To introduce those present: Gertrud Tallrot is seventy and has been a widow for many years. Her husband had worked at the Forge. Nowadays, she assists at the Post Office when extra help is needed. She is tall, thin, and bent, her eyes clear behind the pince-nez, her hair thin, chin large and slightly whiskery She is good-humored and has a deep voice. Big cardigan and boots. She scratches in her ear with her knitting needle, an alarming sight.
Alva Nykvist is in her fifties and has been employed for many years in the Works office. She is plump, pasty-faced, and good company, her eyes black and inquisitive. She likes passing on news of local disasters and interesting rumors. She is unmarried and looks after a simpleminded cousin without tenderness. She is well-read, Christian, and takes journeys abroad. She belongs to the upper class of the Works, so to speak, for she lives off an inheritance from her father, who had been a successful wholesaler in Gävle.
Over the years, Mrs. Magna Flink has become a friend of the parsonage family. Her husband spends most of the year traveling as a representative for a machine tool firm with its head office in Enköping. Magna is a dark, handsome beauty, determined, and well aware of her importance. She organizes the community’s lotteries. Her children are grown and studying in Upsala. If there is anything unfavorable to say about her, it is that she is both jealous and possessive, a fact she hides with some skill.
Märta Werkelin is thirty and the new teacher at the village school. She is convincingly kind, quiet, and has blue, rather protruding eyes. She looks permanently surprised, has thick ash-blonde hair, and is feminine without knowing it. Because she is a newcomer to the district, she is not particularly well informed.
Tekla Kronström is married to a worker at the Sawmill and is mother to five children. Sharp gray eyes, broad forehead, high cheekbones, large mouth (still has all her own teeth), large breasts, and big backside. She has a turned-up nose, her hair is short, and she is small.
These five women are participating in the evening’s sewing bee, drinking dandelion coffee, and listening to the pastor reading aloud.
Henrik (reads aloud): “Far from discouraging him, Lucien’s rage over this defeat of his ambitions gave him new strength. Like all people who are borne by instinct into a higher sphere and arrive there before they are able to manage it, Lucien continued to sacrifice everything to remain in high society. During his journey, he pulled out, one by one, the poisoned arrows he had received. He talked aloud to himself. He snubbed the blockheads he came across. He found witty answers to the stupid questions asked of him, and grew vexed over his wit becoming as it were post festum like that . . .”
Henrik falls silent, turns the page, new chapter, closes the book with a little bang, and puts it down on the round table by the paraffin lamp. Anna gets up and gives him some coffee. They all seem to be absorbed in whatever their hands are doing. Henrik takes a sip of the bitter drink and puts down the cup.
Henrik: I think, in contrast with Balzac’s hero, I will come straight to the point.
None of his guests appear to react. Anna goes around and fills up cups. Jack yawns.
Henrik: I’d like to find out why we have become so few recently.
Silence.
Henrik: At the beginning of the autumn, we were between twenty-one and thirty-five. Now we’re (counts) five. Plus Anna and myself, and Jack, of course.
Silence.
Henrik: Let’s blame the cold and the state of the roads, but I don’t think that’s the whole explanation.
Silence.
Henrik: I would very much like to know if there is any other explanation. If any one of you could find another explanation.
Silence. Everyone is busily occupied.
Henrik: Then I’ll ask you directly. What do you think, Mrs. Tallrot? (Pause.) You work at the Post Office and meet lots of people.
Addressed directly, Gertrud Tallrot scratches her big chin and peers over her pince-nez.
Gertrud: I don’t really know what to say. (Pause.) To me, it seems people are slightly afraid, or how can I put it? I don’t know, but that’s what I think.
Henrik (astonished): Afraid?
Tekla: I’m not one of those real churchgoers, I’m really not. But you can’t escape noticing certain things.
Henrik: No, people aren’t coming so often.
Tekla: The one doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with the other.
Magna: I don’t think so, either.
Some of the other women agree: no, there are probably different reasons. Silence.
Henrik: No.
Märta: It could be that preacher at the Pentecostalists.
Henrik: Let’s leave out the church and talk about our Thursday evenings. You say people are afraid, Mrs. Tallrot. Why should anyone be afraid?
Alva (brightly): Everyone knows that.
Henrik: I don’t.
Alva: There’s a list down at the office of everyone who comes to the sewing bee.
Henrik: Is that true?
Alva: I’ve never seen it, but Torstensson at the office said there was a list and that it was locked in Nordenson’s safe.
Henrik: What would Nordenson want with such a list?
Tekla: That’s not difficult to figure out. If it’s true.
Alva: Why shouldn’t it be true?
Tekla (angry): Because that Torstensson is a shit. He invents things to frighten people. Just like his lord and master.
Henrik: I still don’t understand. Does Nordenson . . . ?
Alva: I’ve heard talk about a list, too. But has anyone been harassed or treated badly?
Gertrud: Yes, indeed. Johansson and Bergkvist and Frydén have all been fired with no explanation, and Granström has been transferred and been given a worse job at lower pay.
Tekla: The foreman, I mean Santesson, came and asked my Adolf if I still went to the pastor’s Thursday evenings. “Does your old woman still go to that old woman-pastor’s old women’s Thursdays?” Adolf was angry and said that Santesson was the worst old woman of the lot and he should . . . well . . . what his Tekla did on Thursday evenings was no damned business of his.
Henrik (pale): But this isn’t possible!
Märta: Everyone thinks about when Nordenson was at the chapel last Midsummer.
Gertrud: Yes, of course. That’s probably true.
Märta: I know Helena, his elder daughter, a little. Helena said several times that her father can’t forgive that. Nordenson can’t forgive that humiliation in front of the confirmation pupils.
Henrik (frightened): But why hasn’t anyone . . .
Tekla: Why hasn’t anyone said anything? That’s asking a lot, isn’t it, Pastor?
Alva: Quite a lot has probably been said, but not to you, Pastor. Nor to your wife.
Anna: Magna, have you known about this? And never said anything to us? That’s . . .
Magna: I’ve heard a lot of gossip, but I’ve never paid any attention, because I think . . .
Anna: But you’ve seen that our Thursdays . . .
Magna: Yes, I’ve noticed all right. But I think there’s a better explanation.
Anna: A better explanation? What do you mean?
Magna: We can talk about that another time.
Anna: Why not now?
Magna: Because that would upset Mrs. Tallrot and Mrs. Kronström, and I don’t want to do that.
Henrik: I’d like . . . I insist. (Agitated.) I insist that you tell us what you know. Or think you know.
Tekla: She needn’t worry about me. I’m already as angry as I can be.
Gertrud: If it’s that business we all know about, then it’s just as well we ask the pastor directly.
Alva (suddenly): Though on my part, I think there’s a third explanation.
Henrik (really frightened): Magna, you maintain you’re a friend of ours. Tell us what you know.
Magna: The Reverend Gransjö told his housekeeper, Mrs. Säll, that Henrik and Anna went to see Queen Victoria at the palace, in June I think it was. Mrs. Säll passed that on
to some members of the Women’s Corps. I suppose they were all singing Henrik’s praises, and then she probably said that we won’t be keeping him for long, because he’s been offered the court chaplaincy. Well, then summer and autumn went by, and everyone was talking about it, and some people were probably upset, I presume. Some probably thought Henrik was false for not saying anything about leaving us.
Anna: Why didn’t you say anything yourself?
Magna (hurt): If you’re both thinking of leaving without saying anything, then I’m not the kind to run after you with a whole bunch of questions about the reasons why.
Anna: But, Magna!
Magna: Maybe I heard a word here and there. But that’s nothing to go on and on about, is it?
Anna: But Magna! We’ve turned it down! Henrik was asked in the spring. It wasn’t to be court chaplain at all. He was to be the priest for a big hospital of which the queen is chairman of the board. We were tempted, which isn’t all that surprising. But Henrik turned it down. I was much more uncertain. But Henrik turned it down!
Magna: Oh, did he? (Still offended.)
Anna: Well, now you know everything. Surely there wasn’t much to tell you.
Magna: There could be different opinions about that.
Anna: Nothing has changed. We’re going to stay here. We’ve decided.
Magna: As a kind of sacrifice?
Anna: We want to be here.
Magna: That’s nice of you.
Henrik: I can’t figure out why you’re so angry.
Magna: I’m not angry. I’m miserable.
Henrik: I don’t understand why you’re miserable.
Magna: No, of course not.
Tekla: When you two carne here to Forsboda, we were pleased. I don’t mean just the regular churchgoers, but most people were glad.
The door opens and Mia comes in with a basket of wood. She blows on the embers in the stove, puts in more logs, and the fire flares up.
Gertrud: We suddenly thought there was some kind of fellowship.
Märta: Pastor, sometimes you carne down to us at the school and held morning prayers, or took over the scripture lessons. That was a great joy, I assure you. Both for the children and for me. We always looked forward to you coming. We said to each other: The Pastor hasn’t been for a long time, so he’ll be coming soon.
Henrik: Why didn’t anyone say anything?
Märta (confused): What should we have said?
Henrik: You could have said, Please corne back soon.
Märta: Should we have said that?
Henrik: For instance.
Märta: Excuse me, Pastor, but it wouldn’t have been appropriate. It would have been obtrusive.
Henrik: We thought we belonged.
Silence. Gertrud Tallrot smooths out her knitting on the table, shaking her head. Alva Nykvist is hemming, her needle moving quickly She bites off the thread with her short white teeth, her eyes quick and inquisitive. Magna Flink is doing nothing, her large hands in her lap, her embroidery bag beside her on the table. She is upset; her cheeks are red, and she keeps swallowing. Märta Werkelin has reached out for the book they are reading and leafs through it without looking. She sighs cautiously. Tekla Kronström turns her heavy body and looks at Anna, who is standing behind her with the coffeepot. Henrik is clutching the arms of his chair, an involuntary display of an emotion: What is it that is happening at this very moment, here in our familiar dining room, in the light of our kindly ceiling lamp, which is smoking a little, the paraffin so bad nowadays? I must go over to the table and adjust the wick so the ceiling doesn’t get blackened. Henrik gets up carefully and goes over to the table, raises his arms, and turns down the reddish smoking flame.
Henrik: It’s smoking.
Gertrud: It’s the paraffin that’s so bad.
Alva: You can’t get any paraffin at all in Gävle. I heard that down at the office.
Tekla: I suppose we’ll soon all be sitting in the dark, like primeval savages. Chewing on old bones.
Märta: My father wrote to say that we’re bound to get involved in the war. To help Finland. And then the Russians will come with their fleet and attack Söderhamn and Gävle and Lulea and ravage and pillage just like the last time.
Anna: The war must come to an end soon.
Tekla: It won’t stop until the people take over and kill all the generals.
Silence falls again. Henrik sits down on his chair by the dining room table and runs his hand over his face, the sense of vertigo persisting.
Henrik: So Anna and I have just been imagining things.
Tekla: What do you mean, Pastor?
Henrik: We thought that we . . . (Falls silent.)
Gertrud: No one is reproaching you or your wife, Pastor. One does one’s best. There’s nothing wrong with your good intentions. In the end, the skein gets tangled anyhow.
Tekla: If I’d been in your shoes, Pastor, I would have accepted that offer and gone from here as quickly as possible. There’s nothing to be had from Forsboda.
Anna (quietly): We thought we might be useful.
Tekla: Sorry, what kind of useful?
Anna: Be useful. (Helpless.)
Tekla: How touching. Really touching.
Gertrud: Now, Tekla, don’t be nasty.
Tekla: What would a nice little pastor and his lovely wife be able to do this far out in this wretched place?
Gertrud: Now you’re being a Bolshie, Tekla.
Tekla: Oh, what nonsense! Listen. Gertrud, you don’t have to defend anyone at this moment. Least of all, you don’t have to defend the pastor. He’s in no need. He’s got his regular income from the state.
Alva: I’ve heard another explanation.
Tekla: No one’s interested in your explanations. And now I must go home before I start talking any more nonsense.
Tekla Kronström sighs, then starts ceremoniously gathering up her belongings. Finally she takes off her glasses and puts them into a worn case. She looks steadily at Anna for a long time.
Anna: May I ask you something, Mrs. Kronström?
Tekla: Please do.
Anna: Why have you come here every Thursday? I mean, if . . . ?
Tekla: There’s no connection between us and you. You don’t understand how we think, and you don’t understand us. That’s what it’s like all the way.
Anna: You didn’t answer my question.
Tekla: Oh. No. The answer is simple. I suppose I liked the pastor and his wife. I liked listening to him reading aloud out of those novels. I suppose I wanted to sit here for a few hours with the other women. I suppose I thought it was lovely.
She shakes hands without saying any more, then nods to the other women. Departure, taciturn and embarrassed, the words hanging in the room like wet dishcloths. Alva Nykvist makes herself useful, clears the table, brushes off the crumbs with a little silver brush, and helps to fold up the tablecloth. Suddenly, she says: “Oh, the others have all gone, and I’m the only one left.” Anna and Henrik are stunned and not looking at each other.
Alva: Quite a bit’s been talked about tonight. And then there’s that list, of course. But I think there’s another reason. A much worse one. It’s all talk, of course, just like everything else.
Anna, Henrik, and Alva Nykvist remain standing. Henrik is trying to light his pipe. Anna has picked up the poker to stir the embers in the stove. Alva stands with her arms folded and head slightly back, peering through her half-closed eyes. Neither Anna nor Henrik have asked her to stay or to say anything.
Alva: If I didn’t know that what I’m going to say is just shameful, yes, shameful slander, then I wouldn’t say a word, that’s for sure. You must understand that.
She is expecting some reaction, but there is none. She clears her throat and lowers her head, now looking at her shoes sticking out from beneath the hem of her skirt.
Alva: What’s most poisonous is probably what no one wants to say. I feel very sorry for both of you now. Especially sorry for the pastor’s wife, of course.
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br /> She waits for a few moments, but no one says anything. The dog Jack gets up and goes and stands by Anna’s knee.
Alva: It’s probably that many people think this secret mixing with Nordenson is the worst of all. They mean most of all mixing with Mrs. Nordenson. A lot of people are upset. A lot say they understand why Nordenson is so hateful toward the pastor. I mean all that business with the daughters. It probably had nothing to do with the daughters. A lot of people say it’s hard on Nordenson. A pity and a shame. I’m not spreading gossip. It’s generally known that Mrs. Nordenson, that Elin, is quite flighty. She’s so lovely and smooth, is Mrs. Nordenson. And she smiles in such a friendly way, but there’s a stench, yes, a stench of lechery about her. And then that list, if it exists at all, is probably not the real reason why people don’t go to church or come to the Thursdays.
All this is said in courteous, matter-of-fact tones. Mrs. Alva Nykvist is not agitated, nor is she in any hurry. Her dark eyes go from Anna to Henrik and back again; sometimes she smiles quickly and apologetically. When she has finally come to the end of her information, she makes a helpless gesture with her hand: “Now I’ve said everything. It was painful but necessary, forgive me, we don’t believe all this terrible . . .”
Henrik nods in confirmation and holds out his hand.
Henrik: Thank you for that information. It has been very valuable. Anna and I are extremely grateful. What an evening, Mrs. Nykvist! I’m overwhelmed. We are overwhelmed. And grateful. (Smiles.)
Alva Nykvist finally leaves. The hall door closes. Henrik locks up and turns to Anna. His face is pale, but he laughs.
Henrik: Now, Anna! Now I know for certain. Now I know how important it is that we do not let these people down, Anna!
He embraces her with much emotion, so does not see her face. Suddenly someone scratches on the glass pane of the porch door, then there’s a discreet knock. Anna extracts herself from the embrace and opens the door.
Märta Werkelin is standing on the steps. She is upset and has tears in her eyes. “Excuse me for troubling you, excuse me, but I must say something important.” Anna lets her in. She stops inside the door beneath the ceiling lamp, leans against the wall, and bursts into tears as she takes off her thick gloves and large fur cap, the ash-blonde hair tumbling out and falling over her shoulders. Anna and Henrik stand there, astounded and reluctant. “Shall we go in and sit down?” says Anna lamely.
The Best Intentions Page 29
