Anna: You could say that.
Henrik: And I’m not allowed to know?
Anna: Perhaps. Perhaps one night when we’re lying close together in our bed in Forsboda parsonage and the winter storms are raging outside. Then perhaps I’ll tell you what happened. But only perhaps.
Henrik: Is it anything to do with the letter?
Anna: Henrik! I think lovers always assure each other they will be honest through and through, and they will never have any secrets between them. That’s stupid. I’ll never ask you to tell me your secrets.
Henrik: But the truth?
Anna: The truth is different.
Henrik: We’ll be truthful. Faithful to the truth.
Anna (with sudden gravity): We’ll try to be truthful.
Henrik: We’ll have to practice.
Anna (smiles): We’ll have to practice. What did you think of my meatballs? Weren’t they . . . ?
Henrik: Disgusting!
Anna: You see! (Smiles.) And so on. Will you help dust me off?
So they help each other, but also have to hug and kiss, hot cheeks and hands. In the end, they manage to get out into the corridor and down the narrow wooden stairs. Ernst gets up from the heap of planks and gestures with astonishment when he catches sight of the intertwined couple. The friends approach slowly, stop a short distance away, and look at each other with joyful tenderness.
Ernst (to Henrik): You look completely improbable.
Henrik: I am improbable.
Ernst: And you, little sis. Your lips are so red.
Anna: Yes, they are.
Ernst: A moment ago you were pale. As a whitefish.
Anna: I have proposed, and Henrik says he will have me. Can you imagine how simple things can sometimes be?
Ernst goes up to Henrik and embraces him, takes a step back, looks at him, and embraces him again, striking him hard on the back. Then he kisses Anna on the cheeks, eyelids, and finally on her mouth.
Ernst: You are and always will be the darlings of my heart.
Then off they go to the goldsmith’s in St. Larsgatan.
This account turns arbitrary, main issues into subsidiary issues and vice versa. Sometimes it indulges in huge digressions in the tradition of oral storytelling. Sometimes it attaches great importance to a few lines in a letter. Suddenly it wishes to fantasize over fragments that appear out of the dim waters of time. Unreliability on facts, dates, names, and situations is total. That is intentional and logical. The search takes obscure routes. This is neither an open nor a concealed trial of people reduced to silence. Their life in this particular story is illusory, perhaps a semblance of life, but nevertheless more distinct than their actual lives. On the other hand, this story can never describe their innermost truths. It has only its own momentary truth. The desire to continue writing it, the friendly day-to-day insistent desire, is the only tenable motivation of the enterprise. The game itself is the driving force of the game. It is like in childhood — opening the white-painted doors of the toy cupboard and giving free rein to the inherent secrets of the contents. It could hardly be simpler.
Hence, the story takes a long stride across the moment when Anna holds up her hand with its shining engagement ring to Mrs. Karin’s tired eyes. She almost certainly says very little: “I know, I know. I hope you can see clearly. There must be peace now. Henrik must know he is welcome in the family.”
Nor does the story mention how the bomb exploded the evening after the funeral, when the entire family was gathered in Mammchen’s salon to discuss immediate practical problems.
Nor is it related here how Oscar, later that same evening, went to bed with his cancer-ridden, fading Svea. Holes appeared in her brimming reservoir of malice, and she trickled malignancies onto priests in general and Henrik Bergman in particular. In the end, Oscar spoke and said fairly authoritatively: “Svea, shut up. For God’s sake, the risk is he may become a relative of ours!”
Mrs. Karin has summoned her family to a meeting in the dining room at TrädgÅrdsgatan. It is a few days after the funeral, and the July sun is blazing down on the drawn blinds. The huge table with its lion feet has been robbed of its oilcloth and glows black, all in black, black on black against light wallpapers and colorful, shimmering paintings. Mrs. Karin has placed herself at the head of the table by the window, Oscar and Svea on her left, Gustav and Martha on her right. Carl is sweating with abstinence and boredom on Svea’s right. The girls are curled up on the straight-backed sofa by the wall, and, finally, Ernst, Anna, and Henrik are sitting opposite Mrs. Karin.
Karin: So I have asked you all to come here to discuss some issues. Before that, I wish to bid Henrik a warm welcome into our family. I now wish all conflicts and bitterness to be forgotten. We must draw a line through the past. If we make an honest effort, both reconciliation and friendship ought to be possible.
Mrs. Karin smiles at Henrik and Anna. The rest of the family do the same, a rather varied collection of smiles. A fly buzzes against the windowpane. Mrs. Karin twists the diamond ring, which is, as always, in its place between the heavy gold engagement and wedding rings.
Karin: We have been to see Advocate Elgérus and gone through your father’s last will and testament. If I have construed things correctly, every one of you without exception (glance at Carl) has accepted the stated dispositions and found them dictated with care and consideration. I am grateful for our unity During Johan’s lifetime, he and I occasionally discussed what should happen to this building should Johan go before I did. He said that his definite wish was that I alone should be the owner and the other members of the family should be compensated with shares and capital. I dismissed the thought, did not wish to talk about it, but when the subject came up after his death, I felt I did not wish to keep it. Under no circumstances. So I asked Advocate Elgérus to investigate its sale. He told me yesterday afternoon that he had received an extremely generous offer from the School of Domestic Science on the other side of the street. The college has been overcrowded for a long time and is prepared to negotiate immediately. I said that I am in agreement with this proposal, but naturally I first have to discuss the matter with my sons, who live in three of the apartments. The college has offered to find equivalent apartments. As for me, I said that Fd be remaining here. But I intend to halve this apartment. I will have a wall built down the middle of the dining room and keep four rooms and the kitchen. I told Siri I will not be needing her after the first of October. Naturally, she was upset, since she has been with us for nearly twenty years, but she will be given a good parting gratuity and will move to her sister’s in SmÅland. Does anyone have any questions?
Henrik looks at his new relatives, closed faces, uncertain glances, compressed lips. No, not Anna and Ernst; they look as if all this has nothing to do with them. Nor has it. The tension soon becomes thick and viscous. Carl has closed his eyes, probably pretending to be somewhere else. Oscar is smiling politely and inscrutably. Gustav is playing with the watch chain across his well-rounded waistcoat, gazing out the window and pursing his lips. Martha clinks her bracelets and puts her hand to her hair. Svea’s head has begun to shake on its sinewy neck. Her forehead is red, and small beads of perspiration have broken out on her upper lip.
Svea: As usual, no one dares say anything when Karin presents something to us as a fait accompli.
Oscar: Svea, my dear!
Svea: So I suppose I shall have to say what everyone else is thinking.
Gustav: I really must protest. Svea does not represent the family’s views. As far as I know, she represents no one but herself.
Svea: How strange. Gustav, didn’t you say only yesterday that Mammchen was highly dangerous? Do you deny it, Gustav?
Gustav: That’s a lie, Svea, and you know it. Your hatred of our mother really has no bounds.
Svea: Since I am shortly to die, I am clearly the only member of the family who dares tell the truth.
Oscar (patiently): Svea, dear.
Svea: Svea dear, Svea dear. Is that all yo
u have to say?
Carl (suddenly): Shut up, Svea. Before you wither with malice. No one believes you have cancer anymore. Naturally it couldn’t survive in a body so poisoned by malice. Otherwise, let me say that Mammchen’s decision has been a bit of a surprise. When does the boss reckon we’ll be thrown out?
Gustav: I think Mama Karin, with her somewhat precipitate chess moves, wishes to indicate to us children that she has tolerated us for almost twenty years and is now heartily weary of both us and our families. We can’t blame her for that.
Martha: And we who like our apartment so much, where are we supposed to go?
Gustav: Don’t be silly, Martha! We’re not exactly going to be out on the street.
Oscar: I personally have no objections. The whole building belongs to Mama Karin. That’s stated, clearly and simply, without a shadow of doubt. We’re going to be generously compensated. As far as I can see, Mama can do whatever she likes with the place. Besides, have we ever taken her into consideration?
Svea: But crawled and smiled and agreed with everything . . . that’s what you have done! And scorned and mocked her behind her back! Gustav Åkerblom, Carl Åkerblom, Oscar Åkerblom. The Three Musketeers.
Ernst: If this shit is going to continue, I’m leaving. Perhaps we should give a thought to the fact that Henrik Bergman is with us for the first time. For his and for Anna’s sake, let’s try to curb our tongues. (To Henrik, smiling.) Don’t worry, it can be worse. Sometimes we’re actually really quite human.
Carl: You could say that Papa’s death has pulled the cork out of the bottle.
Gustav: A metaphor worthy of my brother Carl.
Carl: You ought to know, Henrik, that my brother Gustav is the spiritual head of the family. If you ask for a piece of advice from him, he will give you three. If you don’t follow his advice, you’ll get hell for that later on in a sophisticated academic way. The professor is on the Professorship Commission, so he knows the way things work. I warn you in all friendliness, Henrik. Watch out for Mrs. Martha, too. She’s far too friendly to handsome youths.
Martha (lashing out at him): Carl, you’re impossible!
Carl (sweats): And Martha will get a big wet kiss from me when this wake is over.
Oscar: I consider Mama’s decision judicious. We have lived together in a combination of deceptive security, obligation, and habit. It’s been like stagnant water. Our relationships have moldered without us doing anything about them. It’ll be good for us to split up the family.
Svea: And what about the summer place?
Oscar: The summer place has always belonged to Mammchen.
Svea: Then we’ll be homeless in the summer as well?
Oscar: Calm down, Svea. You’ve always disliked staying at our summer place, and gone on about spas and trips to Paris. (Laughs harshly.) Come to think of it, I don’t really know how we’ve managed to endure one another.
Anna: Why don’t you say anything, Mama?
They all look at Mrs. Karin. She has been sitting with her head slightly bowed and playing with a small green ruler. She raises her eyes now and looks at her family with an absent, almost sleepy smile.
Karin: What do you want me to say? You’ve always squabbled among yourselves. Now that your father is dead, you start on me. That’s natural. I have to understand that.
Gustav: Excuse me, Mama, but actually it’s only Svea who has to . . .
Karin (raises her hand): Let me finish. Sometimes I can’t help thinking about what family life would have been like if I hadn’t married into it, and been an accessory. (Smiles.) Yes, an amusing thought! I was so eager and so well-meaning; order, cleanliness, fellowship — education. Good intentions. Don’t think I’m bitter. I’m just thinking.
Carl: And what would have happened to you, Mammchen, if you hadn’t had to look after us?
Karin: Well now, Carl! You do ask clever questions although you’re so . . . irregular. What would have happened to me? I would probably have gone on to become a teacher. And continued to bring to other people’s children a few manners and some education. I have probably never really doubted the rightness of my actions. I may have acted wrongly in minor matters, but in the main ones I have nothing to reproach myself.
Uncertainty. Afterthoughts. Emptiness. Disinclination. Bitterness. Weariness. “What about having coffee in the salon?” says Anna. “I’ve made a cake.” “Of course,” says Karin briskly, getting up from the table.
“We’re not as bad as we sound,” says Gustav, propping his coffee cup on his stomach, cake crumbs scattering onto his waistcoat. “Sometimes, I’ll have you know, Henrik, we can even be quite pleasant.” “You and Anna must come to dinner with us to celebrate your engagement,” says Martha sourly, embracing Anna from behind. “What a sweet boy,” she whispers into Anna’s ear. “Let bygones be bygones,” says Oscar Åkerblom, putting a hand on Henrik’s arm. “Call me Oscar. I thought our last meeting extremely unpleasant, but I considered myself obliged to exaggerate it all. I am, if I may say so myself, a good-natured fellow. You and Anna must definitely come to dinner with us before we go to the country!”
Svea caresses Anna’s cheek with an emaciated spotted hand. “I’m so terribly ashamed of my outburst. The doctor says it’s the drugs that make me so unbalanced. Henrik, you really mustn’t believe that your Aunt Svea — Henrik is to say Aunt Svea — that your Aunt Svea is usually so unpleasant.” Then Carl sails up and breathes on the confused betrothed: “I warned you and now you’re caught! Oh, well, you have only yourself to blame, you poor wretch. Anna is frightfully pretty, but don’t let yourself be deceived by her lovely face. She has too much Åkerblom in her. I’m just warning your husband-to-be,” grins Carl, breathing all over Anna. “Like hell, I’m warning him, but it’s a damned waste of time.” “What have you been drinking, Carl?” says Anna with mock indignation. “Well, it wasn’t roses,” says Carl, sighing.
“Let’s go,” says Ernst, tugging at Henrik’s coat. “I’ve told Mama that we must give you an airing. Come on, Anna. That was a damned lousy cake you made.” “Good-bye, Mrs. Karin, and thank you,” mumbles Henrik, bowing behind Mrs. Karin’s back. She turns around. She has just told Lisen to put dinner off for an hour. “Good-bye, Mrs. Karin,” says Henrik and bows again. “You’ll be back for dinner, won’t you!” says Mrs. Karin softly, her face pale and eyes tired. “You’ll be back for dinner?” “No, thank you, Mama. We won’t be back for dinner,” says Ernst firmly. “We’re going out on the town, Anna and Henrik and I. We’re going to get as drunk as lords.” Mrs. Karin smiles and shakes her head. “Enjoy yourselves,” she says quickly. “You’ve got some money, I suppose?” “Thank you, Mama dear, we’ll manage,” says Ernst and kisses his mother on the mouth.
III
After the funeral, 12 Trädgårdsgatan was closed, then invaded at the beginning of August by building workers, craftsmen, and movers. The family dispersed, some to Austria, others to Ramlösa Spa, the children to friends of friends in the archipelago, Henrik to his position in Mittsunda, and Anna to her friend Fredrika Kempe, a fellow student at the Sophiahemmet nursing school. Fredrika had married into a wealthy family right after taking her finals and was already expecting her first child. Mrs. Karin went to their summer residence in Dalarna together with Miss Lisen, who was to stay on with her mistress for the rest of her life, or what turned out to be twenty-four more years.
Mrs. Karin was now alone in both the external and the inner sense. At the end of her year of mourning, she ordered seven identical skirts, blouses, and dresses from Leja’s fashion house, all of the same cut, color, and shape. From the spring of 1912 on, she always wore dark clothes: ankle-length skirts, gray shantung blouses with a silver brooch at the throat, black dresses with no waistline, high black boots, and white hemstitched collars and cuffs. Within eight short months, her hair had turned white, still thick and gleaming, but white, not gray.
Anyone who is amused by explanations and interpretations may wonder about the reasons for Mrs. Karin’s par
tial abdication. After all, she was no more than forty-six. She sold the property with no unnecessary comment, divided her apartment down the middle, and shared a considerable portion of the resulting fortune among the agreeably surprised though somewhat confused members of the family. So Anna possessed a capital sum not to be sneered at, and she knew how to manage it, a fact that was for a long time to be a source of annoyance to Pastor Bergman (but of considerable help in the daily life of the family).
Autumn came early that year, brilliantly glowing across the river and the dark edge of the forest, thin ice appearing on the grass and on the tub below the green pump by the well. The nights were crystal clear, windless and starry. Birch-wood fires crackled in the tiled stoves, and the hills beyond Djurås and the Gimmen were sharply outlined. The threshing machines rumbled away in the barns, and the tawny owl was already emerging from the forest at dusk and perching on the outhouse roof.
Mrs. Karin and Lisen spent the summer and autumn in silent but not in the slightest bit hostile symbiosis. When the first snow began falling at the end of October, the news came that the apartment at 12 Trädgårdsgatan was ready. The two women packed what had to be packed, closed what had to be closed; shutters were put up and white sheets draped over the furniture and the piano. Bottles of fruit juice and jars of preserves were packed into wooden crates to be sent to the new addresses of the members of the family. The old ginger cat was boarded out, the door locked, and the two women, both the same age, wordlessly left for Upsala on the morning train. It was a touching day, as departures are nearly always apt to be, a light mist swirling up from the river, white snowflakes falling gently, the light bright and without shadows. The summer house shone like a red patch in all that gray and white, just like the rowanberries.
The brief and insignificant scene that follows occurs ten days before the aforementioned departure. The setting is the spacious light kitchen with its window facing the forest and the hills. Mrs. Karin and Miss Lisen are sitting at the gate-legged table in peaceful accord, cleaning black currants, the fire roaring in the stove, a tall preserving pan exuding steam and fragrance. The top square windows have steamed up. Fresh coffee in their cups, some sleepy summer flies staggering around on the warm stove wall.
The Best Intentions Page 16
