On Saturday I was supposed to meet a guy named Rolle in town. When I got off the bus, he wasn’t there yet, so I stood under a tree and waited.
“What are you waiting for?” I suddenly heard a voice say, and when I turned around, I saw Putte standing there.
“A guy,” I said.
“What fucking guy?”
“Nobody you know, anyway.”
Then he just stared at me, like he did when I rode with him in the Dodge.
“What is it?” I said.
“Why didn’t you come the time we were supposed to meet?”
“I missed the bus.”
“Sure!”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Hell, no!”
“That’s what happened, anyway.”
“I saw you in town later!”
“Yes, and I saw you too.
“And then there were two of you!”
“Yeah, and so what?”
I didn’t want to admit that I had lied to him and pretended that I didn’t understand what he meant. Besides, I could very well have met Kicki when I went there later. That he saw us together didn’t necessarily mean that we had decided in advance to meet. But he thought so.
“Ride with us tonight,” he said.
“No, I can’t.”
“What the hell are you going to do then?”
“I’ll meet someone, as I said before.”
“What’s his name?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It isn’t?”
“His name is Rolle, if you really want to know!”
“Rolle Nordin? Is he the one you are waiting for?”
“I don’t know his last name.”
“A small, black-haired bastard… Is he the one you are going to meet?”
“Maybe.”
“He’s not fucking more than seventeen years old!”
“So what?”
“Blow him off and ride with me instead!”
“No, I won’t.”
“Then I’ll get hold of you in town.”
“Really? And how is that to be done, do you mean?”
“I’ll get some guys together in a car and we’ll come out and get you.”
“Yeah, you can always try it!”
“You don’t believe I can?”
“No, I don’t.”
I got so tired of standing there talking back with him. Finally, I went away from him a bit and turned my back to him. Then he said in a louder voice:
“You look like shit! How do you dare go out like this?”
I didn’t want to say more, but I couldn’t lay off.
“What do you mean, like that?”
“With that fucking nose!”
But there is nothing wrong with my nose.
“Why do you have to be so nasty?” I said.
“Because I don’t want you to love me.”
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do love me and you want to ride with me this evening!”
I wished that Rolle would come so that I could leave.
“So he’s not coming?” Putte said. “He’s not coming for his little darling?”
“Stop it now!” I said.
“You’ve been taken in, goddammit!”
But he did come. Putte had his back to him, but he saw that I looked in that direction and turned around.
“Come on you bastard!” he said and clenched his fists.
“What the fuck is this all about?” Rolle said and stopped.
“Come and get your bird, goddammit!”
And then he jumped forward and aimed a punch at Rolle’s face.
“I knew this bird long before you!” he said.
“So what?” Rolle said and looked uneasy.
But there was no fight, because Putte laid off. He probably didn’t think it would be worth fighting with Rolle.
“I’m coming and picking you up in town!” he said and left.
When I had told Rolle that I didn’t want to go to the movies, he said he would be off to fetch a buddy who had a car and come and pick up Kicki and me in town later on. But we didn’t wait for that. We rode with two guys in a PV 544.
Yesterday we went with three guys in a Ford. They were totally screwy, all of them. The guy driving rolled down his side window and yelled at an elderly man in the car in front:
“Are you driving with brake fluid, you old son of a bitch!”
And to another, who didn’t get started fast enough at a stop light:
“Drive, you fucking idiot, or are you waiting for the light pole to turn green also!”
The third guy also wanted to have a girl, and when we drove by one, who was probably not a raggarbrud, one of the others said:
“There you have a little cutie! Let’s pick her up!”
“No, that one is below the age of consent.”
“Oh, what the hell? The fresher the meat, the better!”
We started to drive next to her, and the guys tried to get her to stop, but she just kept walking without paying any attention to them. She looked dead scared.
Then they started talking about once when they had been in Karlskoga, and about the sex orgies that had taken place there. They had put a naked girl on a hood, and all the guys had screwed her by turns, while another guy had walked around and collected money from the onlookers. And one guy had been so badly beaten that blood had been spurting from him, and his face had looked like minced meat afterwards. Then all the cars had driven in motorcade through town with inflated rubbers fastened to the radio antennas.
They came from Stockholm and belonged to a gang that was called “The Road Devils”, they said, but I don’t know if it was true.
Thursday, 6 February 1964
We have so much German for tomorrow that I get tired just thinking about it. First a reading in “Drei Männer im Schnee”, with 25 vocabulary words included, and then a written exercise from the workbook. I wish we had Möllan still with us, because she was a good teacher. (”Guten Morgen, Mädchen! Guten Morgen Fräulein Möller. Setzen Sie sich bitte!”) Yes, she was good! Nilsson is so dry and boring. You almost fall asleep during his lessons and don’t learn anything. But he is kind, in any case.
Yesterday when we had German, I was asked to recite all the dative case prepositions, because we are supposed to know them by heart. And I know them (aus, bei, mit, nach, seit, von, zu), but when the teacher asks a question and I know the answer and would like to answer, I become so tense, and my heart starts beating faster and I’m afraid that my throat will turn raucous so I won’t be able to talk. It isn’t so bad for short answers, but if you need, for example, to read a text and then translate it, it’s very problematic. I’m afraid all the time that it will become difficult, and therefore, I don’t always show that I can. Sometimes I don’t raise my hand even though I know the answer because I can’t rely on my voice. At the same time, I want to show that I’m able, so other times I raise my hand on every question to force myself over that threshold that makes me avoid it otherwise.
We got written lesson tests in history. I had not done my homework and handed in a blank paper. I have never done that before.
The girls in class who usually go out dancing on Saturday nights talked about going to Hemvärnsgården in Almunge to watch “Hep Stars” or to Månkarbo to listen to “Ola & The Janglers”. But Kicki and I won’t do that. We are going to town to wait for some guys to stop and pick us up. We aren’t ashamed, because you don’t have to be worse than those who go dancing just because you walk on Svartbäcksgatan. But we usually say we are going to the movies if anyone asks what we intend to do.
Monday, 10 February 1964
On Saturday evening I went home early. I took a walk, and then a guy in a Volvo Amazon stopped and asked me if he could give me a ride home. Yes, of course he could, if he was so keen on it! So I hopped in. But, of course, he wanted to be rewarded for his efforts also, so when we got home I didn’t think I would ever get out of the car. Ac
tually, I became a little irritated with him.
I have a thick winter skirt, discretely patterned in green and black, and that’s the one I had on. It’s a bit flared and has the lining sewn on the inside, and it has pockets that go in through the seams. When he discovered those pockets, he stuck his hand down in one of them, and they are deep, so he reached long in and down between my legs and started digging. He was so blunt, to say the least, and he didn’t want to let go. When I tried to get his hand off me he forced back, and suddenly my skirt went to pieces. It split at the seam, and I got so angry with him that he had to carry on like that. I regretted that I had let him drive me. If only I had climbed out of the car as soon as he had stopped! But you think that you should give them something as thanks for the lift. If you ride with someone you can’t give a flat refusal to everything, because then it’s no point in going with him. And after all, that’s what I want.
Kicki went home early, and I rode with a guy named Hasse in a Morris Mini Cooper. He stopped in the square in front of Gunnar’s café and pulled up my bra and began to fondle my breasts. He let my sweater be down over his hands, and touched and kissed me so I got … There isn’t anyone who has taken off my bra before, and nobody who has touched me like he did, so that’s probably why I have never felt anything. But it was rather disgusting to kiss him, because he had bad breath.
We drove to his home for coffee. He lived in a room on Vaksalagatan. When we got there, he made coffee and placed cups and saucers on the table. Then he lit a candle, put on a record and turned off the ceiling light.
He had mostly old songs, like “The Duke of Earl”, “From a Jack to a King”, “Murder She Says”, “Lesson One”, “Blueberry Hill” and “Be-bop-a-Lula”.
When we had had coffee and smoked, he led me to the bed and pulled me down on it. I didn’t know how far I should let him go, but I let him take off my sweater and bra and unbutton my skirt. He didn’t take anything off himself.
It was cosy to lie there and listen to the music and feel his hands. When cars drove by outside on the street, light from the headlights came through the window and glided by on the wall. You feel so free when you can go home with whoever you want and nobody knows where you are or what you are doing. I wish the evenings when I’m out would never end.
After a while he got up to change records, and when he was coming back to bed he began loosening his belt. Then I sat up and put on my bra and sweater and said I had to go.
“That’s a shame,” he said.
But I don’t think he really thought so, because he didn’t try to persuade me to stay.
Then I rode with two guys in a Vauxhall, and they drove me home.
Tuesday, 11 February 1964
“I Want to Hold Your Hand” came in first this week, also, and “Glad All Över” (no, what am I writing?) “Glad All Over” came in second. In third place is “Hippy, Hippy, Shake”. That one E-L likes. She likes foreign and rock’n’roll songs the best (“Rock’n’roll tra-lalla-la, rock’n’roll å hoppsan sa!”), while I value Swedish and more peaceful songs as well, for example, Hootenany Singers when they sing “I’m Waiting at My Charcoal Pile”.
This morning I overslept and missed morning prayers. And morning prayers that I think are so fun! That’s one of the best things I know about! We gather in the assembly hall and sing a psalm, then a teacher comes forward and says some well-chosen words (something half religious most often), and then we sing another psalm. It only takes about fifteen minutes, and that’s simply not enough time, I think. It should be at least an hour! No, joking aside, I don’t really enjoy it. I get so upset with this, that I must go to morning prayers just because I live in town, while E-L and all the others, who live in the country, can get out of it. They all have a morning prayers card that they show to the teacher who stands at the gates. But if I come too late I get written up, and then it counts against me when it’s reckoned with all my other remarks. If the worst comes to the worst, it can affect my behavior grade. But it won’t go that far, I hope.
When I was working on my English, pop came in, placed himself by the window and stared out into the darkness.
“On Saturday I hope that you will stay at home with mom and me,” he said.
It feels disgusting when he comes into my room. It gives me the creeps and a feeling of discomfort. I become stiff as a poker and just sit there waiting for him to leave again. I don’t want to listen to him and I don’t want to talk to him. I just want him to disappear.
“No, I’m going out,” I said.
Why can’t he just let me be?
“Don’t you understand that it makes us sad when you carry on like this? Don’t you understand that you force us to take strong measures when you don’t want to do as we say?”
“You can’t stop me going out,” I said.
Because he can’t, no matter what he does!
“Now you listen to what I am telling you! From now on I want you to take our feelings into account also, and not just think about your own amusements!”
He is really dumb to think that I will care about what he wants, when he doesn’t care about what I want!
“What is it that attracts you so much? What is so urgent and difficult to refrain from?”
That’s none of your damn business! I wanted to shout. Get out of here and leave me alone! But I never dare to show him how angry I am with him. I’m so cowardly. I just sat there and tried to read my book and not listen to him.
“You sit there in some car and have a ’good time’, as I understand it. But you should know, Eva-Lena, that we aren’t happy about this, neither your mother nor I.”
I don’t give a shit! And mom has never said anything.
“Is it so boring to be at home? Is it so boring to be with us?”
It was enough to make you puke. I’m out two evenings a week and he thinks that is too much. But I will never do as he says!
“It’s that Kicki who attracts you, I understand! But from now on I expect you to say no thank you to her and show us that you are a proper and decent girl who can be a source of joy to us!”
He just wants me to fit in with his image of how a real family should look like. He doesn’t care about feelings; he just looks superficially at things. But I don’t give a shit about his damned image!
“You can go now!” I said. “And I’ll never change my mind!”
Because I haven’t done anything wrong. If he thinks I’m considering sitting at home for the rest of my life, watching TV during the evenings just because he wants me to, I think he is mistaken! I will never again do anything that will make him happy.
Kicki and I went to a café and had coffee before we began walking on Svartbäcksgatan. She had bought two new singles for 6.25 kronor from Fyris Radio. They were “Needles and Pins” with The Searchers and “Beautiful Dreamer” with John Leyton, and she had them with her in her purse in case we would meet some guys who had a record player in their car. I love John Leyton’s voice. When I hear him sing I feel thrilled. “Nobody thrills me like you do!”
First we rode with a couple of guys from Alunda, but nothing happened because we didn’t go along with changing places. The guy driving was so childish. He smoked a pipe, and when he began to clean it he said:
“This hole is almost like on an old person.”
And the other one started talking about when he had crashed his car, and carried on about it so you almost felt sick. He had crashed into a bridge railing and had sat trapped in the car wreck for two hours before they had managed to get him free. By then he had had blood and puke all over his body, he said. It was so disgusting. But judging from his way of telling it, it had been great.
Then we went with a couple of other guys to an apartment in Sivia. Kicki got the cutest one, and I didn’t feel like being with the other one, but finally I wound up with him in the bedroom, which had a double bed. It was actually his brother’s apartment, and his brother was married, so that’s why they had a double bed.
He k
issed very disgustingly. Fortunately, he didn’t want to do much, and after a while he went to sleep. Then I got up and stood by the window and smoked. It was so cosy to stand there in the dark overlooking the street with all houses and lights and cars. I would love to live in the city and have about the same apartment as the one we were in. Then no one would be able to interfere with what I am doing.
Monday, 17 February 1964
On Saturday and yesterday, we were out. Yesterday night we rode with two guys in a Volvo Amazon. When we had changed places, I sat in front with the driver, and I didn’t have anything against it, because I preferred him to the other one. And he was uncommon in the way that he talked a lot. He seemed to have reflected on things and talked a little about music and what love is and asked questions. (“Mr. Larsson, what’s life really, Mr. Larsson?”) We sat in the car and discussed, and everything felt so cosy in some way. He wanted to have my telephone number, and said he would call, and I actually believe he will.
As I lay on my bed listening to “Pop ’64”, there was a guy who called and asked for me, but pop didn’t let me talk to him. He is so damned nasty!
“Why didn’t you call me?” I said. “Why didn’t I get to talk with him?”
“He didn’t sound pleasant.”
“But if the phone call was to me, you should have called me!”
“He didn’t sound pleasant and I don’t think he was sober.”
That’s none of his business! He has nothing to do with that!
“What did you say to him?” I said.
“I let him know what I think about young rascals like him, who call and try to make themselves cocky!”
But the guy didn’t call pop. It was somebody who wanted to talk to me! And he probably got angry when pop didn’t let him do it.
Hop in Then! Page 3
