snow – glossy brochures. The case was divided into compartments for samples, textiles, price lists, and a special section for hand-painted ties with Hawaiian scenes. He put everything back and closed the case.
Actually, and in many ways, it wasn’t so different from his own.
Party Games
ONE MORNING IN JANUARY, Nora read in the paper that the Swedish Girls’ Lyceum had closed, and in a moment of nostalgia she decided to organize a class reunion. It wasn’t easy to find her old classmates. Most of them had married and changed their names a couple of times and a few had simply disappeared or died. But Nora kept at it, approaching the problem roughly the way she attacked one of the intricate crossword puzzles she did to amuse herself these days, and by and by she had assembled a handful of ladies who promised, reluctantly, to attend. Nora decided the reunion should take place at Eva’s place. Eva thought the decision was rather hasty, but she didn’t object because she remembered very well that opposition was pointless once Nora started bossing people around.
Just before they all arrived, Eva put out a tray of Bloody Marys to get the ball rolling, and she softened the lighting.
They were a small group – Nora, Pamela, Edith, Kitty, Vera and Ann-Marie – but they all arrived at once and there was great confusion in the front hall as they tried to remove their winter coats and boots and simultaneously give each other hugs, plus several of them had bouquets of flowers that had to be unwrapped. And their faces did not immediately fall into place. Nora was unaltered, having only become much larger.
“Aha,” she said. “Bloody Marys. Eva Specials, very explosive!”
Everyone laughed, waiting for one of the little speeches Nora had always loved to make at class parties, but Nora merely raised her glass and looked at Eva.
“Welcome,” said Eva awkwardly. “It’s been a long time …” And she thought angrily that if you’re going to act superior and make decisions, then you can also help out even if it takes a little effort, and in a moment of great astonishment, Eva realized that she must have disliked Nora quite a lot.
“Such a lovely apartment,” Vera said.
Ann-Marie said, “Can you give me your recipe for Bloody Marys? You use pepper, don’t you?”
“Yes indeed. Tabasco and vodka and a little pepper.”
Ann-Marie nodded solemnly. “Pepper,” she said. “Of course.”
They all fell silent …
“Well,” said Pamela, “so here we sit.” She turned to Vera. “And what have you been up to lately?” she asked.
“Nothing special,” Vera said, digging in her handbag.
“I’ve got some cigarettes here someplace,” Eva said. “Do you smoke?”
“Thank you, but I never have.”
“So strange, all of it,” Kitty said to no one in particular.
“I kept thinking that I should give it a try, but somehow it never happened …”
They all fell silent again.
Eva dived in. “Do you remember …” she began. “Do you remember that time, we were in the eighth form, I think …” And so they saved the day by fleeing into their inevitable schoolgirl memories and talked excitedly and called each other Ami and Stride and Squeaky. They experienced a kind of liberating rejuvenation, a recovery of girlishness. They ate and drank and got used to each other’s new faces. Nora sat in a rocking chair and kept it slowly rocking. She had really grown
extremely large. She looked at the others and said very little.
Suddenly Kitty said, “You know what? We all gave each other silly nicknames, but Nora was always just Nora, the queen. Why was that? And what shall we do now? Nora, you need to organize this party. I just know you can. How about we take turns telling about ourselves – whether or not we’re married, have jobs – you know, very briefly, and then we’ll know all about each other.”
“But Kitty!” Vera burst out. “You’re not angry, are you?”
“Not at all, I just know how it’ll be. Someone’s won the lottery and someone else’s had an operation or taken a charter flight to Madeira, and then we’ll talk about nothing but lotteries and surgeries and trips abroad and nothing else for hours.”
Pamela said, “So now we’re not allowed to talk about all that? Why are you being like this?”
“How about some coffee?” Eva said, and Vera cried, “But how about a game? A party game. Nora?”
Nora got up from her rocking chair and clapped her hands. “Girls, girls,” she said, “I’ve got an idea.”
“Quiet down, class!” Kitty shouted. “Nora has an idea! Ta-dah!”
Eva laid a cautionary hand on Kitty’s arm, and Nora went on.
“Do you all remember the one about the burning house and who should I rescue first?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Edith said. “Whoever you rescued it was somehow wrong.”
Kitty put up her hand and said in a baby voice, “Teacher, teacher! Can’t we play that fun game where someone goes out of the room and the others say what they really think?”
She’s not drunk, Eva thought. She’s beside herself. What should I do?
“Last class before Christmas!” Nora shouted jokingly. “You can all have fun and talk as much as you like! Here’s a good game. What would you do if you knew that you had just so much longer to live?” She sat back down in the rocking chair.
“Fascinating,” said Vera, cautiously.
“How much longer do we have?” Pamela wanted to know.
“Decide for yourselves,” Nora said.
“A week?”
“No,” Ann-Marie said, “that doesn’t give you enough time to do anything.”
“Six months?” Edith suggested.
Vera said, “But that’s enough time to get scared.”
They agreed on a month, pens and paper were passed around, and each of them was to put what she’d written on the table in front of Eva, without a name. She sat and looked at them as they wrote, so obedient and earnest, and wondered why it was that extremely reserved people revealed themselves so freely the moment they were playing a parlour game. She thought about college examinations – what do you know about … ? what can you say about … ? – and you had less than an hour to answer.
Now they came over to her, one after another, and left their folded papers on the table.
“Read,” Nora said.
“I’d clean the house.”
“But you’d do that anyway,” Ann-Marie burst out. “And for that matter, in a month it would be dirty again! Does she say anything else?”
“And burn all the letters that could make anyone unhappy.”
“Good!” Kitty shouted. “Teacher? Nora? You have to give her a grade. Ten!”
“Negative nine,” Nora said. “Her reasoning is obvious and not original. Eva, read on.”
“I would figure out what I’ve always longed to do and then do it, heedlessly, thinking only of myself.”
Edith: “But you can’t change careers in one month …”
Ann-Marie: “But shouldn’t she tell us what it is she longs to do?”
“She doesn’t know yet,” Vera said, and Nora interrupted. “We’ll get into all of that later. Eva, read the next one.”
“This one has a very ugly picture. And underneath it, a lot of writing that’s been crossed out in black.”
“It’s Kitty’s!” Edith shouted.
“No, it’s not mine.”
“Can we look at the picture?” Pamela said.
But Eva continued. “To feel like a balloon that’s lost its string. To be wide awake and see everything differently. To be unable to comprehend how others can go on without you. Isn’t that good?”
“Yes, indeed,” Nora said. “But it’s off the subject. She hasn’t written about what she would do but about how it would feel. We have to stick to the rules.”
“You and your rules,” Edith said, and everyone started talking at once. Eva unfolded a piece of paper that was blank, then she stood up to go and get the coffee, nodded to Kitty and they went into the kitchen together.
“Stop crying,” Eva said. “They’ll go home soon and it will all be over.”
Kitty sat down on the kitchen counter. “Of course it’s not over,” she said. “I can’t get them out of my head, those awful games. “A-Tisket, A-Tasket”, and nobody picked me, and everyone pointed, left out! And children are supposed to think that’s fun?!”
“I remember,” Eva said. “It was cruel. But it was such a long time ago.”
Kitty wasn’t listening. She went on. “And then those intelligence games. Nora’s quizzes. Eva, forget the coffee for a second and listen to me. You weren’t allowed to save yourself and quit because then you were chicken, a bad loser!”
“Yes, it was awful. Now I’m taking in the coffee. Kitty, dear, bring in the other tray, but carefully. The class gave me that decanter when I graduated, remember? It was Nora picked it out.”
“I’m sure she did,” Kitty said. “Do you know what my uncle said once about a really ugly glass carafe? Wait, don’t go! Can you forgive me if I say something nasty to Nora? It won’t ruin your party?”
“Do you have to?”
“Yes, I think I do.”
“Well, then say it, for heaven’s sake,” Eva said and carried in the coffee. She was tired.
“No cognac for me,” Pamela said. “I’ll just take some liqueur.”
“That’s much stronger,” Kitty said. “You know nothing about spirits. But just look at this splendid glass carafe! It was Nora picked it out. Who else? Forty years ago, and no one has ever had the nerve to break it. Nora! Would you like to know what my uncle said about a glass carafe? At a family gathering? He said, ‘Have you ever seen a rooster pee in a glass carafe?’!”
“But good heavens,” Pamela said, “what could he have meant by that?”
“Wanted to shock them,” Nora explained amiably. “He probably just needed to let off steam. But dear Kitty, no one’s shocked these days by childish scatological remarks. How old was he when he died, your uncle?”
“Ninety-two.”
Now she’s going to start crying again, Eva thought. And how am I going to get them to go home?
“Speaking of death,” said Ann-Marie quickly, “have you all seen how they don’t have proper crosses on the death notices in the paper any more? Some of them have birds and palm fronds and all sorts of things …”
“They’re just putting on airs,” Edith said. “And what does it have to do with us?”
The wind had come up, and when the room was quiet they looked out at the storm that was throwing snow against the windowpanes. Someone said it might be hard to get a taxi, and who should it take home first, and suddenly everything was back to normal.
“We’ll need two,” Nora said, and Eva said that she’d planned a little hot dish before they left. Everyone got up and started searching for their purses and glasses and cigarettes. Nora raised her great weight from the rocking chair and said, “We’ve stayed far too long, it’s really time for us to go. It’s been a fine evening, Eva. Kitty, your purse is right there.”
“I know perfectly well where my purse is!” Kitty said. “Don’t be so bossy. Shall I tell you more about my uncle? Do you know what he said? ‘Do what you like and make yourselves happy. Go to bed with your boots on and empty your chamber pots right out the window!’”
“Yes, why not,” said Nora thoughtfully. She studied Kitty
for a moment and went on. “Have you all said goodbye and have you got everything? Eva, can you call the taxi? Get two, and ask them to back into the entryway. The pavement is icy.”
Eva stood with the receiver at her ear, waiting for taxi central to answer. It rang and rang. She reached out her hand and pulled Nora closer so they were both waiting for the connection.
“Kitty?” said Nora over her shoulder. “Just one thing. Please, would you tell me what it was you wrote on that paper? Even though it’s against the rules?”
“Of course,” Kitty said. “That I’d go on living my life as usual.”
“Ten plus!” Nora shouted.
“Six three four,” Eva repeated. “Two cars. And could you back them into the entryway?”
They said their goodbyes in the front hall, with an affection that was perfectly genuine but that committed them to nothing.
Pirate Rum
THAT SUMMER, Jonna and Mari stayed on their island into September. Every time they were ready to move back to town there was a run of hard weather and they had to unpack again, and when the weather calmed down and turned beautiful, they thought, Why not stay a little longer? And then of course some new storm blew up.
Every autumn people would worry about the elderly ladies and say this was probably the last year they’d come out.
One evening it started blowing from the east, and an east wind was always worst because the boat was too heavy to pull up on shore, so they had to anchor it out in the water with lines to hold it steady. The island was shaped like an atoll, with a lagoon in the middle, and when the seas came straight from the east, they broke over the rocky barrier in great waterfalls and roared on across the lagoon, while from the other side came waves reflected from the opposite shore, leaving the Victoria, held by four lines, to struggle as best she could in a little vacuum of clashing breakers. Jonna checked the lines every year and bought new shackles. If the wind rose more than normal, she added extra lines. They would stand there silently, staring at the dancing boat, then go back into the cottage.
