Ice

by Ulla-lena Lundberg

  It’s an assault on her person to expose her to gossip this way, and it’s typical of Martha to elicit oh’s and ah’s from people while at the same time pretending to give Mona something to live for, as if it were the Son of Man himself she carried in her belly. For she will never let Martha know how she grieves and eats her heart out. On account of her rheumatoid arthritis, they decided to wait a little. They were planning a new baby for the late winter or early spring of 1950, and she had been looking forward with all her being to the intense love life of the coming spring and summer. Now there would be nothing, never anything more, all spoiled because of exaggerated consideration and caution.

  Although Mama works and runs about all day long, Sanna sometimes sees her late in the evening sitting quite still at the table, her letter paper in front of her. But she isn’t writing, and her eyes stare into empty space. The bedspread is still on her bed, maybe she’ll never move again. But in the morning she’s off to a flying start, and they all have to be ready fast, fast, as if it were the most shameful thing in the world for anyone to come before they’re all dressed and their beds made.

  Fredrik Berg comes with Post-Anton every other week to conduct services and confirmation classes. He stays for a few days, and while he’s there Mellom has to make do without a priest, which, as Fredrik acidly explains, they do not find at all difficult. The little girls at the parsonage greet him joyously and Mona feels a stab of rancour, jealousy, God knows what, when she sees how ready Lillus is to trade the father she no longer remembers for Fredrik Berg, to whom she gives her unconditional love. She sits on his knee smiling benignly, her head on one side, all the words she knows pouring seductively from her mouth, with accompanying gestures. Sanna stands alongside, jealous for once of her little sister, and doesn’t give up until Fredrik Berg has put Lillus down and picked her up, while Lillus leans against his leg and gazes up at him with passionate, tear-filled eyes.

  She can grow really angry seeing them like this, as if there was something so special about being a man that even little girls, as soon as they have a specimen within reach, go all slinky and fawning and signal eternal fealty and show an entirely different kind of love than they’re prepared to show their mother. Lillus is absolutely insufferable, gives him her undivided attention, sparkles and beams at the dinner table and engages him in a conversation that excludes everyone else. She behaves exactly like a Kummel, as if she’d never been raised to a stricter standard of behaviour, and Mama lifts her down from her highchair and tells her that’s enough, Mr Berg is here to work, with the church’s books and correspondence and the confirmation classes, and he doesn’t have time for a lot of clingy children. She practically drives him to the office and closes the door behind him, for the girls’ enchantment just emphasizes how much harder everything is for her.

  It’s too painful. She can hardly stand to have another priest at her table and feel the enormous difference but also the degrading desire to try so hard to be pleasant, as if in maleness itself there was something so irresistible that it must at any price be courted and idolized. Ugh, the way a person can behave sometimes! And yet Fredrik is her friend and the closest thing she has to a confidant, Petter’s friend and colleague. The only one she can discuss her future with, and the only person who loyally keeps her informed about the discussions at the cathedral chapter about the Örlands’ clerical needs. The first person to make an entry in the church record in a different hand, under Deaths: Pastor Petter Leonard Kummel, deceased by drowning at an age of 31 years, 4 months, 15 days.

  The teacher in the west villages is about to retire, and people on the Örlands think it natural that Mona should take the job. She has thought about it, but no. How can she live here and be constantly reminded? Among people who are naturally moving away from him and the memory of him, people whose attention is focused on new people and new events, new tragedies, while she herself, never. No, it’s too hard. Better to return to the mainland, she tells Fredrik Berg, where she has relatives and colleagues and isn’t automatically associated with the tragically dead priest, at whose name people glance sidelong at her and go silent.

  Fredrik Berg thinks this very sensible. He doesn’t want to influence her one way or the other, only to support her in the choices she is eminently suited to make for herself. He admires her decision to stay at the parsonage for half her year of grace so she can manage the move as carefully as possible and avoid doing anything hasty. “I hope they don’t send a new priest too soon,” he says quite honestly. “I have nothing at all against coming out to the Örlands now that spring is on its way and it’s all so beautiful. And you’d be left in peace here at the parsonage.”

  If only the cathedral chapter were equally insightful, but they feel that the best thing they can do for the Örlands is to find them a new priest quickly. For the bishop and the assessor, with their lively memories of the new vicar’s heart-warming installation the year before, Örland parish is a particular favourite. No stopgap solutions, no half measures—it needs to be a proper priest, and right away. However, it turns out that all the men who have warm feelings for the Örlands and found their visits to the place unforgettable have pressing reasons to remain on the mainland. Among the younger guard, priests who have not yet passed their pastoral examination, there seems to be an actual fear of the appointment. They have children who must go to school, elderly parents who need support, important duties in their new positions. If only they were younger and not so bound. If only they were older and not so bound …

  No, but there is one established middle-aged man, married but childless: Andreas Portman, ordained at a mature age after earning a laborious Bachelor’s degree in Theology. High points for persistence, but a dubious pass on his exams. Raised in an agricultural community and thus able, presumably, to speak to the Örlanders as a fellow farmer. In need of an appointment, which arrives along with an enthusiastic introduction by the bishop himself: a singing congregation in an enchanting island landscape, everyone’s mind open to the Christian message after the tragedy the parish has suffered. A rich domain, a wonderful opportunity to make a lasting contribution. A brand-new bridge facilitates communications between the church and the community—no risk of a repetition of the recent tragedy. The widow and her children are still living in the parsonage but will move out before the autumn. They have a right to live in the house, but some arrangement can certainly be worked out for the summer. There are attic rooms, for example, and the new priest and his wife can undoubtedly be accommodated there.

  Portman, slightly suspicious, looks up the Örland Islands in his atlas, where they are not found. Too far out to sea from the perspective both of the mainland and of Åland. Hmm. On the other hand, a place where he can count on being left in peace from academic sophistries for much of the year. A place where the priest is an absolute, unquestioned authority, the obvious leader of the parish. A private little kingdom. A sphere of operations entirely under his control.

  Not worth raising objections, much wiser to accept the appointment humbly from the bishop’s hand. Grant me, Lord, to be thy obedient servant, a shepherd according to thy commandments.

  And on the seventh of May, when Berg has confirmed his candidates and completed his duties on the Örlands, acting pastor Andreas Portman arrives with his wife and his goods and chattels. Both over fifty, with heavy bodies and stiff limbs. I feel sorry for them, for it won’t be easy to stand comparison with the young couple that came ashore here three years earlier, slim and smiling, the dead man already a legend. It will never be like it was with the Kummels, people are saying already, in advance, and there is distrust and antipathy before anyone has seen even the tips of their noses. They don’t seem to be unaware of all this themselves, for they look unhappy, morose and shivering in the morning chill. “Well, well,” he says when I show him the church when it appears. “Cold,” he says. “Like a desert.” He doesn’t say that it’s beautiful, and never reflects that it’s the gateway to heaven.

  You can’t
help thinking back. The reception committee back then, eager and expectant. The arriving couple delighted. Today, the dead pastor’s wife has made breakfast, and the organist and the verger have come to welcome them and help them store their things in the shed, where they’ll remain until the widow has gone. Those meeting and those arriving look at each other while we dock. Laboured goodwill, a sense of loss that strains the smiles of the organist and the verger. She, the widow, has her little girls with her and she occupies herself with them, but then she walks over to the railing and wishes them welcome, quite heartily.

  Goodwill, but such distress. The verger starts to say something, but Portman interrupts. “Later! Right now we need to be a little methodical and get these things ashore. Careful there!” Like ordinary day labourers, Kalle and I and the organist and the verger stand there taking orders and lifting and carrying. “Careful!” comes from Mrs Portman as well, as if Kalle and I hadn’t spent half our lives loading and unloading freight. It’s the sort of thing that gives you a malicious desire to put down a box just a little harder in hopes of hearing the faint tinkle of broken glass. We’re happy when everything’s unloaded and we can start the engine and get away. But we’re there long enough for me to hear that it’s the dead vicar’s wife, not the Portmans, who thanks the organist and the verger for their help. And when she invites them all in for breakfast so they can get to know each other, Portman says, “Oh, we’ll have time for that later. Right now, what’s important is to get ourselves inside and get our bags unpacked.” The organist, who has already taken several steps towards the parsonage, turns around, looking hurt and uncertain. Then he says, “Goodbye, then,” to the widow and goes towards his dinghy pulled up on shore.

  The verger remains where he is, almost choking on all his unused words, but he’s then ordered to carry up two suitcases before he goes home. I can see from his back how deeply wounded he feels, and I wonder how in the world their collaboration is going to work. Although I don’t often go to church, I know that things go badly when the priest and verger don’t get along. The numbers on the hymn board squeak more than usual, and the gate in the altar rail sticks when the priest goes in and out. The weathervane on the roof of the church already squeaks so loudly we can hear it all the way down on the dock, and what that means you can work out for yourself.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  WHAT WAS TO HAVE BEEN their fourth summer on the Örlands becomes their first. For Mona, the first in a long life of perennial loneliness. For the girls, the first they remember, in an existence where Papa has always been dead.

  This summer, too, there are a quantity of guests, people who feel sorry for the widow, who must do everything by herself and needs company and comfort. This means that in addition to her preparations for the move, she must also feed and house visitors. With the Portmans in the parsonage, this is no easy task. She no longer has the use of the attic rooms or the office, and in the kitchen she has to make space for Mrs Portman to prepare meals. They have worked out a schedule that keeps them out of each other’s hair as much as possible, but all the extra coming and going accentuates the Portmans’ feeling that they’re in the way, and consequently they’re consumed by ill will and rancour and wish to heaven that Mona and her crowd were all out of the house.

  Lillus is afraid of them. Mama has taught them just to say hello and go on about their business, but Lillus can’t manage that. “Waah,” she howls the moment he looks at her, for Portman is in direct touch with the abyss in Lillus where the howling lives. Sanna looks pained, curtseys, and says “H’lo” and at the same time, “Quiet, Lillus!”, dragging her along through the kitchen and out onto the steps. Outside they can live, if they stay away from the paths the Portmans use. They never appear near the cow barn, so they can hang out there, and in the cow pasture. It’s a relief to be out of the house, but even though Sanna is wise far beyond her years, she has a hard time figuring out the Portmans’ movements in order to keep them from looking at Lillus. Because she howls as soon as they do, and then Mama gets angry.

  Mama is always angry. She has so much to do and never has time for everything she’s planned, even though she’s at it from dawn to dusk. They’re going to move to the Helléns, but not yet, so Sanna doesn’t have to think about that. Mama gets everything done that needs doing, but there’s so much to think about, and it’s good that Sanna can help by keeping an eye on Lillus!

  Apple and her calf will go to slaughter in August. Goody will go with them to the Helléns and live in the cow barn there. The sheep and the chickens will be auctioned, along with the equipment from the cow barn. The congregation has divided the haymaking, which has now been hauled away from Church Isle. The barn is empty, and may never be filled again, for the Portmans do not intend to keep cows. They will buy milk from the parsonage crofters and rent out the pastureland. It’s a crying shame, but perhaps it’s only right that the vicar’s animal husbandry should be eliminated now that he himself is gone and his survivors are about to live out their loss in another place.

  A thousand things to think about. With a light heart, Petter broke up the moving crates and used the boards to build bookcases; now the verger has to tear apart the bookcases and nail together packing crates. She can pack the books, but there’s much of the other stuff she’ll need access to right up to the day they leave. First she gathers together everything to be auctioned. A lot of people cast sidelong glances at the furniture, because they know she’s going to live in an attic room at first, but of course eventually she’ll have a house and home again, so the furniture will go with her.

  Best not to think about the joy with which she unpacked everything and arranged it all in the parsonage. It’s a feeling she’ll never have again, but she can still have order and method in her life, and perspective. It’s a job, a project, a duty, and it can be done effectively and without a lot of sloppy sentiment. If she has to blow her nose, it’s because it’s been cold and raw all summer and because dust gets in her nose when she roots around in cupboards and sheds.

  Now that the Portmans are here, there’s a service every Sunday again, and they sit there all three, farther back than before. Mona and Sanna greet everyone, Mrs Portman, for the time being, no one. The congregation’s reservations are clearly visible. Portman can’t sing the Mass, so the organist sings the responses a little against his will, and the congregation joins in half-heartedly. The sermon is well prepared but dry. Kummel’s sermons were always full of life and spirit even when he wasn’t all that well prepared. But even then it was a pleasure to follow along and wonder how he was going to bring it ashore with the rather slender thread he was using as a lifeline. And the way he could sing! Everyone talks about it very openly so the Portmans will hear.

  After the very first service, the organist is criticized for his slow tempos. That the congregation like them slow is no excuse. It is obviously the cantor’s job to teach them to adopt modern hymn-singing styles! And the verger … Well, the verger should be more obedient and not constantly plead local custom. Young, uncertain priests lean on customs, but experienced people prune and select and introduce new practices where they’re called for.

  Now neither the organist nor the verger stop in at the parsonage after the conclusion of High Mass, and only occasionally can they talk openly with Mona. How will this all turn out? They both wonder, the verger more openly offended than the organist, who is struggling to achieve a more friction-free collaboration with his superior. He fears for the next meeting of the vestry. It’s difficult to prepare an agenda for a priest who doesn’t care in the least how things have always been done on the Örlands. He just invokes the excellent practices of his home parish in northern Ostrobothnia.

  “It was hard enough”, the organist says, “when we had to become Protestants in the fifteen hundreds. The church needs to be a rock, steadfast. We don’t like all these changes. There’s enough of that in society as a whole.”

  And the verger can only agree, especially since every normal person c
an see that the traditions on the Örlands are beautiful as well as functional.

  Within the congregation, the customary division into two camps has asserted itself quickly. In this instance, the east villages are first with their attacks, the organist notes a little maliciously. But in addition, the formidable Adele Bergman tries to take the Portmans under her wing. For the first time, a slight coolness has found its way into the relationship between the Co-op’s manager and the chairman of its board.

  “It’s not easy for him in the beginning,” Adele explains. “So we have to keep open minds and welcome him without reservation. We must respect his calling and give him our confidence. We haven’t yet seen how he means to work among us.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” the organist says. “We’ve seen some ominous examples. He certainly hasn’t kept an open mind towards us.”

  “So much the more reason to be encouraging and understanding. If the core of the message is sound, the outward forms don’t matter so much.”

  “How do you get to the core of the message if the outward forms drive us away?”

  “Now you’re being too quick to judge him. ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged.’”

  “Dear Adele, I’m talking about our collaboration, which is going to be hard.”

  “It takes two to make a quarrel.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Now I’ve offended you.”