Sacrifice (24 page)

M
aj-Britt was sitting in her easy chair in the twilight. The shadows grew darker in the flat and finally merged with their surroundings.

Six months.

At first she felt almost nothing. Six months was only a concept of time. Twelve months was a year and six months was half, there was nothing particularly remarkable about that. She counted on her fingers. October the twelfth. October the twelfth plus six months. That would be April. An autumn, a winter, but hardly any spring.

October the twelfth.

It had been October the twelfth many times before in her life, even though she couldn't remember in detail what she had done on all those days. They had probably passed quite unnoticed like most of the rest. But this October the twelfth would be very special. It would be the very last one.

She had sat there in the easy chair for a good four hours, which meant that the last October the twelfth of her life was already four hours shorter.

It wasn't leaving life that scared her. So much time and so many years had gone by without her having any use for them. It had been a long time since life
had offered her anything that she was especially interested in.

But to die.

To be eradicated without leaving a single trace behind, not even the tiniest impression. As long as she had taken the future for granted, the possibility had always been there, it had been so easy to postpone. But starting now her time was limited; it was counting down and each minute was suddenly a perceptible loss. It was absolutely inconceivable that this was the same ‘time' that for years had pushed its way forward in such abundance that she had no idea what to do with it. Pushed forward and past, becoming drowned in meaninglessness. She would vanish without leaving a single tiny trace.

Her hands gripped the arm-rests harder.

Whether she gave her permission or not, she would be forced to surrender herself to the great Beyond, to eternity, and no one knew what awaited anyone there.

Imagine if they had been right. If what they had tried to imprint on her with such zeal was true. What if it was there the great Judgement awaited? If it was true, she knew all too well that her reception would not be a merciful one. It took no deep self-examination to realise which of the scales would weigh more. Maybe He would be standing there on the other side waiting, pleased and satisfied finally to have her under His power. Now that her right to choose had been used up and she unquestionably deserved a sort of retribution.

There was no reason to live, but did she dare to die? How could she dare surrender to eternity when she didn't know what it involved?

The ultimate loneliness.

For eternity.

When so much was left undone.

The darkness in the flat took over and her unease grew stronger. With each moment that passed it became more and more obvious. In some way she would have to balance out the scales.

She saw the woman before her, the one who had stood there in her room a few hours ago and pronounced her death sentence, glancing furtively at her thin wrist with its expensive watch, and then with a frightened look hurrying off. Outwardly so irreproachable but so conscious of her guilt. When the next October the twelfth came she wouldn't remember either Maj-Britt or this day. It would all have been lost somewhere in the jumble of other dying patients and days that were no different from any other. In peace and quiet she would be able to continue her life down here on earth, with all the time in the world to absolve her guilt.

Maj-Britt would not be able to do that.

Starting now, each second that passed uselessly was a lost opportunity.

She got up. Saba stood waiting inside the balcony door, and she went over and opened it. There was a light in the window across the way where the man had lived, the one who now possessed the answer which all people down through the ages had sought.

And she thought about Monika again. The guilt she bore.

Two lives, each with too much weight on one side of the scales.

It had suddenly become harder to breathe, and she realised to her horror how afraid she was. She was used to solitude, but to go alone to meet what awaited her …

Our Father Who art in heaven
…

She turned round and looked towards the wardrobe. She knew that it lay hidden on the top shelf, untouched all these years, with the familiar wear on the cover from that time so long ago. But she had turned her back on Him. Said that she could manage without Him and told Him to leave her in peace. Renounced Him. Now she understood at once. With crystal-clear certainty everything was suddenly made manifest. He had only been biding His time. He always knew that she would come crawling back the day the grains of sand in the hourglass unquestionably began to run out. When she could no longer hide in life but stood naked before what everyone knows but pretends to ignore. The fact that one day everything will come to an end. That one day everyone must give up all that is familiar and surrender to what has been the greatest fear of humanity since time immemorial.

He knew that then she would inevitably cry out for Him, begging Him on her knees for His forgiveness and blessing and pleading for His mercy.

He had been right.

He had won and she had lost.

She lay naked before Him, ready for submission.

The defeat was monumental.

She closed her eyes and felt herself blushing. In the colour of shame she went over to the wardrobe and opened the doors. Felt on the shelf with her hand,
over piles of sheets and tablecloths and curtains forgotten for years, until she finally felt the familiar shape. She stopped, hesitating a bit; the humiliation burned like fire. And confessing that she had done wrong was also to confess that He had always been right. It increased her guilt even more. She was giving Him the right to punish her.

She found the Bible and took it down. Looked at the well-thumbed book covers. Something was inserted between the pages and without thinking she pulled out what was concealed inside. Not until it was too late and her eyes had already seen them did she remember what they were. Two photographs. Slowly she went back to the easy chair and sank down in it. Closed her eyes but opened them again and let her gaze take in the loving couple. A beautiful spring day. A slim white dress and Göran in a black suit. The veil she had chosen with such care. Their hands intertwined. Their sense of conviction. Utter certainty. Vanja right behind them, so happy for her sake. The familiar smile, the gleam in her eyes, her Vanja who was always there whenever she needed her. Who had always wished her well. And to whom even now she had lied: betraying, condemning and rejecting her.

Too much weight on one side of the scales.

She dropped the photograph on the floor and looked at the other one. Her breath caught when she met the girl's empty gaze. She was sitting on a blanket on the kitchen floor in the house they had rented. The little red dress. The tiny white shoes that she got from Göran's parents.

She could feel the tears coming. Her hands remembered how it felt to lift up that little body, hold her in
her arms, the way she smelled. The tiny hands that reached out for her in boundless trust but which she hadn't been capable of receiving. How could she, when no one had ever taught her how to do that sort of thing.

The sorrow she never permitted herself to feel welled up inside her, and the despair she felt was so deep that she couldn't breathe. She dropped the photograph and, clenching her fists convulsively, she raised them towards the ceiling.

‘Lord God in heaven, help me. Be merciful to me, erase my transgressions with Your great mercy, cleanse me of my misdeeds and purify me of my sin. Against You alone have I sinned and done what is evil, that You may be found righteous in Your words and impartial in Your judgement. Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity, and in sin my mother conceived me.'

Her hands were shaking.

Six months was too long a time. She wouldn't be able to stand it for so long.

The tears ran down her cheeks and she sobbed out her words.

‘I beg Your forgiveness because I commit the evil that I do not wish to commit. Blessed God, grant me Your forgiveness. You must give me an answer! Dear Lord, show Your mercy! Give me courage to dare!'

And she remembered what they used to do when they needed His counsel and consolation. She quickly wiped her eyes, grasped the Bible firmly in her left hand, and moved her right thumb between the closed book covers. Then she closed her eyes and turned to the page where her thumb had stopped, letting her index finger search over the page and choose a verse at random. Then she stayed seated, with her eyes
closed and her finger pointing like a spear straight down into the Holy Scriptures. It was now He would speak. Give the message He wanted to show her and which He had made her finger select.

‘Lord, do not leave me alone.'

She was so afraid. All she wanted was a little reassurance, a single sign that she had nothing to fear, that she could be forgiven. That He was by her side now that everything would soon be over, that atonement was possible. She took a deep breath and put on her glasses, following her finger to the page in the Bible.

And when she read the verse she understood once and for all that the fear she felt now was nothing compared with that which awaited her.

Her hands shook when she read His Word:

Now the end has come upon you, and I will send My anger against you; I will judge you according to
your ways, and I will repay you for all your abominations.
My eye will not spare you, nor will I have pity;
but I will repay your ways, and your abominations will
be in your midst; then you shall know that I am the
LORD!

A terror she did not think possible pressed the last of the air out of her lungs.

She had received her answer.

He had finally replied.

H
er sleep was dreamless. An emptiness where nothing existed. Only a tiresome noise somewhere in the background. Stubbornly it hacked away and demanded her attention. She wanted to slip back into the emptiness, but the noise would not relent. She had to make it stop.

‘Hello?'

‘Is this Monika Lundvall?'

Everything was so fuzzy that she couldn't reply. She made an attempt to open her eyes but couldn't do it; only her hand's grip on the phone managed to convince her that what she was experiencing was real. Everything was pleasantly diffuse. Her head lay on the pillow and in the brief silence that arose, sleep seized hold of her again. But then more words came.

‘Hello? Is this Monika Lundvall?'

‘Yes.'

Because she thought that's who she was.

‘This is Maj-Britt Pettersson here. I need to talk to you.'

With an effort Monika managed to open her eyes, trying to distinguish enough of reality so she would be capable of replying. It was completely dark in the room. She realised that she was lying in her bed and that she had answered the phone when it rang
and that the person who was calling was someone she never wanted to talk to again.

‘You'll have to speak with the care centre.'

‘It's not about that. It's another matter. Something important.'

She propped herself up on one elbow and shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind. To understand what was happening and if possible find a way out so that she could go back to sleep.

The voice went on.

‘I don't want to tell you on the phone so I suggest you come over here. Shall we say nine o'clock tomorrow morning?'

Monika glanced at the clock radio. 3.49. She was almost sure it was night because it was dark outside the window.

‘I can't come then.'

‘When can you?'

‘I can't come over at all. You'll have to talk to your care centre.'

Never in her life would she go there again. Never. She had no obligations. Not to that woman. She had already done more than anyone could reasonably ask. She was just about to hang up when the voice continued.

‘You know, when someone finds out that she's going to die she's not as afraid to go out any longer. And if she's been sitting in a flat for more than thirty years, she has a lot of catching up to do. Like spending time with her neighbours, for example.'

The fear was unable to penetrate the fog of the drugs. It stayed on the outside, pounded angrily a few times, and then gave up and stood watch. To wait her out. It knew that sooner or later a gap would open
up and then it would be ready to overpower her. In the meantime it made her realise that she had no choice. She had to go there. Had to go there and find out what that disgusting woman wanted from her.

She closed her eyes. So tired, down to her very core. Everything she had was used up.

‘Hello? Are you still there?'

The woman most certainly was.

‘Yes.'

‘Then let's say nine o'clock.'

M
aj-Britt sat as if paralysed in her chair, unable to breathe. Her thoughts darted like frightened animals trying to escape. For hours she had prayed, beseeching Him for a sign that would show her what she had to do. Time after time she had let her finger race through the pages of the Bible without finding any intelligible answer. In desperation she had asked for clearer instructions and then, finally, the fourteenth time she tried He had spoken to her again. Paul's first letter to Timothy. Her finger had not landed precisely there, but on the next page, but she knew it was because she had been too excited and her finger had missed the right verse. It was 1 Timothy 4:16 He wanted to show her, she knew it.

Take heed to yourself and to the doctrine. Continue
in them, for in doing this you will save both yourself
and those who hear you
.

Thankful for His answer, she closed her eyes. She remembered the verse from the Congregation. An admonition to go out and save your fellow man and thereby rescue them from eternal fire. A good deed. He wanted her to save someone else and thus also save herself. But who was it she was supposed to save? Who? Who was it who needed her help?

She got up and went over to the balcony door. On the wall across the way the windows reflected black. Only a single lamp was attempting to defy the dark of night. She wanted to open the door and take a quick breath of the outside air. The desire was new and unfamiliar. She placed her hand on the door handle, saw the black windows staring at her like evil eyes and gave up. She left the door and went back to her easy chair.

The Bible felt heavy in her hand. Once again she let her thumb choose a page. He mustn't let her down now, now that she had understood what she had to do but not how to proceed. She was asking for a lot, she knew that. He had already shown His great benevolence through the answers He had given her.

‘Only one more answer, Lord, then I shall never again ask You for anything. Just show me who it is You want me to save.'

She closed her eyes. For the last time she let her thumb glide along the closed pages of the Bible. If He did not answer now, then she wouldn't try again. She turned to the page. With her eyes closed she let her index finger fall and then sat still, gathering her courage.

The fifty-second Psalm. He had not let her down.

In a sudden calm, everything fell into place.

There was only one Monika Lundvall in the telephone book.

Maj-Britt hung up the phone. With a strong grip on the Holy Scriptures she took a few deep breaths. She had done it, done as He instructed, and that should
have made her feel reassured. And yet her heart was beating hard. Her finger was still wedged in between the covers, and she turned to the page to convince herself once more that she really had the right to do what she planned to do. Despite her promise she had asked Him another question. And He had given His consent. The page she turned to had the word ‘Yes' five times and ‘No' only twice.

Saba was sleeping soundly in her basket and Maj-Britt tried to take some comfort in the peaceful sound of the dog's breathing. So many nights it had helped her to calm down. The knowledge that someone was there in the dark. Someone who needed her. Someone who would be there when she woke up and be glad to see her. Now the comforting breathing gave her a guilty conscience. Saba would be left behind to meet the same uncertain fate as she would. The only difference was that Saba didn't have the awareness to be afraid.

There were five hours left until it would be nine o'clock. To try and sleep would be wasting time needlessly, and she could no longer afford to do that. She had been given a task that she had to carry out, and God had shown her the way. She knew that Monika would show up. That she wouldn't dare do anything else. Once again Maj-Britt felt her heart palpitating wildly as she thought about what she was about to do.

A good deed.

She mustn't forget that. That it was A Good Deed and nothing more. The threatening tone she had been forced to use to make Monika obey served a higher good! The Lord Himself had shown His approval. It
was the two of them now, she and the Lord together. Using fear to prevail was a mighty instrument, but she was grateful at having to subjugate herself. All power was His, and for her all that remained was to prove herself worthy, show that she finally deserved to be chosen. Then perhaps He in His great wisdom would be merciful enough to forgive her.

For thirty years she had imagined death as a last avenue of escape. It had given her strength to know that she could always slip away if she couldn't endure anymore. Having power over this option, she had sometimes toyed with the idea. But that was before, when death had been far out of sight and the choice was still hers. Before her body had secretly invited death in and granted it safe passage, slowly and inexorably to crush her advantage and finally rob her of all choice. Now that death was grinning in her face, it held nothing but burning horror.

Now the end has come upon you, and I will send
My wrath against you; I will judge you according to
your ways. Then you shall know that I am the LORD!