by Tove Jansson
And then suddenly, with surprising intensity, Viktoria found herself grieving for the lost friend of her youth – Hilda, who never understood how easily she could have stopped being difficult.
I’ll throw out that horrible squid! And take in the saucer I put out for the cats. They don’t drink milk, these Spanish cats – not even the cats here are normal.
That evening Viktoria went to the café and ordered a Cuba Libre. She asked José what the wild cats drank when they were thirsty.
José laughed. “They lick up the dew.”
That night Viktoria lulled herself to sleep by imagining she was an independent Spanish cat finding an opportune dew-cup at dawn (if dew-cups even grew in this country).
Viktoria wrote out invitations to her party, taking a lot of trouble with the formal wording and calligraphy. The supper would take place at José’s, the only restaurant in the village. It was behind his café, a terrace with a magnificent view over the valley, perfect for summer tourists passing through.
This will do nicely, Viktoria thought, and went to discuss her plans with José. There were a lot of people in the café. She greeted José and Catalina and invited them to take a glass with her because she needed advice on an important personal matter. Catalina smiled and said no, thank you, she was too busy, but José carried two Cuba Libres to a table by the glass doors to the terrace. Viktoria came straight to the point. “I’m planning a formal supper with two guests and I want it to be a really good one. I have confidence in your culinary experience and I’d like to discuss the menu. Isn’t lamb the right choice for the main dish?
“Definitely,” said José, enthusiastically. “I suggest cordero con guisantes.”
“That sounds excellent,” said Viktoria, nodding thoughtfully as if she were an expert. And as a starter – I mean entremeses?”
“How about gambas fritas?”
Viktoria knew gambas were prawns. She made a dismissive gesture; people always had prawns at formal dinners back home. “Perhaps something more – exotic?”
“Erizos naturales?”
“Well, it depends,” said Viktoria cryptically, not wanting to ask for a translation. “But we must have mimosa on the table, masses of it. Not almond blossoms, we have to think about the poor almonds. And the wine?”
“Privilegio del Rey,” José answered firmly. “Privilegio del Rey without a doubt. Would you like to taste it, Professor? It’s very renowned.”
“With pleasure.”
José fetched two large glasses and Viktoria tasted the wine. She nodded graciously and asked about the vintage. They continued their earnest discussion. The villagers followed the conversation carefully; they could tell it was very important.
José asked, “Which would you prefer, Professor, ensalada verde mezclada or chalotas y remolachas?”
“Ensalada verde of course.”
“Of course,” agreed José appreciatively.
“And cheese,” said Viktoria.
“Just cheese? No dessert?”
“I think just cheese is more elegant. And then coffee.”
José lifted his hands. “My dear Professor, that’s impossible, unthinkable! You can’t have a real supper without postre! Crema de Café Dolores yanes, pastel infanta, platanos a la Canaria, amor frío…”
“Is it so very important?” asked Viktoria in astonishment. “What was that last one called?”
“Amor frío.”
“Doesn’t that mean more or less ‘cold love’?”
“More or less.”
“Then it couldn’t be better,” said Viktoria, and giggled. “Only one other important detail: there have to be oranges on the table, a large bowl. Complete with leaves.” She could see that José didn’t like the idea; he looked suddenly crestfallen. Then she took out her invitation cards and asked if he’d be so kind as to arrange for them to be delivered; it would be more polite than sending them by post.
Their conference was over.
The next day word went round that the unsociable professor was giving a dinner in style at José’s. The detail about the oranges was considered highly amusing. And the combination of guests was a topic of general discussion. So far as anyone knew, neither woman had declined the invitation. Everyone could see that this completely altered the picture, which must now be judged from an entirely new angle, depending, of course, on the outcome of Viktoria’s dinner.
The crucial evening itself was mild and beautiful. Viktoria dressed with particular care; the pearls were for her guests but the chinchilla was to impress the colony. The café was full of villagers but there was no one on the terrace. The colony was anxious not to appear inquisitive.
The guests arrived on time from different directions, Josephine without her dogs. Viktoria rose to welcome them. José appeared in a white apron and served Privilegio del Rey.
“So good of you to come,” Viktoria said. “I’d like to drink to your health because, among other things, I believe you to be two very enterprising and courageous women. We’ll raise our glasses to the spring, to new beginnings.”
Josephine had been to a hair salon in town and was now crowned with an astoundingly large bush of red hair.
“How kind,” she said. “How very kind.”
Viktoria’s guests were extremely wary; they looked as if they had come to take an examination.
Viktoria made a sweeping gesture encompassing the magnificent landscape, the mountains and the flowering valley and said, “You know, in the days when I had students, so many of them longed to travel, maybe to places like this, some time in the future when they’d be able to afford it. We often spread out a map of the world and talked about where we would most like to go. It was such fun.” Viktoria turned to X and asked her how she had come to choose this particular village.
X shrugged and said, “For a long time I cared for an elderly relative. When she died I inherited her house.”
“Do you ever feel homesick?”
“No. But I do sometimes think about lawns.”
“Of course, lawns!” Viktoria energetically agreed. “And meadows. Here you can’t get onto the grass; it’s reserved for the orange trees. Of course, you could go into the mountains – there are no fences up there.”
“It’s nothing but stones,” said Josephine. “I tried.” She broke off as José came out on the terrace to serve them. When he’d gone, she repeated herself impatiently. “Nothing but stones. And it’s so dark indoors. Always dark.”
“Yes,” said Viktoria. “But all you have to do is go outside. Am I right?”
Her guests didn’t answer. There was a long silence. X was eating but Josephine merely toyed with her food.
Viktoria tried again. She told some amusing stories about her students, about her own impracticality, how they’d always lent a hand, the same way Josephine had helped her build a fire or the way Miss Smith had let her rest that time she was tired and feeling ill.
“You weren’t feeling ill,” X interrupted calmly and confidently. “You were perfectly fine. You were out sniffing around on her behalf.”
“Quite true, Miss Smith,” Viktoria answered lightly. “I behaved badly. But in all honesty, do you think it’s proper to go around threatening to kill people and making faces at their cleaning lady?”
Josephine laughed and finally began to eat her food.
“As for you, Josephine O’Sullivan,” continued Viktoria, determined to be fair, “is opera really the only music you’ve got?”
“No,” said Josephine angrily.
José was there again, fussing about and asking if everything was satisfactory. “Thank you, absolutely perfect,” Viktoria said. “Could we have another bottle of your excellent wine?” He bowed and went away. The wine came.
Viktoria looked out across the valley and said, “How quiet it is.”
“Quiet,” X remarked. “You’ve a weakness for quiet, haven’t you? And there’s no real need to talk if people are comfortable with not expressing every little thought. Wasn’t t
hat how you put it?”
Viktoria went red. “Any statement can lose its meaning if it’s repeated in a distorted form,” she said stiffly.
Josephine gave Viktoria a meaningful look, smiled sourly and shrugged.
The meal continued.
The oranges were beautifully arranged, each fruit still with its own green leaves. Viktoria picked one up and remarked that José had really done his best with them.
“An affectation,” said X. “Does he think we’re tourists? Nobody here eats oranges.”
Viktoria said, “It was my idea, not José’s. Think of the oranges as a decoration, a sort of symbol.”
“Of what?”
“A dream perhaps, a symbol of the Tree of Knowledge in the Garden of Eden. Something unattainable. I absolutely believe in oranges.”
“I so understand,” Josephine exclaimed. “There’s nothing wrong with having oranges on the table! In Russia they had apples. I know what Viktoria means. She’s unusual.”
“To put it mildly,” said X very drily.
On the main road below the terrace, several small boys stopped and started pointing, shouting something in Spanish again and again.
“What do they want?” Viktoria said.
X looked at Josephine and explained carefully. “They’re saying there’s that woman who made a scene at the carnival, the one by the bandits’ car.”
“They don’t mean me, they mean her!” Josephine shouted. “She was the one who went wild! Viktoria, you saw what happened!”
Viktoria had a sudden impulse to scold them. Girls, girls! she wanted to say, but she held her tongue. José came out and chased away the youngsters with a flood of animated Spanish.
The sun had dropped behind the mountains, and the evening chill set in as soon as it was gone. Viktoria was suddenly angry. “Ladies,” she said, “for me the carnival was unbelievable. And I understand how the excitement could make anyone lose their head and go a bit wild. Believe me, I’ve lost control of myself more times than I like to remember. But afterwards I try to forget and hope others can do the same.” She signalled to José to bring another bottle. “This is a very good wine. It should be drunk in a calm and thoughtful atmosphere. Ladies, what shall we drink to?”
“To you,” Josephine burst out. “To justice! The justice that always wins out over foul play!” She had already had a few drinks before leaving home, just to be on the safe side.
“And how do you like her new hairdo?” said X, not touching her wine.
Viktoria corrected her. “How do I like Josephine’s new hairdo? I think it makes her look younger.”
She was rather tired now and decided to turn the party over to her guests. She excused herself and took refuge in the ladies’ room. The view from that window was no less beautiful, but she hardly noticed. It was a bit cruel to leave the two of them together, she thought. I could have stayed. Now they’re sitting there in silence. I’ve failed. I should have learned by now to let people sort out their own problems. I’m like some kind of sheepdog, running myself ragged to round everyone up and get them organised. The thought amused her. She decided to order some cognac with the coffee.
As she was going back through the café, José came up to her conspiratorially and whispered, “How’s it going?”
“It’s going fine, I think,” Viktoria said. “It’s working out. The food, the wine, the decoration – everything was perfect. I think we’ll have some cognac with our coffee.”
Her guests were sitting bolt upright. They had clearly been having a discussion.
“Dear Viktoria,” said Josephine, breathless with excitement. “We’ve been thinking…”
“Thank her first,” X broke in.
“Yes, of course. We’d like to thank you for your extraordinary kindness and generosity. A wonderful meal, so well thought out in every detail.”
“Not so fast,” said X. “Get a grip on yourself. Quite simply, Viktoria, you’ve given us a chance. But don’t you think Josephine and I could just go on disliking each other?”
“It’s possible,” answered Viktoria. “Indeed, why not? But here’s the cognac. What shall we drink to this time?”
“Nothing,” said Josephine. “I’ve been talking too much. I really ought to go home. The dogs have been alone all evening.”
“Their legs are too short,” said X.
Viktoria raised her cognac and said, “Ladies, you waste your time on inessentials. When we’ve finished our coffee, I think we should devote ourselves to the contemplation of nightfall.”
They walked through the café, where all conversation stopped, and came out onto the square.
“It’s cold,” said Josephine, trying to fasten Viktoria’s chinchilla for her.
“Leave it alone,” said X. “Viktoria knows whether she’s cold or not. Stop fussing.”
“You always know better than anyone else!” Josephine snapped. “But you don’t know a thing about Viktoria, not a thing!” And she walked on ahead up the lane.
“Take no notice,” said Viktoria. “She’ll see things more clearly in the morning.”
“You think so?”
“Of course. Everything can change.” Viktoria did not explain in more detail that for her every new morning was a kind of happy challenge, just as it was with new opportunities, surprises, maybe even insights, yes, and plain excitement. In fact she’d done more than enough pontificating for one evening, and now she simply mentioned that José had promised to bring some firewood after nine. So she would sweep the patio and ask him to pile the wood in a different corner so it wouldn’t disturb the bougainvillea.
X smiled. “Inessentials, my dear Viktoria. You mentioned inessentials, I think? All those tiny tasks and worries. Every new day filled with one thing or another. Look at Josephine up there. She spends half her day walking her dogs and playing her operas and the other half running to meaningless parties, and it’s hard work being insulted, making yourself popular, clinging hard to what little pride you’ve got… And you, a real Viktoria, you condescend to display a well-meaning tolerance. Oh yes, I saw you in that car! Wait, don’t say anything. I know for someone like you it’s hard to say no, but you have no real principles, not guiding ones that run consistently through everything you do. None of you have. You water down your drinks and your feelings. Do you understand what I’m saying? No single, firm, undiluted beliefs.
Walking on, they caught up with Josephine, who was sitting on the long flight of steps leading up to her house.
Viktoria said to X, “There are beliefs and beliefs. Hating the colony is not a particularly interesting one, and besides it’s pretty diluted too by now, don’t you think? You should find yourself a new one, a more useful one if you can. Or just forget it, of course.”
“What do you mean, forget it?”
“Well, you could accept the fact that you’re ordinary. I always find that quite exciting enough.”
“Ha, ha, there you are,” said Josephine. “Totally ordinary – like Viktoria. That’s rare.”
X helped Josephine to her feet and said, “Yes, yes, come on, let’s go. Good night, Viktoria.”
“Good night.” For a moment Viktoria stood watching them climb the long, laborious flight of steps.
Many other people had been watching, too.
The next week X was invited to the Wainwrights’. And later even to Lady Oldfield’s, though she wasn’t accepted into the Inner Circle until the colony had assured itself that Miss Smith had interesting eccentricities that could contribute pleasantly to enlivening its social life. But that didn’t happen till the autumn.
Shopping
IT WAS FIVE IN THE MORNING and still overcast. The dreadful stink seemed to be getting worse. As usual, Emily walked down Robert Street as far as Blom’s grocery store. The shards of glass squeaked under her shoes and she decided that one day she’d have to make the place a little more approachable. So long as it didn’t interfere with her constant shopping. They had plenty of canned food in the kitchen at
the moment, but you could never be sure these days, Emily thought. Surprisingly, the big mirror was still there outside Blom’s, and Emily stopped for a moment to tidy her hair. Really no one could call her fat now; plump might be more accurate – or Junoesque, as Kris liked to say. In fact her coat fitted a good deal better now; it was green and matched her shopping bags. She climbed a pile of rubble to get in through the window. Here it was rotting food that was smelling bad.
She noticed at once that they had been there again, because now the shelves were almost empty. They hadn’t bothered with the sauerkraut; she stowed away what was left of that and helped herself to the last packet of candles and, while she was about it, a new washing-up brush and some shampoo. There was no more fruit juice, so Kris would just have to make do with river water, like it or lump it. She could go on to Lundgren’s and have a look there, but that was quite a long way off. Another time. Wanting to make the most of her morning, Emily went into number six, left her bags near the entrance and walked up one floor to the Erikssons’ flat. That was as far as you could go.
Luckily the Erikssons had not closed their door when they left. Emily knew there was nothing important left to take; she had shopped for all she wanted from there a long time ago, but it was nice to sit on the fine living-room sofa and rest her legs. Although of course it was no longer so fine any more, since others had stained it and cut it with knives. But Emily had got there first. And she’d had such great respect for the beauty of the peaceful room that she had taken nothing from it but food. Later, when everything had been trashed and soiled, she saved a few more things to brighten up the kitchen at home and to surprise Kris. This time she helped herself to the rococo wall-clock which had stopped at five, her shopping hour. No one else was out at five in the morning; it was a good safe time.
She started for home. She wondered whether Kris could eat sauerkraut, especially now his stomach was delicate. About halfway home she put down her bags, which were very heavy, and looked out over the changed landscape, the shrunken suburb where she lived. There certainly wasn’t much left; on the other side of the river, nothing at all. Strange the trees hadn’t yet burst into leaf in the park.
