by Kurt Ulmer
Safe at a Distance
Kurt Ulmer
Published: 2011
Tag(s): "Teenage love" disappointment tragedy
Safe at a Distance
by
Kurt Ulmer
Kurt Ulmer Publishing
Copyright © 2011 by Kurt Ulmer
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
Disclaimer
This short story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Edition License
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Safe at a Distance
In 1875, Edvard Grieg composed the Peer Gynt Suite, incidental music to Peer Gynt, a play by fellow Norwegian, the playwright Henrik Ibsen. Edvard and Henrik: I hate you and I love you. I’ll tell you why.
I left Trondheim, Norway in 1962 on a migrant ship Australia bound. It should have been a rainy day. Tears are less obvious then. There was kiss blowing, streamer tossing and waving. The ship pulled away. I was 17 and would meet Solveig five years hence. I was innocent and naïve.
At 15, I was smitten by this tall, gorgeous, blue eyed girl. I found out her name: Solveig. We were technical high school students. I saw her daily on the bus. I imagined us kissing. She wore smart clothes and had small breasts. I wanted to be near her all the time. She worked at a bookshop on Saturday mornings and we spoke for the first time near A-Z fiction. She knew my name.
What took you so long. I thought about you lots. Will you come to the movies with me. I’ll ask. Great. Can I hold your hand. Yes, but not in public. How come. Mum says I’m too young for a boyfriend. Don’t tell her. She already knows. You have a sexy voice. I want to kiss you. Not here. Where then.
We went to Sunday matinee movies but always as a foursome. It was the rule. I kissed Solveig. What joy to kiss a girl for the first time. We necked in the back row like everybody else. We kissed long and so hard my tongue was sore.
Why is your mother so strict. She knows you. How. I tell her everything. Why. So that I’m safe. Safe from me. No. Safe from myself. She worries about you. Yes, because she doesn’t want me to get into trouble. What sort of trouble. The sort of trouble she got into because she didn't tell her mother things. What things, I need to know. About her boyfriend being fresh. They did it, didn’t they. Yes. How old was she. My age. And then. Trouble. Oh.
Our love life got complicated and undignified. We stole moments together wherever we could. In a public park, for ten minutes, after Solveig’s handball training. It was cold, dark and unromantic.
Can I touch your breasts. Yes. I can’t get my hand in. Undo your bra. Mum says no. What can I touch. Everything. Everything. Everything as long as we keep our clothes on. Can I touch you down there. Yes. Your skirt’s tight. I can’t get my hand in. Undo the zip. No. I’ve busted your zip. It’s alright. I’ll replace it. You’re all lovely and slippery. I like touching you. I like you touching me. Touch me. You’re hard. I like touching you. Touch me faster. It’s difficult. Unbuckle my belt. No. Aaaah. Will you tell her about us petting. Yes. Why. Because she asks and I don’t lie. Then it’s petting only with our clothes on. Yes. Would you rather hold hands.
We went steady for two years. I was permitted in Solveig’s home for the first time the day I departed. That was a total surprise because it was a break with tradition. A boy would call on a girl at her home to announce an engagement. We weren’t doing that although we had promised to wait. I felt very awkward meeting her parents. Her father shook my hand and said nothing. Solveig’s mother had a lot to say. About how much I would enjoy the voyage and my coming adventure in this faraway Australia. It was such a big step and ‘you must write’ often she said.
Solveig had addresses for all ports of call from Trondheim to Melbourne. I read my first ever love letter in Vigo, Spain. Solveig missed me. In Naples, I read news of a fight with her mother. I was worried.
Solveig’s letters waited for me in Piraeus, Port Said and Aden and I answered them all. The Indian Ocean was incredible blue with long, gentle swells on the way to Fremantle in Western Australia. Fremantle? The ship never called at Colombo. No letter in Fremantle and no news for me in Melbourne. We left Station Pier, Port Melbourne for Bonegilla, a migrant camp in northern Victoria. I missed my Solveig so.
I read her Naples letter again. Solveig’s mother had demanded she renege on our promise but Solveig stood her ground. I wrote again when I had a permanent address in Australia but heard nothing for a year. A letter arrived from Solveig’s sister with many questions. I suspected nothing and answered truthfully. I expressed doubts about us. There was silence thereafter. We were done and I knew not why.
I returned in 1970. Solveig’s mother invited me in and unbeknownst to me, rang Solveig. In walked this stunningly beautiful woman. She took my breath away.
We went to her flat. Solveig revealed that her sister’s letter was a sham. Solveig had written it herself, at her mother’s behest. For her own good, Solveig was not permitted to read my reply. All she needed to know was that I would not return. That was Solveig’s closure.
We were numb. A lie had murdered our love. Solveig had doubted me because I had answered none of her letters but had waited a year. Solveig wept uncontrollably when she realized that her mother had kept her safe by withholding my letters and with lies, betrayal and vile deceit.
Solveig had married in 1963 and soon filed for divorce from an adulterer. She wrote to me then but the letter came back. I must have moved house. She has the letter still but would not let me see it.
We have a second chance. I have someone. Do you love him. Yes and you. I have never stopped loving you. Come with me then. I need time. Do I wait. Please. Will you tell your mother of this conversation. Yes. This is insane.
I walked. I married a sweet girl from Adelaide in 1972.
THAT Peer Gynt song: when I hear it, my life’s movie runs in reverse. The enchanting and haunting music stops. I get real again. Solveig’s Song. Mine alone. I love it. I hate it. Bittersweet memories, mine.
In the play, Solveig declares:
Perchance both winter and spring will pass,
and next summer, and the entire year: —
but at last you will come, that I know for sure
and I'll still be waiting, for I once promised I would.
God give you strength, wherever in the world you go!
God give you joy, when you stand before his judgment seat!
Here I'll wait until you come again
and if you are waiting up above, there we'll meet my love!
Henrik! Listen: It’s not going to happen. Solveig’s mother, alive or dead will forever come between us. So: if it’s all the same to you pal, when my time comes, I’ll head for Lorne, a surf and a beer after. They can’t touch me there. Mother doesn’t have a long range broom and Solveig? She won’t cut the apron strings. She’ll be safe from me and herself and that suits mother just fine. And I’ll be safe here. Have I let Solveig stay in my thoughts this long only because it’s safe at a distance?
When I hear her song, I am helpless.
The violins tease me. Come! Come dance! The enchantress waits. I hear the song and feel the touch of her hand. She invites me to dance. Unsure, I sway. Why me? I look into her eyes and know. We h
old hands and move and turn and turn and turn as the melancholy air dissolves and the tempo quickens. Turn, turn, turn, turn. She spins while I hold her hand. We twirl as the melody takes us skywards, higher and higher towards brightness. We dare. My head spins. My heart beats to the music. I am the music. My love is the music. We are the music. We are alive.
The music mood turns somber. Something is wrong. It is nothing. Storm clouds threaten us but we care not and whirl in defiant abandon. Menacing notes take us down into dark clouds. I cannot see the sun or the ground. I am afraid. I die. The violins take charge and hold a high single note. Softer and softer until I can only hear the song in my heart.
It must not end like this. I play the music. We regain the music. I know what to do. I dance boldly when the mood brightens, the tempo quickens. We dance on white clouds. Pain is memory. Bright notes lift us high again and higher still until we lovers dancing are but a point of light. We soar, we float as leaves, up and down and up and down and up. I feel good. I hear the song and feel the touch of her hand. Always.
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About the author
I have one grandfather who was a builder. My other grandfather was
a stonemason and my father was a traditional blacksmith. Both my
grandmothers had cooked for a living, one in a hotel and the other for
well-to-do people. A career in construction or perhaps engineering or catering
would have been an obvious choices.
Instead, I spent 20 years in business and in mid life retrained myself. I
chose to work with my hands as my father and grandparents had. I become
a renowned woodcraftsman and founded with my wife an art and
craft gallery in a Tasmanian tourist town. After 20 years there, we followed
our children to mainland Australia to retire on Victoria’s Bellarine
Peninsula. I took up writing seriously in 2003.
Working with their hands, creating and shaping materials has occupied
my forebear. From stone, to iron, to wood. Now I spend my time
putting pen to paper. The medium is getting softer.
###
What’s new?
There are more of my short stories on Smashwords.com. My novel
“Wherefore Love’s Shadow” is out now on Smashwords.com and
on Kindle.
###
From the same author on Feedbooks
The Masked Transformer (2011) “The Masked Transformer”. Be scared, be very scared: this is the “classic universal tale” of good and evil, power and corruption.* This unabridged version of the “Highly commended” short story in the Stringybark 2010 Short Story Award concerns a man who believes that if “clothes maketh the man”, then perhaps wearing a mask will transform him? With a skilled mask maker’s help, he transforms himself but pays a high price.
* * *
The 23rd June (2011) The Queensland sun does things to people. Everybody is tanned, relaxed and wants to talk. That’s alright with me. I am a waiter in a busy tourist restaurant and it’s my job to listen. People want me to know the most amazing, the weirdest and sometimes very private things when they are on holidays. Monday nights are the quietest nights and listening helps pass the time. If my diners look like cheapskates, I look at my watch a few times. They get the hint. I can knock off early and go to the pub. This is last Monday’s love story. It was all about love and the water. It’s a bit private, so please keep it to yourself.
* * *
The Judas Kiss (2011) London tourists: beware.
* * *
Wherefore Love's Shadow (2011) A dramatic thriller novel propelled forward by mystery, suspense and violence interspersed, necessarily so, with romance and erotica. He was looking for love in all the wrong places.
He wasn’t asking for the great love, the grande affair, the unforgettable one or the lightning bolt of love at first sight. He yearned for the real thing and if it didn't come his way, then at least someone to walk joyfully and contentedly beside him on a sunlit path to happiness. Surely that wasn’t asking the universe for too much?
He finds the one and an immense dilemma. She has to become an accomplice in his dangerous mission and by deceiving her, he risks losing what he has searched for. Together they embark on a terrifying journey, all the while guided by a poem’s prediction. All is well, or nearly so as the lovers share the reward. All the threads come together in a dramatic ending.
* * *
Master of all Time (2011) An Australian public servant had the audacity to tell world leaders to disarm. While he was around, there would be no nuclear war. He held all the trump cards and so would his son. Penberthy was a happy man when the wall fell, the U.S.S.R. imploded and the Iron Curtain rusted away. The world was safe and he had a son in high school. His son really mattered.
* * *
Muriel and Udolpho (2011) The young actress Muriel Casterton celebrated her stage debut with cast and crew back stage after opening night. The audience’s thunderous applause was still ringing in her ears when the well meaning party host introduced Muriel to another first for the day: Udolpho Wolfe. This became an instant, all consuming, intoxicating and lifelong infatuation.
* * *
The Stolen Childhood (2011) Despite a difficult upbringing and hardships, Kitty made good. She had two secrets, one of which was her own doing and the other a lifelong challenge.
* * *
The Foreshadowed Land (2011) Australia: the island continent. Strange animals, unfamiliar plants, beautiful beaches and scenery plus: a trap for young players. Beware, all is not as it seems.
* * *
Rabbiting with Jack (2011) Be careful when you want to net rabbits in Australia. Sometimes you catch more than you bargain for.
* * *
Tourist Traps (2011) If you’re good for a laugh, wear a name badge in Tasmania. Otherwise-don’t. If your name is Smith or Jones or Williams, the tour guide will leave you alone. He picks on people named Gilberthorpe, Worthington, Gillespie, Markgrunder or Thistlethwaite. Harrington would be ideal. He needs unusual names and there is always at least one in every group. Trevor Cash needs only one. The trick only works once.
* * *
Big John's Long War (2011) He made good on a promise to come home from the war to take care of his family. The war never ended for this poor soul.
* * *
Looking for Miss Allen (2011) English is not my first language so finding Miss Allen proved to be... well... difficult!
Not my fault!
* * *
Pavel the Walker (2011) After another fight with his father, the 16 year old walked out. He severed connection with what he thought were his parents. He wandered the world and only stopped to work and save. He walked till the money ran out. He had walked North and South America and arrived in Australia when he was 30. And met a girl. He stopped wandering for a time. He had an appointment to keep. He wanted to stay. He had to leave. Heartbreaking moments. There has to be a happy ending. They deserve a future together. Can any man leave his past behind? Ever?
* * *
Martin Goes Floundering (2011) Martin goes floundering in Tasmania's Marion Bay. Pause and retreat. What could possibly go wrong? Pause and retreat. He has been there before and made TV news for all the wrong reasons...
This is a light-hearted short story of what happens when Martin and water mix. Follow his and his family’s exploits as they struggle with the elements. Surprise after surprise will have you rolling on the floor laughing.
* * *
A Batch of Scones (2011) When a friend wants to borrow your oven of a Sunday morning to bake scones for his tea rooms, something’s up. More than anyone knew….
* * *
Joseph's Lines (2011) Sister organized a nativity play as she did every year. There were two plum parts to be had: Mary and Joseph. The three wise men looked good but made only a brief and silent appearance. Not much glory there. Much to my disappointment, I landed the role of a
shepherd with a speaking part, at least. We learned our lines by heart as we couldn’t read yet.
* * *
Power Surge (2011) No one in their right mind would pay that much to rent a house here. But someone did, not because she was out of her mind, but because she could not find accommodation anywhere. Then he moved in with her: a walking chemist shop.
He had a Rottweiler and a little mutt. He needed the big dog for protection and the mutt for barking.
* * *
Diamond Jim (2011) He couldn't afford the genuine article. So he did the next best thing.
* * *
First Bite (2011) Station Pier, Port Melbourne on a cold, wet early winter’s morning in 1962 is not a welcoming place. Meat pie! I must have a meat pie. And there was the sign: ‘Four ‘n Twenty’, the meat pie I must have.
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