THE CAST
Professor Isak Borg Victor Sjostrom
Sara Bibi Andersson
Marianne Ingrid Thulin
Evald Gunnar Bjomstrand
Agda Jullan Kindahl
Anders Foike Sundquist
Viktor Bjorn Bjelvenstam
Isak's mother Naima Wifstrand
Mrs. Alman Gunnel Brostrom
Isak's wife Gertrud Fridh
Her lover Ake Fridell
Aunt Sif Ruud
Alman Gunnar Sjoberg
Akerman Max von Sydow
Uncle Aron Yngve Nordwall
Sigfrid Per Sjostrand
Sigbritt Gio Petre
Charlotta Gunnel Lindblom
Angelica Maud Hansson
Mrs. Akerman Anne-Mari Wiman
Anna Eva Noree
The twins Lena Bergman
Monica Ehrling
Hagbart Per Skogsberg
Benjamin Goran Lundquist
Promoter Professor Helge Wulff
NOTE: There are no cast listings for Tiger and Jakob because the scene in which these characters appear (see pp. 277-8) did not appear in the finished film.
THE CREDITS
Screenplay Ingmar Bergman
Director Ingmar Bergman
Assistant director Gosta Ekman
Director of photography Gunnar Fischer
Assistant cameraman Bjorn Thermenius
Music Erik Nordgren
Music directed by E. Eckert-Lundin
Sets Gittan Gustafsson
Costumes Millie Strom
Make-up Nils Nittel
(ofCarlM.Lundh,Inc.)
Sound Aaby Wedin and Lennart Wallin
Editor Oscar Rosander
Production supervisor Allan Ekelund
Running time: 90 minutes
Produced by Svensk Filmindustri; distributed in the United States by Janus Films, Inc., and in Great Britain by Contemporary Films Ltd.
AT THE AGE of seventy-six, I feel that I'm much too old to lie to myself. But of course I can't be too sure. My complacent attitude toward my own truth-fulness could be dishonesty in disguise, although I don't quite know what I might want to hide. Nevertheless, if for some reason I would have to evaluate myself, I am sure that I would do so without shame or concern for my reputation. But if I should be asked to express an opinion about someone else, I would be considerably more cautious. There is the greatest danger in passing such judgment. In all probability one is guilty of errors, exaggerations, even tremendous lies. Rather than commit such follies, I remain silent.
As a result, I have of my own free will withdrawn almost completely from society, because one's relationship with other people consists mainly of discussing and evaluating one's neighbor's conduct. Therefore I have found myself rather alone in my old age. This is not a regret but a statement of fact. All I ask of life is to be left alone and to have the opportunity to devote myself to the few things which continue to interest me, however superficial they may be. For example, I derive pleasure from keeping up with the steady progress made in my profession (I once taught bacteriology), I find relaxation in a game of golf, and now and then I read some memoirs or a good detective story. My life has been filled with work, and for that I am grateful. It began with a struggle for daily bread and developed into the continuous pursuit of a beloved science. I have a son living in Lund who is a physician and has been married for many years. He has no children. My mother is still living and quite active despite her advanced age (she is ninety-six). She lives in the vicinity of Huskvarna. We seldom see each other. My nine sisters and brothers are dead, but they left a number of children and grandchildren. I have very little contact with my relatives. My wife Karin died many years ago. Our marriage was quite unhappy. I am fortunate in having a good housekeeper.
This is all I have to say about myself. Perhaps I ought to add that I am an old pedant, and at times quite trying, both to myself and to the people who have to be around me. I detest emotional outbursts, women's tears and the crying of children. On the whole, I find loud noises and sudden startling occurrences most disconcerting.
Later I will come back to the reason for writing this story, which is, as nearly as I can make it, a true account of the events, dreams and thoughts which befell me on a certain day.
In the early morning of Saturday, the first of June, I had a strange and very unpleasant dream. I dreamed that I was taking my usual morning stroll through the streets. It was quite early and no human being was in sight. This was a bit surprising to me. I also noted that there were no vehicles parked along the curbs. The city seemed strangely deserted, as if it were a holiday morning in the middle of summer.
The sun was shining brightly and made sharp black shadows, but it gave off no warmth. Even though I walked on the sunny side, I felt chilly. The stillness was also remarkable. I usually stroll along a broad, tree-lined boulevard, and even before sunrise the sparrows and crows are as a rule extremely noisy. Besides, there is always the perpetual roar from the center of the city. But this morning nothing was heard, the silence was absolute, and my footsteps echoed almost anxiously against the walls of the buildings. I began to wonder what had happened.
Just at that moment I passed the shop of a watchmaker-optometrist, whose sign had always been a large clock that gave the exact time. Under this clock hung a picture of a pair of giant eyeglasses with staring eyes. On my morning walks I had always smiled to myself at this slightly grotesque detail in the street scene.
To my amazement, the hands of the clock had disappeared. The dial was blank, and below it someone had smashed both of the eyes so that they looked like watery, infected sores.
Instinctively I pulled out my own watch to check the time, but I found that my old reliable gold timepiece had also lost its hands. I held it to my ear to find out if it was still ticking. Then I heard my heart beat. It was pounding very fast and irregularly. I was overwhelmed by an inexplicable feeling of frenzy.
I put my watch away and leaned for a few moments against the wall of a building until the feeling had passed. My heart calmed down and I decided to return home.
To my joy, I saw that someone was standing on the street corner. His back was toward me. I rushed up to him and touched his arm. He turned quickly and to my horror I found that the man had no face under his soft felt hat.
I pulled my hand back and in the same moment the entire figure collapsed as if it were made of dust or frail splinters. On the sidewalk lay a pile of clothes. The person himself had disappeared without a trace. I looked around in bewilderment and realized that I must have lost my way. I was in a part of the city where I had never been before. I stood on an open square surrounded by high, ugly apartment buildings. From this narrow square, streets spread out in all directions. Everyone was dead; there was not a sign of a living soul.
High above me the sun shone completely white, and light forced its way down between the houses as if it were the blade of a razor-sharp knife. I was so cold that my entire body shivered.
Finally I found the strength to move again and chose one of the narrow streets at random. I walked as quickly as my pounding heart allowed, yet the street seemed to be endless.
Then I heard the tolling of bells and suddenly I was standing on another open square near an unattractive little church of red brick. There was no graveyard next to it and the church was surrounded on all sides by gray-walled buildings.
Not far from the church a funeral procession was wending its way slowly through the streets, led by an ancient hearse and followed by some old-fashioned hired carriages. These were pulled by pairs of meager-looking horses, weighed down under enormous black shabracks.
I stopped and uncovered my head. It was an intense relief to see living creatures, hear the sound of horses trotting and church bells ringing.
Then everything happened very quickly and so frighteningly that even as I write this I still feel a definite uneasiness.
The hearse was just about to turn in front of the church gate when suddenly it began to sway and rock like a ship in a storm. I saw that one of the wheels had come loose and was rolling toward me with a loud clatter. I had to throw myself to one side to avoid being hit. It struck the church wall right behind me and splintered into pieces.
The other carriages stopped at a distance but no one got out or came to help. The huge hearse swayed and teetered on its three wheels. Suddenly the coffin was thrown out and fell into the street. As if relieved, the hearse straightened and rolled on toward a side street, followed by the other carriages.
The tolling of the church bells had stopped and I stood alone with the overturned, partly smashed coffin. Gripped by a fearful curiosity, I approached. A hand stuck out from the pile of splintered boards. When I leaned forward, the dead hand clutched my arm and pulled me down toward the casket with enormous force. I struggled helplessly against it as the corpse slowly rose from the coffin. It was a man dressed in a frock coat.
To my horror, I saw that the corpse was myself. I tried to free my arm, but he held it in a powerful grip. All this time he stared at me without emotion and seemed to be smiling scornfully.
In this moment of senseless horror, I awakened and sat up in my bed. It was three in the morning and the sun was already reflecting from the rooftops opposite my window. I closed my eyes and I muttered words of reality against my dream—against all the evil and frightening dreams which have haunted me these last few years.
ISAK: My name is Isak Borg. I am still alive. I am seventy-six years old. I really feel quite well.
When I had muttered these words I felt calmer, drank a glass of water, and lay down to ponder on the day which was ahead of me. I knew immediately what I should do. I got out of bed, pulled open the curtains, found the weather radiant, and breathed in the fine morning air. Then I put on my robe and went through the apartment (where the clocks were striking three) to the room of my old housekeeper. When I opened the door she sat up immediately, wide awake.
AGDA: Are you ill. Professor?
ISAK: Listen, Miss Agda, will you please prepare some breakfast? I'm taking the car.
AGDA: You're taking the car, Professor?
ISAK: Yes, I'll drive down to Lund with my own two hands. I've never believed in airplanes.
AGDA: Dear Professor! Go back to sleep and I'll bring you coffee at nine o'clock and then we'll start at ten, as was decided.
ISAK: Very well then, I'll go without eating.
AGDA: And who's going to pack the frock coat?
ISAK: I'll do that myself.
AGDA: And what will become of me?
ISAK: Miss Agda, you can go with me in the car or take the airplane—that's up to you.
AGDA: For an entire year I've been looking forward to being present at the ceremony when you become a Jubilee Doctor, and everything was perfectly organized. Now you come and tell me that you're going to drive down instead of going by plane.
ISAK: The presentation is not until five o'clock, and if I leave at once I'll have fourteen hours in which to get there.
AGDA: Everything will be ruined that way. Your son will be waiting at Maimo airport. What will he say?
ISAK: You can make some explanation. Miss Agda.
AGDA: If you take the car, I won't be with you at the ceremony.
ISAK: Now listen. Miss Agda.
AGDA: You can take the car and drive there and destroy the most solemn day of my life . . .
ISAK: We are not married. Miss Agda.
[221]
AGDA: I thank God every night that we're not. For seventy-four years I have acted according to my own principles, and they won't fail me today.
ISAK: Is that your last word on this matter. Miss Agda?
AGDA: That is my last word. But I'll be saying a lot to myself about mean old gentlemen who think only of themselves and never about the feelings of others who have served them faithfully for forty years.
ISAK: I really don't know how I've been able to stand your immense hunger for power all these years.
AGDA: Just tell me and it can be ended tomorrow.
ISAK: Anyway, I'm going to drive, and you may do whatever the hell you want to. I'm a grown man and I don't have to put up with your bossiness.
Our last words, I must admit, were spoken rather loudly, partly because of Miss Agda's unruly temper and partly because I had gone to the bathroom, where I shaved and completed my morning toilet. When I came out of the bathroom, I found to my surprise that Miss Agda was busy packing my frock coat and other necessities. She seemed to have come to her senses and I tried a friendly pat on the back to make her understand that I had forgiven her.
ISAK: There is no one who can pack like you.
AGDA: Is that so.
ISAK: Old sourpuss.
I was very angry that she didn't answer. True, my last words weren't very well chosen, but Miss Agda has a way of being cross which would try the patience of a saint.
AGDA: Should I boil a couple of eggs to go with the coffee, sir?
[222]
ISAK: Yes, thank you, that's very kind of you. Miss Agda. Thank you, dear Miss Agda.
Without noticing my efforts to be nice in spite of everything, the old lady disappeared into the kitchen.
ISAK: Jubilee Doctor! Damn stupidity. The faculty could just as well make me jubilee idiot. I'm going to buy something for the old sourpuss to sweeten her up a little. I hate, people who are slow to forget. I can't even hurt a fly; how could I ever hurt Miss Agda?
Then she appeared in the doorway.
AGDA: Do you want toast?
ISAK: No, thank you for everything. Don't trouble yourself over me.
AGDA: Why are you sour?
I didn't have time to answer before the door closed in my face. I dressed and went into the dining room, where my breakfast was waiting. The morning sun threw a bright stripe across the dining-room table. Miss Agda puttered about quietly with a coffee pot and poured steaming coffee into my personal cup.
ISAK: Won't you have a cup too?
AGDA: No, thanks.
Miss Agda went over to water the flowers in the window and turned her back to me quite naturally but in a very definite way. Then the door of a nearby room opened and my daughter-in-law, Marianne, entered. She was still wearing pajamas and was smoking a cigarette.
ISAK: May I ask why my esteemed daughter-in-law is out of bed at this hour of the morning?
[223]
MARIANNE: It's a little difficult to sleep when you and
Miss Agda are shouting at each other loud enough to shake the walls.
ISAK: Surely no one here has been shouting.
AGDA: Of course not, no one here has been shouting.
MARIANNE: You're going by car to Lund.
ISAK: Yes, I think so.
MARIANNE: May I go with you?
ISAK: What? You want to go home?
MARIANNE: Yes, I want to go home.
ISAK: Home to Evald?
MARIANNE: That's it. You don't have to ask my reasons.
If I could afford it, I would take the train.
ISAK: Of course you can go with me.
MARIANNE: I'll be ready in about ten minutes.
Marianne put out her cigarette in an ash tray on the table, went into her room and closed the door. Agda brought another cup but said nothing. We were both surprised but had to remain silent about Marianne's sudden decision to go home to my son Evald. Nevertheless, I felt obliged to shake my head.
AGDA: Good Lord!
Shortly after half past three, I drove my car out of the garage. Marianne came out through the front gate dressed in slacks and a short jacket (she is a stately young woman). I looked up toward the window to see if Agda was standing there. She was. I waved to her but she did not wave back. Angrily I got into the car, slammed the door and started the engine. Silently we left the quiet, sleeping city. Marianne was about to light a cigarette.
ISAK: Please don't smoke.
MARIANNE: Of course.
ISAK: I can't stand cigarette smoke.
MARIANNE: I forgot.
ISAK: Besides, cigarette smoking is both expensive and unhealthy. There should be a law against women smoking.
MARIANNE: The weather is nice.
ISAK: Yes, but oppressive. I have a feeling that we'll have a storm.
MARIANNE: So do I.
ISAK: Now take the cigar. Cigars are an expression of the fundamental idea of smoking. A stimulant and a relaxation. A manly vice.
MARIANNE: And what vices may a woman have?
ISAK: Crying, bearing children, and gossiping about the neighbors.
MARIANNE: How old are you really, Father Isak?
ISAK: Why do you want to know?
MARIANNE: No real reason. Why?
ISAK: I know why you asked.
MARIANNE: Oh.
ISAK: Don't pretend. You don't like me and you never have.
MARIANNE: I know you only as a father-in-law.
ISAK: Why are you going home again?
MARIANNE : An impulse. That's all.
ISAK: Evald happens to be my son.
MARIANNE: Yes, I'm sure he is.
ISAK: So, it may not be so strange that I ask you.
MARIANNE: This is something which really does not concern you.
ISAK: Do you want to hear my opinion?
She provoked me with her unshakable calm and remoteness. Besides, I was very curious and a little worried." '
ISAK: Evald and I are very much alike. We have our principles.
MARIANNE: You don't have to tell me.
ISAK: This loan for example. Evald got a loan from me with which to complete his studies. He was to have paid it back when he became a lecturer at the university. It became a matter of honor for him to pay it back at the rate of five thousand per year. Although I realize that it's difficult for him, a bargain is a bargain.
MARIANNE: For us it means that we can never have a holiday together and that your son works himself to death.
ISAK: You have an income of your own.
MARIANNE: . . . Especially when you're stinking rich and have no need for the money.
ISAK: A bargain is a bargain, my dear Marianne. And I know that Evald understands and respects me.
MARIANNE: That may be true, but he also hates you.
Her calm, almost matter-of-fact tone startled me. I tried to look into her eyes, but she stared straight ahead and her face remained expressionless.
ISAK: Evald and I have never coddled each other.
MARIANNE: I believe you.
ISAK: I'm sorry that you dislike me, because I rather like you.
MARIANNE: That's nice.
ISAK: Tell me, what do you really have against me?
MARIANNE: Do you want me to be frank?
ISAK: Please.
MARIANNE: You are an old egotist, Father. You are completely inconsiderate and you have never listened to anyone but yourself. All this is well hidden behind your mask of old-fashioned charm and your friendliness. But you are hard as nails, even though everyone depicts you as a great humanitarian. We who have seen you at close range, we know what you really are. You can't fool us. For instance, do you remember when I came to you a month ago? I had some idiotic idea that you would help Evald and me. So I [226]
asked to stay with you for a few weeks. Do you remember what you said?
ISAK: I told you that you were most cordially welcome.
MARIANNE: This is what you really said, but I'm sure you've forgotten: Don't try to pull me into your marital problems because I don't give a damn about them, and everyone has his own troubles.
ISAK: Did I say that?
MARIANNE: You said more than that.
ISAK: That was the worst, I hope.
MARIANNE: This is what you said, word for word: I have no respect for suffering of the soul, so don't come to me and complain. But if you need spiritual masturbation, I can make an appointment for you with some good quack, or perhaps with a minister, it's so popular these days. ^)
ISAK: Did I say that?
MARIANNE: You have rather inflexible opinions. Father. It would be terrible to have to depend on you in any way.
ISAK: Is that so. Now, if I am honest, I must say that I've enjoyed having you around the house.
MARIANNE: Like a cat.
ISAK: Like a cat, or a human being, it's the same thing. You are a fine young woman and I'm sorry that you dislike me.
MARIANNE: I don't dislike you.
ISAK: Oh.
MARIANNE: I feel sorry for you.
I could hardly keep from laughing at her odd tone of
voice and lack of logic. She herself laughed, by the way, and it cleared the air a bit.
ISAK: I really would like to tell you about a dream I had
this morning.
MARIANNE: I'm not very interested in dreams.
ISAK: No, perhaps not. [227]
We drove for a while in silence. The sun stood high in the sky and the road was brilliantly white. Suddenly I had an impulse. I slowed down and swung the car into a small side road on the left, leading down to the sea. It was a twisting, forest road, bordered by piles of newly cut timber which smelled strongly in the heat of the sun. Marianne looked up, a bit surprised, but remained silent. I parked the car in a curve of the road.
ISAK: Come, I'll show you something.
She sighed quietly and followed me down the little hill to the gate. Now we could see the large yellow house set among the birch trees, with its terrace facing the bay. The house slept behind closed doors and drawn blinds.
ISAK: Every summer for the first twenty years of my life we lived out here. There were ten of us children. Yes, you probably know that.
MARIANNE: What a ridiculous old house.
ISAK: It is an antique.
MARIANNE: Do people live here now?
ISAK: Not this summer.
MARIANNE: I'll go down to the water and take a dip if you don't mind. We have lots of time.
ISAK: I'll go over to the wild-strawberry patch for a moment.
I suddenly found that I was speaking without a listener. Marianne was lazily making her way down to the beach.
ISAK: The old strawberry patch. . . .
I went toward the house and immediately found the spot, but it seemed to be much smaller and less impressive than I had remembered. There were still many wild strawberries, however. I sat down next to an old apple tree that stood alone and ate the berries, one by one. I may very well have become a little sentimental. Perhaps I was a little tired and somewhat melancholy. It's not unlikely that I began to think about one thing or another that was associated with my childhood haunts.
I had a strange feeling of solemnity, as if this were a day of decision. (It was not the only time that day that I was to feel that way.) The quietness of the summer morning. The calm bay. The birds' brilliant concert in the foliage. The old sleeping house. The aromatic apple tree which leaned slightly, supporting my back. The wild strawberries.
I don't know how it happened, but the day's clear reality flowed into dreamlike images. I don't even know if it was a dream, or memories which arose with the force of real events. I do not know how it began either, but I think that it was when I heard the playing of a piano.
Astonished, I turned my head and looked at the house, a short distance up the hill. It had been transformed in a strange way. The facade, which only a few moments ago was so blind and shut, was now alive and the sun glittered on the open windows. White curtains swayed in the warm summer breeze. The gaudy awnings were rolled halfway down; smoke came from the chimney. The old summer-house seemed to be bursting with life. You could hear the music of the piano (it was something by Waldteufel), happy voices echoing through the open windows, laughter, footsteps, the cries of children, the squeaking of the pump. Someone started to sing up there on the second floor. It was a strong, almost Italian bel-canto tenor. In spite of all this, not a human being was in sight. For a few moments the scene still had a feeling of unreality, like a mirage which could instantly evaporate and be lost in silence.
Suddenly I saw her. When I turned around after looking at the strangely transformed house I discovered her where she was kneeling in her sun-yellow cotton dress, picking [229] wild strawberries. I recognized her immediately and I became excited. She was so close to me that I could touch her, but my lingering feeling of the evanescence of the situation prevented me from making her notice my presence. (I was amused. Mental image or dream or whatever this was, she looked just as I remembered her: a girl in a yellow summer dress, freckled and tanned and glowing with light-hearted young womanhood.)
I sat for a few minutes and silently looked at her. Finally I couldn't help calling out her name, rather quietly but nevertheless quite audibly. She didn't react. I tried once more, a little louder.
ISAK: Sara . . . It's me, your cousin Isak. . . . I've become a little old, of course, and do not quite look as I used to. But you haven't changed the slightest bit. Little cousin, can't you hear me?
She didn't hear me, but eagerly continued to pick the wild strawberries, putting them into a small straw basket. I understood then that one cannot easily converse with one's memories. This discovery did not make me particularly sad. I decided to keep quiet and hoped that this unusual and pleasant situation would last as long as possible.
Then, a boy came strolling down the hill. He was already growing a small mustache despite the fact that he couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen years old. He was dressed in a shirt and trousers and wore his student's cap pushed way back on his head. He stepped right behind Sara, took off his glasses and wiped them with a large white handkerchief. (I recognized him as my brother Sigfrid, one year older than myself. We shared many happy moments and troubles. He died, by the way, relatively young, of pyelitis. He was a lecturer in Slavic languages at Uppsala University.)
[230]
SIGFRID: Good morning, sweet cousin. What are you doing?
SARA: Can't you see that I'm picking wild strawberries, stupid?
SIGFRID: And who shall be favored with these tasty berries, plucked in the morning watch by a dulcet young maiden?
SARA: Oh you! Don't you know that Uncle Aron's birthday is today? I forgot to prepare a present for him. So, he gets a basket of wild strawberries. That's good enough, isn't it?
SIGFRID: I'll help you.
SARA: You know, Charlotta and Sigbritt have sewn a sampler for him and Angelica has baked a cake and Anna has painted a really pretty picture and Kristina and Birgitta have written a song which they'll sing.
SIGFRID: That's the best of all, because Uncle Aron is stone deaf.
SARA: He will be very happy and you are stupid.
SIGFRID: And the nape of your neck is deuced pretty.
Sigfrid quickly bent over the girl and rather gallantly kissed her on her downy neck. Sara became rather annoyed.
SARA: You know that you're not allowed to do that.
SIGFRID: Who said so?
SARA: I said so. Besides, you are a particularly unbearable little snot who thinks he's something.
SIGFRID: I'm your cousin, and you're sweet on me.
SARA: On you!
SIGFRID: Come here and I'll kiss you on the mouth.
SARA: If you don't keep away I'll tell Isak that you try to kiss me all the time.
SIGFRID: Little Isak. I can beat him easily with one hand
tied behind my back.
SARA: Isak and I are secretly engaged. You know that very
well.[231]
SIGFRID: Yes, your engagement is so secret that the whole house knows about it.
SARA: Could I help it if the twins ran around and blabbered everything?
SIGFRID: Then when are you going to get married? When are you going to get married? When are you going to get married? When are you going to get married?
SARA: I'll tell you one thing, of your four brothers I can't decide which is the least vain. But I think it's Isak. In any case, he's the kindest. And you are the most awful, the most unbearable, the most stupid, the most idiotic, the most ridiculous, the most cocky—I can't think of enough names to call you.
SIGFRID: Admit that you're a little sweet on me.
SARA: Besides, you smoke smelly cigars.
SIGFRID: That's a man's smell, isn't it?
SARA: Besides, the twins, who know everything, say that you've done rather nasty things with the oldest Berglund girl. And she's not a really nice girl, the twins say. And I believe them.
SIGFRID: If you only knew how pretty you are when you blush like that. Now you must kiss me. I can't stand it any more. I'm completely in love with you, now that I think about it.
SARA: Oh, that's only talk. The twins say that you're crazy about girls. Is it really true?
Suddenly he kissed her hard and rather skillfully. She was carried away by this game and returned his kiss with a certain fierceness. But then she was conscience-stricken and threw herself down on the ground, knocking over the basket of wild strawberries.
She was very angry and began crying with excitement.
SIGFRID: Don't scream. Someone might come.
SARA: Look at the wild strawberries, all spilled. And what will Isak say? He is so kind and really loves me. Oh, how sorry I am, oh, what you've done to me. You've turned me into a bad woman, at least nearly. Go away. I don't want to see you any more, at least not before breakfast. I have to hurry. Help me pick up the strawberries. And look, I have a spot on my gown.
Then the gong suddenly sounded, announcing that breakfast was being served. The sound seemed to bring forth many human beings not far from where I stood, an astonished onlooker.
The flag with the Swedish-Norwegian Union emblem went up and instantly stiffened against the light summer clouds; big brother Hagbart, dressed in his cadet uniform, handled the ropes expertly. From the bathhouse one could hear wild laughter, and through the louvered door tumbled two redheaded girls about thirteen years old, as identical as two wild strawberries. They laughed so hard they could hardly .walk, and they whispered things to each other that were apparently both very secret and quite amusing. Sigbritt, tall and lanky, with thick hair in heavy rolls across her forehead, came out carrying the baby's bassinet and placed it in the shadow of the arbor. Charlotta (the diligent, self-sacrificing sister who carried the responsibilities of the household on her round shoulders) rushed out on the veranda and shouted to Sara and Sigfrid to hurry.
Seventeen-year-old Benjamin dived out of some bushes, his pimply face red from the sun, and looked around with an annoyed expression. In his hand he held a thick, open book. Angelica (the beauty of the family) came skipping out of the woods, joined the twins, and was immediately made part of some hilarious secret. Finally, fifteen-year-old Anna came running out of the house, asked Hagbart about something, then raised her voice and started to shout for Isak. I arose, surprised and worried, unable to answer her cry. [233]
TWINS (in unison): I think that Isak is out fishing with Father and they probably can't hear the gong. And Father said, by the way, that we shouldn't wait to eat. That's what Father said, I definitely remember.
Oh, yes. Father and, I were out fishing together. I felt a secret and completely inexplicable happiness at this message, and I stood for a long while wondering what I should do in this new old world which I was suddenly given the opportunity to visit.
The rest of the family had entered the house and something was being discussed quite loudly inside. Only Sigbritt's little child remained on the terrace, sleeping in the shadows of the tall lilac bushes.
Curiosity overwhelmed me. I went slowly up the slope toward the house and soon found myself in the long, dark corridor which was connected with the foyer by glass doors. From there I had a good view into the large, sunlit dining room with its white table already set for breakfast, the light furniture, the wallpaper, the figurines, the palms, the airy summer curtains, the scoured white wooden floor with its broad planks and blue rag rugs, the pictures and the sampler, the large, crownlike chandelier.
There they were now, my nine brothers and sisters, my aunt, and Uncle Aron. The only ones missing were Father, Mother and I.
Everyone was standing behind his chair, with lowered head, and hands clenched together. Aunt recited the prayer "In Jesus' name to the table we go. Bless You for the food You bestow." After which the whole troop sat down with much chatter and scraping of chairs. My aunt (a stately woman in her best years, endowed with a powerful sense of authority and a resonant voice) demanded silence.
AUNT: Benjamin will immediately go and wash his hands. [234]
How long is it going to take you to learn cleanliness?
BENJAMIN: I have washed my hands.
AUNT: Sigbritt, pass the porridge to Angelica and give the twins their portions. Your fingernails are coal-black. Pass me the bread, Hagbart. Who taught you to spread so much butter on the bread? Can you do that at the military academy? Charlotta, the salt shaker is stopped up. How often have I told you that it shouldn't be left out in the open, because the salt gets humid.
BENJAMIN: I have washed my hands, but I have paint under my nails.
UNCLE ARON: Who has picked wild strawberries for me?
SARA: I have. (Louder) I have.
AUNT: You have to speak up, my child. You know that Uncle Aron is a bit hard of hearing.
SARA (thunderously): I have!
ARON: Oh my, you remembered Uncle Aron's birthday. That was really very kind of you.
HAGBART: Couldn't Uncle Aron have a little drink for breakfast in honor of the day?
AUNT: A drink at breakfast when Father isn't home is completely out of the question.
TWINS (in unison): Uncle Aron has already had three drinks. I know. I know. We saw him at eight o'clock when we went down to the bathhouse.
AUNT: The twins should hold their tongues and eat. Besides, you haven't made your beds and as punishment you'll have to dry the dinner silverware. Benjamin must not bite his nails. Don't sit and jump on the chair, Anna. You aren't a child any more.
ANNA: I want to give Uncle Aron my picture, please, Auntie. Can't we give him our presents now, right away?
AUNT: Where is your picture?
ANNA: Here under the table.
AUNT: You'll have to wait until we've eaten.
SIGFRID: It's a very advanced work of art, I'd say. It's a picture of Tristan and Isolde, but you can't tell for sure which one is Tristan.
SARA: Oh, he always spoils things, the little fop! Now he's making Anna unhappy. See if she doesn't start to cry.
ANNA: Not at all. I can overlook Sigfrid's faults. TWINS (together): By the way, what were Sara and Sigfrid up to in the wild-strawberry patch this morning? We saw everything from the bathhouse.
SIGBRITT: Calm down now, children!
CHARLOTTA: Someone should put gags on the twins. AUNT: Twins, keep still or leave the table. BENJAMIN: Doesn't a person have freedom of expression, eh?
SIGFRID: Shut up, you snotnoses.
ANGELICA: Sara is blushing, Sara is blushing, Sara is blushing.
TWINS: Sigfrid is blushing, too. Ha-ha! Sigfrid and Sara! Sigfrid and Sara! Sigfrid and Sara! AUNT (thunderously): Quiet! We'll have quiet at the table! ARON: What did you say? Of course we shall be happy.
The twins snicker in the silence. Sara throws the porridge spoon at her tormentors.
CHARLOTTA: But, Sara!
SARA: They're just lying! They're liars!
Sara rose from the table so violently that her chair turned over. She stood hesitantly for a moment, her face red and tears splashing down her cheeks. Then she ran away furiously, throwing herself at the door and out into the foyer.
She opened the glass door and disappeared out on the porch, where I could hear her sobbing violently. Gentle Charlotta came out of the dining room and went past me on her way to console Sara.[236] I could hear their voices from the darkness of the foyer and I came closer stealthily. Sara sat on a red stool (which Grandmother once used, when she wanted to take off her rubber boots) while Charlotta stood in front of her, patting her gently on the head. The miserable girl pressed her tear-stained face against Charlotta's skirt over and over again. The tinted light from the stained-glass windows of the outer door painted the whole picture in a strange way.
SARA: Isak is so refined. He is so enormously refined and moral and sensitive and he wants us to read poetry together and he talks about the after-life and wants to play duets on the piano and he likes to kiss only in the dark and he talks about sinfulness. I think he is extremely intellectual and morally aloof and I feel so worthless, and I am so worthless, you can't deny that. But sometimes I get the feeling that I'm much older than Isak, do you know what I mean? And then I think he's a child even if we are the same age, and then Sigfrid is so fresh and exciting and I want to go home. I don't want to be here all summer, to be a laughingstock for the twins and the rest of you—no, I don't want that.
CHARLOTTA: I'll talk to Sigfrid, I will! If he doesn't leave you alone I'll see to it that he gets a few more chores to do. Father will arrange that without any trouble. He also thinks Sigfrid is nasty and needs a little work to keep him out of mischief.
SARA: Poor little Isak, he is so kind to me. Oh, how unfair everything is.
CHARLOTTA: Everything will work out for the best, you'll see. Listen, now they're singing for Uncle Aron.
SARA: Isn't it crazy to write a song for a deaf man! That's typical of the twins.
Then two girlish voices sang a song that could be heard throughout the house. Charlotta placed her arm around Sara's shoulders, and Sara blew her nose quite loudly. Both [237] girls returned to the dining room, where the mood had become very lively. Uncle Aron had arisen, his round perspiring face lit like a lantern, and he had tears in his eyes. He held a sheet of music before him while the twins stood nearby and sang with all their might. When they had finished everyone applauded, and Uncle Aron kissed them on the forehead and wiped his face with a napkin. My aunt rose from the table and proposed a quadruple cheer. Everyone got up and hurrahed. Suddenly Anna shouted and pointed out the window. Everyone turned to look.
ANNA: Look, here comes Father.
AUNT: Well, finally! Sigbritt, take out the porridge bowl and have it warmed. Charlotta, you bring up more milk from the cellar.
The women fussed around, but Sara ran out of the house, down the slope, and disappeared behind the small arbor which stood on the edge of the birch-tree pasture. I followed her with curiosity, but lost her. Suddenly I stood alone at the wild-strawberry patch. A feeling of emptiness and sadness came over me. I was awakened by a girl's voice asking me something. I looked up.
In front of me stood a young lady in shorts and a boy's checked shirt. She was very tanned, and her blond hair was tangled and bleached by the sun and the sea. She sucked on an unlit pipe, wore wooden sandals on her feet and dark glasses on her nose.
SARA: Is this your shack?
ISAK: No, it isn't.
SARA: It's a good thing you're the truthful type. My old
man owns the whole peninsula . . . including the shack.
ISAK: I lived here once. Two hundred years ago.
SARA: Uh huh. Is that your jalopy standing up at the gate?
ISAK: It's my jalopy, yes. [238]
SARA: Looks like an antique.
ISAK: It is an antique, just like its owner.
SARA: You've got a sense of humor about yourself, too.
That's fantastic. Where are you heading, by the way? In
which direction, I mean.
ISAK: I'm going to Lund.
SARA: What a fantastic coincidence. I'm on my way to
Italy.
ISAK: I'd feel very honored if you came along.
SARA: My name is Sara. Silly name, isn't it?
ISAK: My name is Isak. Rather silly too.
SARA: Weren't they married?
ISAK: Unfortunately not. It was Abraham and Sara.
SARA: Shall we take off?
ISAK: I have another lady with me. Here she comes. This is
Sara, and this is Marianne. We'll have company to Lund.
Sara is going to Italy but she has agreed to travel part way
with us.
SARA: Now you're being ironic again, but it suits you.
We began walking toward the car. Marianne and I exchanged amused glances, the first contact between us. When we came to the car, two young men with round blond crew-cut heads popped up. They were also wearing checked shirts, shorts, wooden sandals and sunglasses. Each carried a rucksack.
SARA: Hey, fellows. I've got a lift nearly all the way to Italy. This is Anders, and this one with the glasses is Viktor, called Vicke . . . and this is Father Isak.
VIKTOR: Hello.
ISAK: Hello.
ANDERS: How do you do, sir.
ISAK: Hello.
SARA: That cookie you're staring at so hard, her name is Marianne.
[239] MARIANNE: Hello.
BOYS (together): Hello.
SARA: It's a pretty big car.
ISAK: Just jump in. There's room for everybody. We can put the baggage in the trunk, if you don't mind.
We packed things away, and then we all got into the car. I drove carefully, leaving my childhood world behind. Sara took off her sunglasses and laughed. She was very much like her namesake of the past.
SARA: Of course I have to tell Isak that Anders and I are going steady. We are crazy about each other. Viktor is with us as a chaperon. That was decided by the old man. Viktor is also in love with me and is watching Anders like a madman. This was a brilliant idea of my old man. I'll probably have to seduce Viktor to get him out of the way. I'd better tell Isak that I'm a virgin. That's why I can talk so'brazenly.
I looked at her through the rear-view mirror. She was sitting comfortably with her legs on the backs of the folding seats. Anders had a proprietary arm around her shoulders and looked rather angry, for which I could hardly blame him. Viktor, on the other hand, seemed completely disinterested and stared fixedly at the nape of Marianne's neck —and whatever else he could glimpse of her figure.
SARA: I smoke a pipe. Viktor says it's healthier. He's crazy about everything that's healthy.
No one answered, or considered any comment necessary. We continued our trip in a silence which was by no means unpleasant, just a little shy. The weather had become quite warm, almost oppressive, and we had opened all the windows. The road was broad and straight. I was in a [240] spirited mood. The day had been full of stimulating surprises.
ISAK: I had a first love whose name was Sara. SAKA: She was like me, of course.
ISAK: As a matter of fact, she was rather like you.
SARA: What happened to her?
ISAK: She married my brother Sigfrid and had six children. Now she's seventy-five years old and a rather beautiful little old lady.
SARA: I can't imagine anything worse than getting old. Oh, excuse me. I think I said something stupid.
Her tone was so sincerely repentant that everyone burst into laughter. And then it happened.
We were on a broad, blind right curve. I kept hard to the left and at that moment a little black car came speeding straight toward us. I had time to see Marianne brace her right hand against the windshield and I heard Sara scream. Then I slammed on the brakes with all my strength. Our big car skidded to the left and went off the road into a pasture. The black car disappeared with a squeal, rolled over and fell into a deep ditch to the right of the road. Startled, we stared at one another; we had escaped without a scratch. Some thick black tire tracks and several big marks on the road surface were the only signs of the other car. A short distance away, a couple of rotating front wheels stuck up from the ditch.
All of us began running toward it and then stopped in astonishment. The overturned car's radio sang a morning hymn. Two people crawled out of the ditch, a man and a woman, in the midst of a violent quarrel which was on the verge of coming to blows. When they saw us watching they immediately stopped and the man limped toward me.
ALMAN: How are you? There's nothing for me to say. The [241]
blame is completely ours. We have no excuses. It was my wife who was driving. Are you all right? Everyone safe and sound? Thank God for that.
He mumbled nervously, took off his eyeglasses and put them on again, and looked at us with frightened glances.
ALMAN: The would-be murderers should introduce themselves. Alman is my name. I'm an engineer at the Stockholm electric power plant. Back there is my wife, Berit. She used to be an actress, and it was that fact we were discussing when . . . when . . . when . . .
He interrupted himself with an artificial laugh and waved at his wife. When she remained motionless, he took a few limping steps toward her.
ISAK: How is your leg?
ALMAN: It's not from this. I've been crippled for years. Unfortunately it's not only my leg that's crippled, according to my wife. Come here now, Berit, and make your apologies.
The woman mustered her courage. She moved jerkily in spite of her rotund body.
BERIT: Please, pretty please forgive me, as children say. It was my fault, everything. I was just going to hit my husband when that curve appeared. One thing is obvious: God punishes some people immediately—or what do you think, Sten? You're a Catholic.
ISAK: Perhaps we should take a look at your car and see if we can't put it right side up again.
ALMAN: Please don't trouble yourself over us. I beg of you.
BERIT: Shut up now, Sten darling. Some people do have completely unselfish intentions, even if you don't believe it. [242]
ALMAN: My wife is a little nervous, I think. But we've had a shock. That's the word. A shock.
He laughed once more and tore off his glasses and put them on again. The young men had already jumped down into the ditch and were trying to lift the little car. Marianne ran back to our car and backed it down the road. With the help of a rope which I always carry in the trunk, we succeeded in getting the other car on an even keel. Mr. Alman suddenly cheered up, threw off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Then he put his shoulder alongside Sara, Viktor and Anders and began to push.
BERIT: Now watch the engineer closely, see how he matches his strength with the young boys, how he tenses his feeble muscles to impress the pretty girl. Sten darling, watch out that you don't have a hemorrhage.
ALMAN: My wife loves to embarrass me in front of strangers. I let her—it's psychotherapy.
We towed and shoved and pushed and suddenly the little car was standing on the road. By then, of course, its radio had gone dead. Alman sat down behind the wheel of the dented car and got the motor started. The car had gone a few feet when one of the front wheels rolled off abruptly and slid far down into the ravine.
BERIT: A true picture of our marriage.
Alman stood hesitantly on the gleaming white road, perspiring nervously. Marianne, who had stayed out of the whole scene, was still sitting behind the wheel of our car. The youngsters sat down at the edge of the road. All of us were a little upset.
ISAK: I can't see any other way out. The lady and the gentleman must ride with us to the nearest gas station. There you can telephone for help.
ALMAN: Don't trouble yourself over us. We'll have a refreshing walk. Won't we, Berit?
BERIT: With his leg. Dear Lord, that would be a scream.
ALMAN: In her delightful way my wife has just said thank you for both of us.
Silently we climbed into the car, which was suddenly completely filled. (Marianne drove; I sat beside her. Mr. and Mrs. Alman were on the folding seats. The three youngsters occupied the back seat.) Alman whistled some popular tune softly but soon fell silent. No one had any particular desire to converse. Marianne drove very calmly and carefully.
Suddenly Berit Alman started to cry. Her husband carefully put his arm around her shoulders, but she drew away and pulled out a handkerchief, which she began tearing with her fingernails.
ALMAN: I can never tell if my wife is really crying or putting on an act. Dammit, I think these are real tears. Well, that's the way it is when you see death staring you in the face.
BERIT: Can't you shut up?
ALMAN: My wife has unusual powers of the imagination. For two years she made me believe that she had cancer and pestered all our friends with all kinds of imaginary symptoms, despite the fact that the doctors couldn't find anything the matter. She was so convincing that we believed her more than the doctors. That's pretty clever, admit it. It's such stuff that saints are made of! Look, now she's crying about a death scare. It's a pity we don't have a movie camera around. Lights! Action! Camera! It's a "take," as they say in the film world.
MARIANNE: It's understandable that you're upset, Mr. Alman, but how about leaving your wife alone for a little while?
ALMAN: A woman's tears are meant for women. Don't criticize a woman's tears; they're holy. You are beautiful, dear Miss whatever your name is. But Berit here is beginning to get a little shabby. That's why you can afford to defend her.
MARIANNE: Allow me to feel compassion for your wife for different reasons.
ALMAN: Very sarcastic! Still, you don't seem to be at all hysterical. But Berit is a genius at hysterics. Do you know what that means from my point of view?
MARIANNE: You're a Catholic, aren't you? That's what your wife said.
ALMAN: Quite right. That is my way of enduring. I ridicule my wife and she ridicules me. She has her hysterics and I have my Catholicism. But we need each other's company. It's only out of pure selfishness that we haven't murdered each other by now.
Berit turned toward her husband and slapped his face. He dropped his glasses, which he had fortunately just taken off. His large nose swelled and began to bleed. His froglike mouth twitched spasmodically as if he were on the verge of tears, but he immediately got control of himself, pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it to his nose, blinked his eyes and laughed. Viktor leaned forward, picked up the glasses and slowly handed them to him.
ALMAN: Right on the beat. It's called syncopation, isn't it? Ha-ha! Isn't it comic? If I had a stop watch, I could have timed the explosion on the nose.
BERIT (screams): Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!
Marianne turned pale. She applied the brakes and slowly stopped the car.
[245]
MARIANNE: Maybe this is the terrible truth and maybe it's just what's called letting off steam. But we have three children in the car and for their sake may I ask the lady and the gentleman to get out immediately. There is a house back there; maybe they have a telephone. The walk won't be too strenuous.
All of us were silent after Marianne's speech. Without another word, Sten Alman stepped out of the car. His face was ashen gray and his nose was still bleeding. His wife looked at us and suddenly made a heroic attempt to say something sincere.
BERIT: Forgive us if you can.
Then Berit got out and stood by her husband, who had turned his back on us. He had pulled out a comb and a pocket mirror and was straightening the hair on his white scalp. His wife took his bloody handkerchief and blew her nose. Then she touched his elbow, but he was suddenly very tired and hung his head. They sat down close to each other by the road. They looked like two scolded schoolchildren sitting in a comer.
Marianne started the car, and we quickly drove away from this strange marriage.
The gas station between Granna and Huskvarna lies on a hill with a wide view over a very beautiful, richly foliaged landscape. We stopped to fill up the tank and decided to have lunch at a hotel some kilometers farther south.
It was with mixed feelings that I saw this region again. First, because I began my medical practice here (incidentally, it lasted for fifteen years; I succeeded the local doctor). Second, because my old mother lives near here in a large house. She is ninety-six now and is generally considered a miracle of health and vitality, although her ability [246] to move around has diminished considerably during the last few years.
The gas-station owner was a big, blond man with a broad face, abnormally large hands and long arms.
AKERMAN: Ah ha! So the doctor is out driving. Shall it be a full tank? Well, well, so it is, and those are children and grandchildren, I know. Have you got the key to the gas tank, Doctor?
ISAK: Hello, Henrik. You recognize me.
AKERMAN: Recognize! Doctor, you were there when I was born. And then you delivered all my brothers. And fixed our cuts and scratches and took care of us, as you did of everybody while you were a doctor around here.
ISAK: And things are going well for you?
AKERMAN: Couldn't be better! I'm married, you know, and I have heirs. (Shouts) Eva!
Eva came out of the gas station. She was a young woman, gypsy-like, dark, with long, thick hair and a generous smile. She was in an advanced stage of pregnancy.
AKERMAN: Here you see Dr. Borg himself in person. This is the man that Ma and Pa and the whole district still talk about. The world's best doctor.
I looked at Marianne, who was standing to the side. She applauded somewhat sarcastically and bowed. The three youngsters were in the midst of a lively dispute and pointing in different directions. Eva stepped up and shook my hand.
AKERMAN: I suggest that we name our new baby for the doctor. Isak Akerman is a good name for a prime minister.
EVA: But what if it's a girl?
AKERMAN: Eva and I only make boys. Do you want oil and water too?
[247]
ISAK: Yes, thank you. And your father is well, in spite of his bad back?
AKERMAN: Well, it's getting a bit hard for the old man, you know, but the old lady is a little bombshell.
The last was said in greatest confidence as we bent over the measuring rod to see if we needed more oil. We did.
AKERMAN: And now you'll be visiting your mother, eh. Doctor?
ISAK: I suppose so.
AKERMAN: She's a remarkable lady, your mother, although she must be at least ninety-five.
ISAK: Ninety-six.
AKERMAN: Well, well, how about that.
ISAK: How much is all this?
AKERMAN: Eva and I want it to be on the house.
ISAK: No, I can't allow that.
AKERMAN: Don't insult us, Doctor! We can do things in the grand manner too, even if we live here in little Granna.
ISAK: There isn't the slightest reason you should pay for my gas. I appreciate your kindness, but ...
AKERMAN: One remembers things, you know. One doesn't forget one's gratitude, and there are some things that can never be paid back.
Akerman became a little serious and I a little sentimental. We looked at each other quite moved. Eva stepped up and stood beside her husband. She squinted in the sun and beamed like a big strawberry in her red dress.
EVA (like an echo): No, we don't forget. We don't forget.
AKERMAN: Just ask anybody in town or in the hills around here, and they remember the doctor and know what the doctor did for them.
[248]
I looked around, but Marianne had disappeared. No, she had got into the car. The youngsters were still busy with their discussion.
ISAK: Perhaps I should have remained here.
AKERMAN: I don't understand.
ISAK: What? What did you say, Henrik?
AKERMAN: You said that you should have stayed here, Doctor.
ISAK: Did I say that? Yes, perhaps. Thank you anyway.
Send me word and I may come to be godfather for the new Akerman. You know where to reach me.
I shook hands with them and we parted. Marianne called the youngsters and we continued our trip to the inn.
Our lunch was a success. We had a large table on the open terrace and enjoyed a most magnificent view across Lake Vattern. The headwaiter, one of my former patients, did everything to satisfy our slightest wish.
I became very lively, I must admit, and told the youngsters about my years as a country doctor. I told them humorous anecdotes which had a great deal of human interest. These were a great success (I don't think they laughed just out of politeness) and I had wine with the food (which was excellent) and cognac with my coffee.
Anders suddenly rose and began to recite with both feeling and talent.
ANDERS: "Oh, when such beauty shows itself in each facet of creation, then how beautiful must be the eternal source of this emanation!"
None of us thought of laughing at him. He sat down immediately and emptied his coffee cup in embarrassment. Sara was the one who broke the silence.
SARA: Anders will become a minister and Viktor a doctor.
[249]
VIKTOR: We swore that we wouldn't discuss God or science on the entire trip. I consider Anders' lyrical outburst as a breach of our agreement.
SARA: Oh, it was beautiful!
VIKTOR: Besides, I can't understand how a modern man can become a minister. Anders isn't a complete idiot. ANDERS: Let me tell you, your rationalism is incomprehensible nonsense. And you aren't an idiot either.
VIKTOR: In my opinion the modern— ANDERS: In my opinion—
VIKTOR: In my opinion a modern man looks his insignificance straight in the eye and believes in himself and his biological death. Everything else is nonsense.
ANDERS: And in my opinion modern man exists only in your imagination. Because man looks at his death with horror and can't bear his own insignificance.
VIKTOR: All right. Religion for the people. Opium for the aching limb. If that's what you want.
SARA: Aren't they fantastically sweet? I always agree with the one who's spoken last. Isn't this all extremely interesting?
VIKTOR (angry): When you were a child you believed in Santa Claus. Now you believe in God.
ANDERS: And you have always suffered from an astonishing lack of imagination.
VIKTOR: What do you think about it. Professor?
ISAK: Dear boys, you would receive my opinion with ironic indulgence, whatever I happened to say. That's why I'm keeping still.
SARA: Then think how very unlucky they are.
ISAK: No, Sara. They are very, very lucky.
Marianne laughed and lit my cigar. I leaned back in my chair and squinted at the light filtering down between the table umbrellas. The boys looked surprised as I began to recite. [250]
ISAK: "Where is the friend I seek everywhere? Dawn is the time of loneliness and care. When twilight comes, when twilight comes..." What comes after that, Anders?
MARIANNE: "When twilight comes I am still yearning."
ANDERS: "Though my heart is burning, burning. I see His trace of glory . . ."
SARA: You're religious, aren't you. Professor?
ISAK: "I see His trace of glory and power, In an ear of grain and the fragrance of flower . . ."
MARIANNE: "In every sign and breath of air. His love is there. His voice whispers in the summer breeze . . ." (Silence)
VIKTOR: As a love poem, it isn't too bad.
SARA: Now I've become very solemn. I can become quite solemn for no reason at all.
I rose from the table.
ISAK: I want to pay a visit to my mother, who happens to live nearby. You can remain here and enjoy yourselves for a while. I'll be back soon.
MARIANNE: May I come with you?
ISAK: Of course. Goodbye for now, young friends.
I was in a good mood and felt very happy. Marianne suddenly took my arm and walked beside me. In passing, I patted her hand.
The house was surrounded by an ancient, parklike garden and protected from onlookers by a wall as tall as a man. Inside, everything was quiet and somewhat unreal. The sky had clouded over, and the gray light sharpened the contours of the landscape so that it looked like a skillfully painted set in an old theater.
In a little round drawing room filled with storm-gray light and graced by light, delicate furniture, an old nurse in uniform sat embroidering. On the carpet next to her chair [251] a fat white poodle lay looking at us with sleepy, lidded eyes. When the nurse saw us she immediately arose, smiling politely, to greet us and shake our hands. She introduced herself as Sister Elisabet. I asked her quietly how my mother was and if it was convenient for us to visit her. Sister Elisabet answered that Mrs. Borg was quite well and would be happy with our visit because she was usually rather lonely. I pointed out that it was unfortunate that my visits were rather infrequent, because of the difficult journey, and Sister Elisabet said that she understood. After this hushed introduction, the Sister asked us to wait for a few minutes and disappeared into a nearby room. Marianne became a little nervous with all the solemnity and pulled out a cigarette from a crushed pack and was just about to light it.
ISAK: Please don't smoke. Mother hates the smell of tobacco and her senses are as sharp as those of an animal in the woods.
At the same moment. Sister Elisabet returned and told us that we were welcome.
The room was rather small and oddly irregular, but it had a lofty ceiling. On the walls hung many beautiful and expensive paintings. Heavy draperies covered the doors. In a corner stood a tall porcelain stove with a fire burning. At the room's only window stood an incongruous desk which did not harmonize with the other pieces of furniture. My mother was sitting in a big chair. She was dressed entirely in black and wore a small lace cap on her head. She was busy entering figures in a large blue ledger. When she recognized me, she immediately rose from her seat (although with some difficulty) and walked toward us with many small steps; she seemed to be shoving one foot in front of the other without her soles ever leaving the floor. She smiled cordially and stretched forth both her hands. I grasped them and then kissed her with a son's reverence.
MOTHER: I just sent a telegram to tell you that I was thinking about you today. Today is your big day. And then you come here!
ISAK: Well, I had a moment of inspiration. Mother!
MOTHER: Is that you wife standing back there, Isak? You will ask her to leave the room immediately. I refuse to talk with her. She has hurt us too much.
ISAK: Mother, darling, this is not Karin. This is Evald's wife, my daughter-in-law, Marianne! MOTHER: Well, then, she can come here and greet me.
MARIANNE: How do you do, Mrs. Borg. (Curtsies)
MOTHER: I've seen you in a photograph. Evald showed it to me. He was extremely proud of your beauty. By the way, why are you out traveling this way?
MARIANNE: I've been in Stockholm, visiting.
MOTHER: Why aren't you home with Evald and taking care of your child?
MARIANNE: Evald and I don't have any children.
MOTHER: Isn't it strange with young people nowadays? I bore ten children. Will someone please bring me that large box standing over there.
She pointed at a brown cardboard box on a chair. Marianne picked it up and placed it on the desk in front of the old lady. Both of us helped lift the lid.
MOTHER: My mother lived in this house before me. And you children often visited here. Do you remember, Isak?
ISAK: I remember quite well.
MOTHER: In this box are some of your toys. I've tried to think which of you owned what.
Mother looked bewilderedly into the big box, as if she expected to find all her children there among the toys and things. Then she shook her head and looked up at Marianne.
MOTHER: Ten children, and all of them dead except Isak. Twenty grandchildren. None of them visits me except Evald, once a year. It's quite all right—1 don't complain —but I have fifteen great-grandchildren whom I've never seen. I send letters and presents for fifty-three birthdays and anniversaries every year. I get kind thank-you notes, but no one visits me except by accident or when someone needs a loan. I am tiresome, of course.
ISAK: Don't look at it that way. Mother dear! MOTHER: And then I have another fault. I don't die. The inheritance doesn't materialize according to the nice, neat schedules made up by smart young people.
She laughed sarcastically and shook her head. Then she pulled a doll out of the box. It was an old doll, with fine gold hair and a porcelain face (a little scratched) and a beautiful lace gown.
MOTHER: This doll's name is Goldcrown and it belonged to Sigbritt. She got it when she was eight years old. I sewed the dress myself. She never liked it much, so Charlotta took it over and cared for it. I remember it clearly.
She dropped the doll and picked up a little box of bright-colored tin soldiers and poked in it with a small, sharp finger.
MOTHER: Hagbart's tin soldiers. I never liked his war games. He was shot while hunting moose. We never understood each other.
This she said in a matter-of-fact tone, completely without sentimentality. She threw the tin soldiers into the box and fished up a photograph.
MOTHER: Can you see who this is? This is Sigfrid when he was three years old and you when you were two, and here is Father and me. Good Lord, how one looked in those days. It was taken in 1883.
ISAK: May I see that picture?
MOTHER (uninterested): Yes, of course, you can have it. It's only trash. Here is a coloring book. Maybe it belonged to the twins, or perhaps to Anna or Angelica. I really don't know because all of them have put their names in the book. And then it says: "I am Anna's best friend." But Anna has written: "I love Angelica." And Kristina has scribbled: "Most of all in the whole world I love Father best." And Birgitta has added: "I am going to marry Father." Isn't that amusing? I laughed when I read it.
Marianne took the book from her and turned the pages. It was partly scribbled on and partly painted with great vitality and strong colors. The light in the small room grew dimmer as the sky darkened outside. In the distance the thunder was already rumbling in the sky. Mother picked up a toy locomotive and looked at it closely.
MOTHER: I think that this is Benjamin's locomotive because he was always so amused by trains and circuses and such things. I suppose that's why he became an actor. We quarreled often about it because I wanted him to have an honest profession. And I was right. He didn't make it. I told him that several times. He didn't believe me, but I was right. It doesn't pay much to talk. Isn't it cold in here? The fire doesn't really warm.
ISAK: No, it isn't particularly cold.
She turned her head toward the darkened skies outside. The trees stood heavy, as if waiting.
MOTHER: I've always felt chilly as long as I can remember. What does that mean? You're a doctor? Mostly in the stomach. Here.
ISAK: You have low blood pressure.
MOTHER: Do you want me to ask Sister Elisabet to make some tea for us so we can sit down and talk for a while? Wouldn't that be . . .
ISAK: No, Mother, thank you. We don't want to trouble you any more. We've just had lunch and we're rather in a hurry.
MOTHER: Look here for a moment. Sigbritt's eldest boy will be fifty. I'm thinking of giving him my father's old gold watch. Can I give it to him, even though the hands have loosened? It is so difficult to find presents for those who have everything. But the watch is beautiful and it can probably be repaired.
She looked anxiously, appealingly, from Marianne to me and back to Marianne. She had opened the lid of the old gold watch and the blank dial stared at me. I suddenly remembered my early-morning dream: the blank clock face and my own watch which lacked hands, the hearse and my dead self.
MOTHER: I remember when Sigbritt's boy had just been born and lay there in his basket in the lilac arbor at the summerhouse. Now he will be fifty years old. And little cousin Sara, who always went around carrying him, cradling him, and who married Sigfrid, that no-good. Now you have to go so that you'll have time for all the things you must do. I'm very grateful for your visit and I hope we'll see each other some time. Give my best regards to Evald. Goodbye.
She offered me her cheek and I bent down and kissed it. It was very cold but unbelievably soft and full of sharp little lines. Marianne curtsied and my mother answered her [256] gesture with an abstract smile. Sister Elisabet opened the door as if she had been listening to us. In a few minutes we were out in the gray daylight, which hurt our eyes with its piercing sharpness.
Once again Marianne took my arm, and when she did so I was filled with gratitude toward this quiet, independent girl with her naked, observant face.
When we reached the inn the youngsters were no longer there. The waitress told us that the young lady was waiting at the car. The headwaiter stood nearby bowing and looking as if he had just had another of his old ulcer attacks.
Sure enough, Sara was leaning against the car looking as though she were ready to cry.
MARIANNE: Where are Anders and Viktor?
Sara pointed without answering. Down on the slope the boys stood glaring at each other with furious expressions on their faces. Every so often one of them would utter some terrible expletive at the other.
SARA: When you left they were talking away about the existence of God. Finally they got so angry that they began shouting at each other. Then Anders grabbed Viktor's arm and tried to twist it off, and Viktor said that was a pretty lousy argument for the existence of God. Then I said that I thought they could skip God and pay some attention to me for a while instead, and then they said that I could stop babbling because I didn't understand that it was a debate of principles, and then I said that whether there was a God or not, they were real wet blankets. Then I left and they ran down the hill to settle things because each of them insisted that the other had hurt his innermost feelings. So now they're going to slug it out.
Marianne put on a very wise countenance and started off [257] to calm down the two debaters. I stepped into the car. Sara looked at the departing Marianne with envy.
SARA: Well, which one of the boys do you like the most?
ISAK: Which do you like best?
SARA: I don't know. Anders will become a minister. But he is rather masculine and warm, you know. But a minister's wife! But Viktor's funny in another way. Viktor will go far, you know.
ISAK: What do you mean by that?
Sara sighed and we sank into our own thoughts.
Marianne came up the hill bringing with her the two fighting cocks, barely reconciled. She sat down behind the wheel and we continued our trip.
The sun shone white on the blue-black clouds which towered above the dark, gleaming surface of Lake Vattern. The breeze coming from the open side windows did not cool us any longer, and in the south summer lightning cut across the sky with thin, jagged scratches. Because of the approaching storm, and all the food and wine, I became rather sleepy. I silently blessed my luck in having Marianne beside me as a reliable chauffeur. Anders and Viktor sat in sullen silence. Sara yawned again and again and blinked her eyes.
I fell asleep, but during my nap I was pursued by dreams and images which seemed extremely real and were very humiliating to me.
I record these in the order in which they occurred, without the slightest intention of commenting on their possible meaning. I have never been particularly enthusiastic about the psychoanalytical theory of dreams as the fulfillment of desires in a negative or positive direction. Yet I [258] cannot deny that in these dreams there was something like a warning, which bore into my consciousness and embedded itself there with relentless determination.
I have found that during the last few years I glide rather easily into a twilight world of memories and dreams which are highly personal. I've often wondered if this is a sign of increasing senility. Sometimes I've also asked myself if it is a harbinger of approaching death.
Again I found myself at the wild-strawberry patch of my childhood, but I was not alone. Sara was there, and this time she turned her face toward mine and looked at me for a long time. I knew that I sat there looking old, ugly and ridiculous. A professor emeritus who was going to be made a Jubilee Doctor. The saddest thing about it was that although Sara spoke to me in a grieved and penetrating tone, I couldn't answer her except in stammered, one-syllable words. This, of course, increased the pain of my dream.
Between us stood a little woven basket filled with wild strawberries; around us lay a strange, motionless twilight, heavy with dull expectations. Sara leaned toward me and spoke in such a low voice that I had difficulty grasping her words.
SARA: Have you looked at yourself in the mirror, Isak? You haven't. Then I'll show you how you look.
She picked up a mirror that lay hidden under the small strawberry basket and showed me my face, which looked old and ugly in the sinking twilight. I carefully pushed away the looking glass and I could see that Sara had tears in her eyes.
SARA: You are a worried old man who will die soon, but I have my whole life before me ... Oh, now you're offended. [259]
ISAK: No, I'm not offended.
ISAK: I understand.
SARA: No, you don't understand. We don't speak the same language. Look at yourself in the mirror again. No, don't look away.
ISAK: I see.
SARA: Now listen. I'm about to marry your brother Sigfrid. He and I love each other, and it's all like a game. Look at your face now. Try to smile! All right, now you're smiling.
ISAK: It hurts.
SARA: You, a professor emeritus, ought to know why it hurts. But you don't. Because in spite of all your knowledge you don't really know anything.
She threw away the mirror and it shattered. The wind began to blow through the trees, and from somewhere the crying of a child could be heard. She arose immediately, drying her tears.
SARA: I have to go. I promised to look after Sigbritt's little boy.
ISAK: Don't leave me.
SARA: What did you say?
ISAK: Don't leave me.
SARA: You stammer so much that I can't hear your words.
Besides, they don't really matter.
I saw her run up to the arbor. The old house was draped in the gray twilight. She lifted the crying child and cradled it in her arms. The sky turned black above the sea and large birds circled overhead, screeching toward the house, which suddenly seemed ugly and poor. There was something fateful and threatening in this twilight, in the crying [260] of the child, in the shrieking of the black birds. Sara cradled the baby and her voice, half singing, was very distant and sorrowful.
SARA: My poor little one, you shall sleep quietly now. Don't be afraid of the wind. Don't be afraid of the birds, the jackdaws and the sea gulls. Don't be afraid of the waves from the sea. I'm with you. I'm holding you tight. Don't be afraid, little one. Soon it will be another day. No one can hurt you; I am with you; I'm holding you.
But her voice was sorrowful and tears ran down her cheeks without end. The child became silent, as if it were listening, and I wanted to scream until my lungs were bloody.
Now I saw that a door had opened in the house and someone was standing there shouting for Sara. It was my brother Sigfrid.
She ran toward him, gave him the child, and they both disappeared into the house and closed the door.
Suddenly I noticed that the wind had died and the birds had flown away. All the windows in the house shone festively. Over the horizon stood a jagged moon, and music from a piano penetrated the stillness of the strawberry patch.
I went closer and pressed my face against the brightly lit dining-room window. An elegantly laid table stood before me and Sara sat behind the piano, playing. She was wearing an expensive but old-fashioned dress and her hair was piled on top of her head, which made her face look womanly and mature. Then Sigfrid entered the room and they both sat down immediately at the table. They laughed and joked and celebrated some kind of event. The moon rose higher in the heavens and the scene inside became obscure. I rapped on the window so that they would hear me and let [261] me in. But they did not notice me; they were too preoccupied with each other.
On the window sill lay many splinters of glass, and in my eager attempt to get their attention I accidentally cut my hand.
Turning away, I was blinded by the moonlight, which threw itself against me with an almost physical force.
I heard a voice calling my name, and then I saw that the door had been opened. Someone was standing in the doorway and I recognized Mr. Alman. He bowed politely though stiffly and invited me inside.
He led me down a short corridor and unlocked a narrow door. We entered a large windowless room with benches arranged like an amphitheater. There sat about ten youngsters, among whom I immediately recognized Sara, Anders and Viktor. On one of the low walls hung a large blackboard, and on a work table in the center of the room stood a microscope.
I realized that this was the hall where I used to hold my polyclinical lectures and examinations. Alman sat down and asked me to take a seat at the short end of the table. For a few moments he studied some papers in a dossier. The audience remained completely still.
ALMAN: Do you have your examination book with you?
ISAK: Yes, of course. Here it is.
ALMAN: Thank you.
I handed him the examination book and he flipped through it distractedly. Then he leaned forward and looked at me for a long time. After that he gestured toward the microscope.
ALMAN: Will you please identify the bacteriological specimen in the microscope. Take your time. [262] I arose, stepped up to the instrument and adjusted it. But whatever I did, I couldn't find any specimen. The only thing I saw was my own eye, which stared back at me in an absurd enlargement.
ISAK: There must be something wrong with the microscope.
Alman bent over and peered into it. Then he regarded me seriously and shook his head.
ALMAN: There is nothing wrong with the microscope.
ISAK: I can't see anything.
ALMAN: Sit down.
I sank down on the chair and wet my lips. No one moved or said anything.
ALMAN: Will you please read this text.
He pointed to the blackboard which hung behind him. Something was printed on it in large crooked letters. I made a great effort to interpret what was written: INKE TAN MAGROV STAK FARSIN LOS KRET FAJNE KASERTE MJOTRON PRESETE.
ALMAN: What does it mean?
ISAK: I don't know.
ALMAN: Oh, really?
ISAK: I'm a doctor, not a linguist.
ALMAN: Then let me tell you, Professor Borg, that on the blackboard is written the first duty of a doctor. Do you happen to know what that is?
ISAK: Yes, if you let me think for a moment.
ALMAN: Take your time.
ISAK: A doctor's first duty ... a doctor's first duty ... a
doctor's . . . Oh, I've forgotten.
[263] A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, but I still looked Alman straight in the eye'. He leaned toward me and spoke in a calm, polite tone.
ALMAN: A doctor's first duty is to ask forgiveness.
ISAK: Of course, now I remember!
Relieved, I laughed but immediately became silent. Alman looked wearily at his papers and smothered a yawn.
ALMAN: Moreover, you are guilty of guilt.
ISAK: Guilty of guilt?
ALMAN: I have noted that you don't understand the accusation.
ISAK: Is it serious?
ALMAN: Unfortunately, Professor.
Next to me stood a table with a water decanter. I poured a glass, but spilled a lot of it on the table and the tray.
ISAK: I have a bad heart. I'm an old man, Mr. Alman, and I must be treated with consideration. That's only right.
ALMAN: There is nothing concerning your heart in my papers. Perhaps you wish to end the examination?
ISAK: No, no, for heaven's sake, no!
Alman arose and lit a small lamp which hung from a cord in the ceiling. Under the lamp (very brightly lit) sat a woman wrapped in a hospital robe and wearing wooden sandals on her feet.
ALMAN: Will you please make an anamnesis and diagnosis of this patient.
ISAK: But the patient is dead.
At that moment the woman arose and began laughing as [264] if she had just heard a great joke. Alman leaned across the table and wrote something in my examination book.
ISAK: What are you writing in my book?
ALMAN: My conclusion.
ISAK: And that is ...
ALMAN: That you're incompetent.
ISAK: Incompetent.
ALMAN: Furthermore, Professor Borg, you are accused of some smaller but nonetheless serious offenses. (Isak remains silent) Indifference, selfishness, lack of consideration.
ISAK: No.
ALMAN: These accusations have been made by your wife. Do you want to be confronted by her?
ISAK: But my wife has been dead for many years.
ALMAN: Do you think I'm joking? Will you please come with me voluntarily. You have no choice in any case. Come!
Alman placed the examination book in his pocket, made a sign for me to follow him, opened the door and led me into a forest.
The trunks of the trees stood close together. Twilight had almost passed. Dead trees were strewn on the ground and the earth was covered with decaying leaves. Our feet sank into this soft carpet with every step, and mud oozed up around them. From behind the foliage the moon shone steadily, like an inflamed eye, and it was as warm as inside a hothouse. Alman turned around.
ALMAN: Watch out. Professor Borg. You'll find many snakes here.
Suddenly I saw a small, gleaming body which twisted around and disappeared in one of Alman's wet footsteps. I stepped swiftly aside but nearly trod on a large gray creature which slowly pulled away. Wherever I looked, snakes seemed to well forth from the swampy, porous ground.
Finally we arrived at a clearing in the forest, but we halted at the very edge. The moon shone in our eyes and we hid among the shadows of the trees. The clearing stretched out before us. It was overgrown with twisted roots. At one end a black cliff fell away into a body of water. On the sides, the trees stood lofty and lifeless, as if burdened by each other's enormous shadows. Then a giggling laugh was heard and I discovered a woman standing near the hill. She was dressed in a long black gown and her face was averted from us. She made movements with her hands, as if to ward off someone. She laughed continually and excitedly. A man stood half hidden, leaning against a tree trunk. His face, which I glimpsed, was large and flat, but his eyebrows were quite bushy and his forehead protruded over his eyes. He made gestures with his hand and said some unintelligible words, which made the woman laugh uncontrollably. Suddenly she became serious, and a harassed, discontented expression appeared on her face. She bent over and picked up a small purse. The man stretched out his hand and jokingly began to pull the pins out of her skillfully pompadoured hair. She pretended to be very angry and flailed the air around her furiously. This amused the man, who continued his game. When she finally walked away he followed and took hold of her shoulders. Petrified, she stopped and turned her pale, embittered face toward her pursuer. He muttered something and stretched out his other hand toward her breast. She moved away, but couldn't free herself. When she saw that she was caught, she began to twist and squirm as if the man's grip on her shoulders hurt intensely. The man continued to mutter incoherent words, as if to an animal. Suddenly she freed herself and ran with bent knees and a shuffling step in a semicircle. The man remained standing, waiting and breathless. He perspired heavily and wiped his face over and over again with the back of his hand. The woman stopped as if exhausted and regarded the man, wide-eyed and gaping. She was also out of breath. Then she began running again but pretended to trip and fell on her hands and knees. Her large rump swayed like a black balloon over the ground. She lowered her face between her arms and began crying, rocking and swaying. The man knelt at her side, took a firm grasp of her hair, pulled her face upward, backward and forced her to open her eyes. He panted with effort the whole time. She teetered and nearly fell to the side, but the man straddled her and leaned over her heavily. Suddenly she was completely still, with closed eyes and a swollen, pale face. Then she collapsed, rolled over, and received the man between her open knees.
ALMAN: Many men forget a woman who has been dead for thirty years. Some preserve a sweet, fading picture, but you can always recall this scene in your memory. Strange, isn't it? Tuesday, May 1, 1917, you stood here and heard and saw exactly what that woman and that man said and did.
The woman sat up and smoothed her gown over her short, thick thighs. Her face was blank and almost distorted in its puffy slackness. The man had got up and was wandering around aimlessly with his hands hanging at his sides.
WOMAN: Now I will go home and tell this to Isak and I know exactly what he'll say: Poor little girl, how I pity you. As if he were God himself. And then I'll cry and say: Do you really feel pity for me? and he'll say: I feel infinitely sorry for you, and then I'll cry some more and ask him if he can forgive me. And then he'll say: You shouldn't ask forgiveness from me. I have nothing to forgive. But he doesn't mean a word of it, because he's completely cold. And then he'll suddenly be very tender and I'll yell at him that he's not really sane and that such hypocritical nobility is sickening. And then he'll say that he'll bring me a sedative and that he understands everything. And then I'll say that it's his fault that I am the way I am, and then he'll look very sad and will say that he is to blame. But he doesn't care about anything because he's completely cold.
She arose with effort and shook out her hair and began combing it and pinning it up in the same careful way that it was before. The man sat down on a stone a little farther away. He smoked quietly. I couldn't see his gaze below the protruding eyebrows, but his voice was calm and scornful.
MAN: You're insane, the way you're carrying on. The woman laughed and went into the forest.
I turned around. Alman had a strange, wry smile on his face. We stood quietly for a few moments.
ISAK: Where is she?
ALMAN: You know. She is gone. Everyone is gone. Can't you hear how quiet it is? Everything has been dissected, Professor Borg. A surgical masterpiece. There is no pain, no bleeding, no quivering.
ISAK: It is rather quiet.
ALMAN: A perfect achievement of its kind, Professor.
ISAK: And what is the penalty?
ALMAN: Penalty? I don't know. The usual one, I suppose.
ISAK: The usual one?
ALMAN: Of course. Loneliness.
ISAK: Loneliness?
ALMAN: Exactly. Loneliness.
ISAK: Is there no grace?
[268]
ALMAN: Don't ask me. I don't know anything about such things.
Before I had time to answer, Alman had disappeared, and I stood alone in the complete stillness of the moonlight and the forest. Then I heard a voice quite close to me.
SARA: Didn't you have to go with them to get your father?
The girl stretched out her hand, but when she saw my face she immediately withdrew it.
ISAK: Sara ... It wasn't always like this. If only you had stayed with me. If only you could have had a little patience.
The girl did not seem to hear what I was saying but began to look restless.
SARA: Hurry up.
I followed her as well as I could, but she moved so much more easily and faster than I.
ISAK: I can't run, don't you understand?
SARA: But hurry up.
ISAK: I can't see you any more.
SARA: But here I am.
ISAK: Wait for me.
She materialized for a moment and then she was gone. The moon disappeared into darkness and I wanted to cry with wild, childish sorrow, but I could not.
At that moment, I awoke. The car stood still and the storm was over, but it was still drizzling slightly. We were in the neighborhood of the Stromsnas Foundry, where the road wanders between rich forests on one side and river rapids on the other. Everything was completely silent. The three children had left the car and Marianne sat quietly smoking a cigarette and blowing the smoke through the open window. Gusts of strong and pleasant odors came from the wet forest.
ISAK: What is this?
MARIANNE: The children wanted to get out for a moment and stretch their legs. They are over there.
She made a gesture toward a clearing near the river. All three were busy picking flowers.
ISAK: But it's still raining.
MARIANNE: I told them about the ceremony today, and
they insisted on paying homage to you.
ISAK (sighs): Good Lord.
MARIANNE: Did you sleep well?
ISAK: Yes, but I dreamed. Can you imagine—the last few
months I've had the most peculiar dreams. It's really odd.
MARIANNE: What's odd?
ISAK: It's as if I'm trying to say something to myself which
I don't want to hear when I'm awake.
MARIANNE: And what would that be?
ISAK: That I'm dead, although I live.
Marianne reacted violently. Her gaze blackened and she took a deep breath. Throwing her cigarette out the window, she turned toward me.
MARIANNE: Do you know that you and Evald are very much alike?
ISAK: You told me that.
[270]
MARIANNE: Do you know that Evald has said the very same thing?
ISAK: About me? Yes, I can believe that.
MARIANNE: No, about himself.
ISAK: But he's only thirty-eight years old.
MARIANNE: May I tell you everything, or would it bore you?
ISAK: I'd be grateful if you would tell me.
MARIANNE: It was a few months ago. I wanted to talk to Evald and we took the car and went down to the sea. It was raining, just like now. Evald sat where you are sitting, and I drove.
EVALD: Can't you stop the windshield wipers?
MARIANNE: Then we won't be able to see the ocean.
EVALD: They're working so hard it makes me nervous.
MARIANNE (shuts them off): Very well.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, looking at the rain, which streams down the windshield quietly. The sea merges with the clouds in an infinite grayness. Evald strokes his long, bony face and looks expectantly at his wife. He talks jokingly, calmly.
EVALD: So now you have me trapped. What did you want to say? Something unpleasant, of course.
MARIANNE: I wish I didn't have to tell you about it.
EVALD: I understand. You've found someone else.
MARIANNE: Now don't be childish.
EVALD (mimicking her): Now don't be childish. What do you expect me to think? You come and say in a funereal voice that you want to talk to me. We take the car and go down to the sea. It rains and it's hard for you to begin. Good Lord, Marianne, let's have it. This is an excellent moment for the most intimate confidence. But for heaven's sake, don't keep me dangling. [271]
MARIANNE: Now I feel like laughing. What do you really think I'm going to say? That I've murdered someone, or embezzled the faculty funds? I'm pregnant, Evald.
EVALD: Oh, is that so.
MARIANNE: That's the way it is. And as careless as we've been recently, there isn't much to be surprised about, is there?
EVALD: And you're sure?
MARIANNE: The report on the test came yesterday.
EVALD: Oh. Oh, yes. So that was the secret.
MARIANNE: Another thing I want to tell you. I shall have this child.
EVALD: That seems to be clear.
MARIANNE: Yes, it is!
MARIANNE (voice over): We sat quietly for a long time and I felt how the hatred grew big and thick between us. Evald looked out through the wet window, whistled soundlessly and looked as if he were cold. Somewhere in my stomach I was shivering so hard that I could barely sit upright. Then he opened the door and got out of the car and marched through the rain down to the beach. He stopped under a big tree and stood there for a long while. Finally I also stepped out and went to him. His face and hair were wet and the rain fell down his cheeks to the sides of his mouth.
EVALD (calmly): You know that I don't want to have any children. You also know that you'll have to choose between me and the child.
MARIANNE (looks at him): Poor Evald.
EVALD: Please don't "poor" me. I'm of sound mind and I've made my position absolutely clear. It's absurd to live in this world, but it's even more ridiculous to populate it with new victims and it's most absurd of all to believe that they will have it any better than us. [272]
MARIANNE: That is only an excuse.
EVALD: Call it whatever you want. Personally I was an unwelcome child in a marriage which was a nice imitation of hell. Is the old man really sure that I'm his son? Indifference, fear, infidelity and guilt feelings—those were my nurses.
MARIANNE: All this is very touching, but it doesn't excuse the fact that you're behaving like a child.
EVALD: I have to be at the hospital at three o'clock and have neither the time nor the desire to talk any more.
MARIANNE: You're a coward!
EVALD: Yes, that's right. This life disgusts me and I don't think that I need a responsibility which will force me to exist another day longer than I want to. You know all that, and you know that I'm serious and that this isn't some kind of hysteria, as you once thought.
MARIANNE (voice over): We went toward the car, he in front and I following. I had begun to cry. I don't know why. But the tears couldn't be seen in the rain. We sat in the car, thoroughly wet and cold, but the hatred throbbed in us so painfully that we didn't feel cold. I started the car and turned it toward the road. Evald sat fiddling with the radio. His face was completely calm and closed.
MARIANNE: I know that you're wrong.
EVALD: There is nothing which can be called right or wrong. One functions according to one's needs; you can read that in an elementary-school textbook.
MARIANNE: And what do we need?
EVALD: You have a damned need to live, to exist and create life.
MARIANNE: And how about you?
EVALD: My need is to be dead. Absolutely, totally dead.
I've tried to relate Marianne's story as carefully as possible. My reaction to it was very mixed. But my strongest feeling was a certain sympathy toward her for this sudden confidence, and when Marianne fell silent she looked so hesitant that I felt obliged to say something even though I wasn't very sure of my own voice.
ISAK: If you want to smoke a cigarette, you may.
MARIANNE: Thank you.
ISAK: Why have you told me all this?
Marianne didn't answer at once. She took her time lighting a cigarette and puffed a few times. I looked at her, but she turned her head away and pretended to look at the three youngsters, who had picked up some kind of soft drink which they shared in great amity.
MARIANNE: When I saw you together with your mother, I was gripped by a strange fear.
ISAK: I don't understand.
MARIANNE: I thought, here is his mother. A very ancient woman, completely ice-cold, in some ways more frightening than death itself. And here is her son, and there are light-years of distance between them. And he himself says that he is a living death. And Evald is on the verge of becoming just as lonely and cold—and dead. And then I thought that there is only coldness and death, and death and loneliness, all the way. Somewhere it must end.
ISAK: But you are going back to Evald.
MARIANNE: Yes, to tell him that I can't agree to his condition. I want my child; no one can take it from me. Not even the person I love more than anyone else.
She turned her pale, tearless face toward me, and her gaze was black, accusing, desperate. I suddenly felt shaken in a way which I had never experienced before.
[274]
ISAK: Can I help you?
MARIANNE: No one can help me. We are too old, Isak. It has gone too far.
ISAK: What happened after your talk in the car?
MARIANNE: Nothing. I left him the very next day.
ISAK: Haven't you heard from him?
MARIANNE: No. No, Evald is rather like you.
She shook her head and bent forward as if to protect her face. I felt cold; it had become quite chilly after the rain.
MARIANNE: Those two wretched people whom I made leave the car—what was their name again?
ISAK: I was just thinking about Alman and his wife. It reminded me of my own marriage.
MARIANNE: I don't want Evald and I to become like ...
ISAK: Poor Evald grew up in all that.
MARIANNE: But we love each other.
Her last words were a low outburst. She stopped herself immediately and moved her hands toward her face, then stopped again. We sat quietly for a few moments.
ISAK: We must get on. Signal to the children.
Marianne nodded, started the motor and blew the horn. Sara came laughing through the wet grass, closely followed by her two cavaliers. She handed me a large bouquet of wild flowers wrapped in wet newspapers. All three of them had friendly, mocking eyes. Sara cleared her throat solemnly.
SARA: We heard that you are celebrating this day. Now we want to pay our respects to you with these simple flowers and to tell you that we are very impressed that you are so old and that you've been a doctor for fifty years. And we know, of course, that you are a wise and venerable [275] old man. One who regards us youngsters with lenience and gentle irony. One who knows all about life and who has learned all the prescriptions by heart.
She gave me the flowers with a little mock curtsy and kissed my cheek. The boys bowed and laughed, embarrassed. I couldn't answer. I only thanked them very briefly and rather bluntly. The children probably thought that I had been hurt by their joke.
After a few more hours' travel, we readied Lund. When we finally stopped at Evald's house, a small round woman ran out and approached us quickly. To my surprise and pleasure I discovered that it was Miss Agda.
AGDA: So you did come. Evald and I had just given up hope. It's relaxing and convenient to drive, isn't it? Now, Professor, you'll have to put on your frock coat immediately. Hello, Marianne. I've prepared Evald for your arrival.
ISAK: So, Miss Agda, you came after all.
AGDA: I considered it my duty. But the fun is gone. There's nothing you can say that will make me feel different. Who are these young people? Are they going to the ceremony too?
MARIANNE: These are good friends of ours, and if there is any food in the kitchen, invite them in.
AGDA: And why shouldn't there be? I've had a lot of things to arrange here, believe me.
Evald met us in the foyer. He was already dressed in evening clothes and seemed nervous. Everything was extremely confused, but Miss Agda was a pillar of strength in the maelstrom. Without raising her voice, and dressed in her best dress (especially made for the occasion), she sent the children, the married couple, servants and an old professor in different directions. Within ten minutes, everything was in order.
Just before that, Evald, Marianne and I had a chance to say hello. I wouldn't want to give the impression that our reunion was marked by overwhelming cordiality. This has never been the case in our family.
EVALD: Hello, Father. Welcome.
ISAK: Hello, Evald. Thank you. As you can see, I brought Marianne with me.
EVALD: Hello, Marianne.
MARIANNE: Can I take my things upstairs?
EVALD: Do you want to stay in the guest room as usual, Father?
ISAK: Thank you, that would be just fine.
EVALD: Let me take your suitcase. It's rather heavy.
ISAK: Thank you, I'll take it myself.
EVALD: Did you have a nice trip?
MARIANNE: Yes, thanks, it's been pleasant.
EVALD: Who were those youngsters you had with you?
MARIANNE: Don't know. They're going to Italy.
EVALD: They looked rather nice.
ISAK: They are really very nice.
We had come to the second floor. Evald politely opened the door to the guest room and I entered. Agda came after us as if she were rolling on ball bearings, forced her way in and took the suitcase, putting it on a chair.
AGDA: I bought new shoelaces, and I took the liberty of bringing the white waistcoat to your evening dress if you should want to go to the banquet after the ceremony. And you forgot your razor blades. Professor.
She unpacked, murmuring sounds of worried concern. I didn't listen. Instead I listened to the conversation between Marianne and Evald outside the half-closed door. Their voices were formal and faultlessly polite.
MARIANNE: No, I'll go tomorrow, so don't worry.
EVALD: Do you intend to stay in a hotel?
MARIANNE (gay): Why? We can share a bedroom for another night, if you have no objection. Help me to unpack.
EVALD: It was really nice to see you. And unexpected.
MARIANNE: I feel the same way. Are we going to the dinner afterward, or what do you want to do?
EVALD: I'll just call Stenberg and tell him that I'm bringing a lady. He arranges such things.
The door was closed, so I couldn't hear any more of the conversation. I had sat down on the bed to take off my shoes. Miss Agda helped me, but she wasn't very gracious.
Oddly enough, there were three Jubilee Doctors that year. The dean's office had thoughtfully placed us three old men in a special room while the procession was arranged out in the large vestibule of the university hall. I happened to know one of the other two who were going to be honored. He was an old schoolmate, the former Bishop Jakob Hovelius. We greeted each other cordially and embraced. The third old man seemed rather atrophied and declined all conversation. It turned out that he was the former Professor of Roman Law, Carl-Adam Tiger (a great fighter in his time and a man who, according to his students, really lived up to his name).
ISAK: How comforting it is to meet another old corpse. How are you nowadays, dear Jakob?
JAKOB: I enjoy my leisure. But don't ask me if I do it cum dignitate.
ISAK: Do you know the third man to be honored?
JAKOB: Of course. It's Carl-Adam Tiger, Professor of Roman Law.
ISAK: The Tiger! Good Lord!
JAKOB: He has three interests left in life. A thirty-year-old injustice, a goldfish, and his bowels.
ISAK: Do you think that we are like that?
JAKOB: What's your opinion? As Schopenhauer says somewhere, "Dreams are a kind of lunacy and lunacy a kind of dream." But life is also supposed to be a kind of dream, isn't it? Draw your own conclusion.
ISAK: Do you remember how in our youth we fought with each other on what we called the metaphysical questions?
JAKOB: How could I forget?
ISAK: And what do you believe now?
JAKOB: I'll tell you, I've ceased thinking about all that. One of these days, knowledge will be achieved.
ISAK: My, how surprised you'll be.
JAKOB: And you. But one has a right to be curious.
TIGER: Gentlemen, do you think I'd have time to make a small secret visit before the great farce begins?
ISAK: I don't know. Professor Tiger.
TIGER (sighs): In dubio non est agendum. When in doubt, don't, as the old Romans used to say. I'll stay here.
The Festivities
What should I describe? Trumpet fanfares, bells ringing, field-cannon salutes, masses of people, the giant procession from the university to the cathedral, the white-dressed garland girls, royalty, old age, wisdom, beautiful music, stately Latin sentences which echoed off the huge vaults. The students and their girls, women in bright, magnificent dresses, this strange rite with its heavy symbolism but as meaningless as a passing dream.
Then I saw Sara with her two boys among the onlookers outside the cathedral. They waved to me and suddenly looked childishly happy and full of expectations. Among [279]
the lecturers was Evald, tall and serious, disinterested and absent. Inside the church, I saw Marianne in her white dress and next to her sat Miss Agda, pale and with her lips pressed tightly together. The ceremonial lecture was dull (as usual). The whole thing went on endlessly (as usual) and the garland girls had to go out and relieve themselves in the little silver pot in the sacristy. But we adults unfortunately had to stay where we were. As you know, culture provides us with these moments of refined torture. Professor Tiger looked as if he were dying, my friend the Bishop fell asleep, and more than one of those present seemed ready to faint. Even our behinds, which have withstood long academic services, lectures, dusty dissertations and dull dinners, started to become numb and ache in silent protest.
I surprised myself by returning to the happenings of the day, and it was then that I decided to recollect and write down everything that had happened. I was beginning to see a remarkable causality in this chain of unexpected, entangled events. At the same time, I couldn't escape recalling the Bishop's words: "Dreams are a kind of lunacy and lunacy a kind of dream, but life is also supposed to be a dream, isn't it . . ."
After the ceremony there was a banquet, but I really felt too tired to go. I took a cab home and found Miss Agda in my room busy making my bed the way I like (very high under my head and folded neatly at my feet). A heating pad was already connected and my sleeping pills stood on the table. Almost at once. Miss Agda began helping me with my shoes and evening dress, and I felt a great warmth toward this extraordinary, faithful, thoughtful old woman. I would really have liked to become friends with her again, and I repented the morning's thoughtless utterances (which, I noticed, she had by no means forgotten).
ISAK: Did you enjoy the ceremony?
[280]
AGDA: Yes, thank you.
ISAK: Are you tired. Miss Agda?
AGDA: I won't deny it.
ISAK: Take one of my sleeping pills.
AGDA: No, thanks.
ISAK: Oh, Miss Agda, I'm sorry for this morning.
AGDA: Are you sick, Professor?
ISAK: No. Why?
AGDA: I don't know, but that sounds alarming.
ISAK: Oh really, is it so unusual for me to ask forgiveness?
AGDA: Do you want the water decanter on the table?
ISAK: No, thanks.
We puttered about for a while, silently.
AGDA: Thanks anyway.
ISAK: Oh, Miss Agda.
AGDA: What do you want. Professor?
ISAK: Don't you think that we who have known each other for two generations could drop formality and say "du" to each other?
AGDA: No, I don't really think so.
ISAK: Why not, if I may ask?
AGDA: Have you brushed your teeth. Professor?
ISAK: Yes, thanks.
AGDA: Now, I'll tell you. I beg to be excused from all intimacies. It's all right the way it is between us now.
ISAK: But, dear Miss Agda, we are old now.
AGDA: Speak for yourself. Professor. A woman has to think of her reputation, and what would people say if the two of us suddenly started to say "du" to each other?
ISAK: Yes, what would people say?
AGDA: They would ridicule us.
ISAK: Do you always act correctly?
[281]
AGDA: Nearly always. At our age one ought to know how to behave. Isn't that so, Professor?
ISAK: Good night. Miss Agda.
AGDA: Good night, Professor. I will leave the door ajar. And you know where I am if you should want something. Good night, Professor.
ISAK: Good night. Miss Agda.
I was just going to lie down in bed (I had been sitting on the edge in my old robe) when I heard singing and music from the garden. I thought I recognized the voices and walked over to the window and lifted the blinds. Down there under the trees I recognized my three companions from the trip. They sang to their heart's delight, and Anders accompanied them on his guitar.
SARA: Hey, Father Isak! You were fantastic when you marched in the procession. We were real proud that we knew you. Now we're going on.
ANDERS: We got a lift all the way to Hamburg.
VIKTOR: With a fifty-year-old deaconess. Anders is already sweet on the old girl.
ANDERS: Stop babbling!
VIKTOR: We came to say goodbye.
ISAK: Goodbye, and thank you for your company.
SARA: Goodbye, Father Isak. Do you know that it is really you I love, today, tomorrow and forever?
ISAK: I'll remember that.
VIKTOR: Goodbye, Professor.
ISAK: Goodbye, Viktor.
ANDERS: Goodbye, Professor. Now we have to run.
ISAK: Let me hear from you sometime.
Those last words I said to myself, and rather quietly. The children waved to me and were swallowed up by the [282] summer night. I heard their laughter, and then they were gone.
At the same moment, I heard voices out in the foyer. It was Evald and Marianne. They whispered out of consideration to me and I heard the rustle of Marianne's evening gown. I called to Evald. He entered the room, but stopped at the door.
ISAK: Are you home already?
EVALD: Marianne had to change shoes. Her heel broke.
ISAK: So you are going to the dance?
EVALD: Yes, I suppose so.
ISAK: A-ha.
EVALD: How are you otherwise?
ISAK: Fine, thanks.
EVALD: How's the heart holding up?
ISAK: Excellently.
EVALD: Good night, and sleep well.
He turned and went through the door. I asked him to come back. He looked very surprised. I felt surprised myself, and confused. I didn't really know what to say.
ISAK: Sit down a moment.
EVALD: Is it something special?
He sat obediently on the chair near the bed. His starched shirt rustled and his hands hung a little tiredly across his knees. I realized that my son was becoming middle-aged.
ISAK: May I ask you what's going to happen between you and Marianne? (Evald shakes his head) Forgive my asking.
EVALD: I know nothing.
ISAK: It's not my business, but ...
EVALD: What?
ISAK: But shouldn't ...
[283]
EVALD: I have asked her to remain with me.
ISAK: And how will it ... I mean . . .
EVALD: I can't be without her.
ISAK: You mean you can't live alone.
EVALD: I can't be without her. That's what I mean.
ISAK: I understand.
EVALD: It will be as she wants.
ISAK: And if she wants ... I mean, does she want?
EVALD: She says that she'll think it over. I don't really know.
ISAK: Regarding that loan you had from me ...
EVALD: Don't worry, you'll get your money.
ISAK: I didn't mean that.
EVALD: You'll get your money all right.
Evald rose and nodded to me. Just then Marianne appeared in the door. She had on a very simple but extraordinarily beautiful white dress.
MARIANNE: How are you, Father Isak?
ISAK: Fine, thanks. Very well.
MARIANNE: I broke a heel, so we had to come home to change. Can I wear these shoes instead?
ISAK: They look fine.
Marianne came up to me. She smelled good and rustled in a sweet, womanly way. She leaned over me.
ISAK: Thanks for your company on the trip.
MARIANNE: Thank you.
ISAK: I like you, Marianne.
MARIANNE: I like you too. Father Isak.
She kissed me lightly on the cheek and disappeared. They exchanged a few words outside the door. I heard their steps on the stairs and then the door slamming in the [284] foyer. I heard my heart and my old watch. I heard the tower clock strike eleven, with the light tones designating the four quarter hours and the heavier sounds marking the hour.
Now it began to rain, not very hard, but quietly and evenly. A lulling sound. The street lamp swung on its cord and threw shadows on the light-colored window blinds.
Whenever I am restless or sad, I usually try to recall memories from my childhood, to calm down. This is the way it was that night too, and I wandered back to the summerhouse and the wild-strawberry patch and everything I had dreamed or remembered or experienced during this long day.
I sat under the tree by the wild-strawberry patch and it was a warm, sunny day with soft summer skies and a mild breeze coming through the birches. Down at the dock, my sisters and brothers were romping with Uncle Aron. My aunt went by, together with Sara. They were laden with large baskets. Everyone laughed and shouted to each other and applauded when the red sail went up the mast of the old yacht (an ancient relic from the days of my parents' childhood; a mad impulse of our grandfather, the Admiral). Sara turned around and when she caught sight of me she put down her baskets and ran toward me.
SARA: Isak, darling, there are no wild strawberries left. Aunt wants you to search for your father. We will sail around the peninsula and pick you up on the other side.
ISAK: I have already searched for him, but I can't find either Father or Mother.
SARA: Your mother was supposed to go with him.
ISAK: Yes, but I can't find them.
SARA: I will help you.
She took me by the hand and suddenly we found ourselves at a narrow sound with deep, dark water. The sun shone brightly on the opposite side, which rose softly into a meadow. Down at the beach on the other side of the dark water a gentleman sat, dressed in white, with his hat on the back of his head and an old pipe in his mouth. He had a soft, blond beard and pince-nez. He had taken off his shoes and stockings and between his hands he held a long, slender bamboo pole. A red float lay motionless on the shimmering water.
Farther up the bank sat my mother. She wore a bright summer dress and a big hat which shaded her face. She was reading a book. Sara dropped my hand and pointed to my parents. Then she was gone. I looked for a long time at the pair on the other side of the water. I tried to shout to them but not a word came from my mouth. Then my father raised his head and caught sight of me. He lifted his hand and waved, laughing. My mother looked up from her book. She also laughed and nodded.
Then I saw the old yacht with its red sail. It cruised so smoothly in the mild breeze. In the prow stood Uncle Aron, singing some sentimental song, and I saw my brothers and sisters and aunt and Sara, who lifted up Sigbritt's little boy. I shouted to them, but they didn't hear me.
I dreamed that I stood by the water and shouted toward the bay, but the warm summer breeze carried away my cries and they did not reach their destination. Yet I wasn't sorry about that; I felt, on the contrary, rather lighthearted.
Stockholm May 31,1957
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