The Best Intentions (42 page)

Anna:
Good morning, Mrs. Johansson.

Mrs. Johansson:
Good morning, Mrs. Bergman.

Anna:
I'm sorry everything is in such a mess here. Both the girls are ill.

Mrs. Johansson:
It's the same everywhere. Only half the men are at work at the Sawmill and the teacher at the school is ill, so the old teacher has corne in her place.

Anna:
I think Petrus has all his belongings with him. I have packed a few books too. Petrus likes reading.

Petrus is standing in the middle of the floor, not looking at anyone. His blind gaze is expressionless. There is a swelling by one eye, and his lip is split.

Mrs. Johansson:
The pastor has told me everything. There's nothing much to add.

Anna:
I hope you understand, Mrs. Johansson, that under the present circumstances we dare not . . .

Mrs. Johansson:
No, no, of course. There's no question of it.

Anna:
Good-bye, then, Petrus.

Anna pats his cheek. He turns his head away.

Mrs. Johansson:
I think we'd better go.

She gets up heavily and takes Anna's proffered hand. “Thank you very much for all your patience and care.” Anna looks away “It was a pity it had to end like this.” Mrs. Johansson is embarrassed. ‘Anyhow, you and the pastor couldn't have looked after the boy forever.”

They all stand around. Finally, Mrs. Johansson puts her hand on the back of Petrus's neck and pushes him toward the door. Henrik reaches for the suitcase, and they leave in silence. Jack follows. He likes riding on the sleigh. Henrik helps Mrs. Johansson and Petrus up, tucks the fur rugs around them, and gets up on the driver's seat, urges the horse on, the bells jingling. The sleigh disappears up the slope toward the gate.

Anna watches them go. Her darkness is great. Gradually, she forces herself out of her immobility and knocks on the door of the maid's room, where things are very cramped. Mia's cot is blocking the doorway, and she is lying curled up, her forehead beaded with sweat. Mejan is sitting up on the pull-out sofa, knitting and coughing dully. The stove pings; the iron doors rattle; the room is steamily hot and smells of sweat and body odors.

“I'm getting up tomorrow,” says Mejan determinedly. “Only if you haven't got a temperature,” says Anna. “How's Mia?” “I think she's delirious. She says such peculiar things, I have to laugh,” says Mejan. “Maybe you ought to air the room,” says Anna. “It's rather stuffy in here.” “I'm not letting out all this nice warmth,” says Mejan, coughing. “Have you drunk your Ems water?” “Oh, yes. And Petrus had to go, did he?” “Yes, Petrus has gone.” “I never liked that boy,” says Mejan decisively, rattling her knitting needles. ‘Are you sure you don't want me to do the dishes?” “You stay there!” says Anna, and goes out into the kitchen and closes the door.

There is a copper cistern of hot water by the stove. Anna turns on the tap, and the hot water steams and splashes into the washing-up bowl. She adds cold water and mixes in a slick of green soft soap (shortage), then lifts the bowl onto the bench. She can feel that in her back, but she is deep down in her darkness and tears are pouring
down her cheeks. She starts washing the dishes from yesterday's evening meal. Then she stops abruptly, wipes her hands, and sits down at the kitchen table. The stove rustles and crackles, but otherwise it is quiet. A gigantic quiet lies on Anna's shoulders, rising like a column toward icy space.

She has sat there quite a long time, perhaps even dozing off for a few minutes, when she hears the sleigh bells up by the gate and the neighbor who has lent them the sleigh coming. Henrik speaks to him and hands over the reins. They exchange a few words, and then Henrik is stamping the snow off his boots on the steps. Anna gets up and stretches, bending back. Sometimes her back aches, or else she has been sick, but that's not surprising. The door opens and closes. Anna washes dishes. Henrik is standing over by the door, taking off his coat. Anna washes dishes. Henrik sits down on a chair and pulls off his boots. Anna washes dishes in a clatter of glass, china, forks, spoons, and knives. Henrik sits down by the window, his coat across his knees, his boots on the floor beside him. He is looking steadily at Anna, who is washing dishes. Jack lies down under the kitchen table.

Henrik:
It was bes t that way.

(
Anna washes dishes
.)

Henrik:
We couldn't possibly keep him here.

(
Anna washes dishes
.)

Henrik:
I think he understood.

(
Anna clatters
.)

Henrik:
He didn't even cry.

(
Anna puts the plates into the bowl
.)

Henrik:
Why don't you answer?

(
Anna doesn't answer
.)

Henrik:
We can't go on like this, Anna!

(
Anna washes dishes
.)

Henrik:
You've no reason to behave like this.

(
Anna stops washing dishes, stands still
.)

Henrik:
It's as if it were all my fault.

(
Anna shakes her head, washes dishes
.)

Henrik:
Stop washing dishes
and turn around!

(
Anna stops washing dishes and doesn't turn around
.)

(
Henrik says nothing
.)

(
Anna says nothing
.)

Henrik suddenly gets up and walks across the floor to Anna, snatches the plate out of her hand, and bangs it down on the draining board so that pieces fly in all directions. Then he grabs her by the shoulders and turns her to him, breathing heavily, his face trembling.

Henrik:
Speak to me
!

Anna:
You've cut yourself on the plate. Your finger's bleeding.

Henrik:
I don't give a damn.

Anna
(
calmly
): Come on, let's get out of here. There's no point in the girls hearing us.

She wipes her hands on her apron and goes ahead of Henrik into the living room. It is bitterly cold, and their breath turns white.

Henrik:
Can't we go up to my room? It is so damned cold in here.

Anna:
No. I have moved Dag into our bedroom. We're only going to heat the bedroom and your workroom. What did you want to say?

Henrik:
You must speak to me.

Anna:
There's no point.

Henrik:
Anything, Anna. Anything's better than saying nothing.

Anna:
And
you
say that?

Henrik breathes, and his breath billows out. Anna is standing with her back to the window, her hands under her woolen cardigan and her arms folded across her bosom. Mejan's blue apron is too large. Her hair is untidy, her face gray.

Henrik:
Anything.

Anna:
I have a responsibility. I am responsible for Dag and the child that is coming. My
responsibility
tells me that I must leave here. My responsibility to the children is more important than my loyalty to you.

Henrik:
I don't understand.

Anna:
I must take Dag with me and go away. You want to stay, as that is your conviction. I respect your conviction but do not share it.

Henrik:
And where are you going?

Anna:
Where shall I go? Home, of course.

Henrik:
Your home is here.
  (
Anna says nothing
.)

Henrik:
You can't do this to me.

Anna:
I have already written to Mama.

Henrik:
What a triumph. For her.

Anna:
So that's your first thought.

Henrik:
I forbid you to go.

Anna:
You forbid nothing, Henrik.

Henrik:
And how long will you be away?

Anna:
When you have come to your senses, then perhaps we can talk about the future.

Henrik:
What future?

Anna:
I have spoken to Gransjö. Or rather he has spoken to me. He pointed out that the offer still stands.

Henrik:
So you've gone behind my back, have you?

Anna:
You could say that, yes.

Their breath comes steaming out of their mouths, the cold pressing against their faces and their bodies. They remain inexorable, Anna with her back to the window, Henrik inside the door.

Henrik
(calmly):
I shall never forgive you for this.

Anna:
So now we know that. Now I'm going to the kitchen to finish the dishes.

She walks past him. He turns around and grabs her by the arm to stop her, but she frees herself and laughs. He hits her in the face, and she stops, staring at him.

Henrik
(panic):
Just go away!
(Shouts.)
Go away,
for Christ's sake!
I never want to see you again! Go away! You've lied and gone behind my back.
(Shouts.) Go away!
Just go away!

He hits her again. She staggers back and slowly brings her hand up to her face, staring steadily at him, more astonished than really shaken.

Anna:
You're insane.

Henrik:
I knew it would be like this! I knew you'd leave me!
I knew it!

She isn't listening to him, but goes out into the kitchen and closes the door behind her. Henrik starts walking across the floor, the cold penetrating through the floorboards, through his legs, stomach, and chest, up into his throat, mouth, eyes.

Three days later, everything is organized for an undramatic departure. Anna says she is taking her son with her to visit her mother in Upsala, something everyone finds quite natural. Husband and wife speak politely to each other in friendly tones. The dog Jack weeps quietly over the suitcases. Anna catches herself singing as she packs. Mia and Mejan have recovered, and the everyday domestic order is more or less restored.

The pastor accompanies his wife to the station. It's windy, the loose snow swirling about in silent clouds, the sun as red as a sore, the time half past nine in the morning. They have taken shelter in the waiting room, a large room with brown walls, fixed wooden benches, and a huge iron stove glowing more than producing heat. Mia is busy checking in the many suitcases; then she puts them on the platform where the guard's van stops. Henrik and Anna are alone in the waiting room, sitting beside each other on the wooden bench. Dag sits on Henrik's knee but wants to get down on the floor. Nothing is said. Then the train hoots and clatters across the points, thick white clouds of steam billowing in the cold.

The prayer house is a bare hall with four high windows facing the snowstorm and the arctic night. The wooden walls are unadorned and painted green. On the platform there is a lectern and a pedal-organ. (
Instant savior
.) Behind the lectern is a cross painted black. Two tall iron stoves take care of the heating. Eight carbide lamps hang on iron hooks from the ceiling and spread a strong bluish white light. The hall contains fifteen long benches with no backs. Despite the bad weather, everyone has come. It is a full house, more than full, and people are standing in the aisles and sitting on the floor. It is suffocatingly
hot, and they are all sweating profusely.

Now they are singing:

When the sinner blindly rash,
Hastens to destruction,
He is preceded by Thy Grace.
Thou hastens to his meeting, calls:
Stop sinful bondsman!
See salvation for wretched soul!
Waken and see your peril!

Henrik looks around. He is squashed up against the wall. They are all singing, the storm crashing against the windows, the carbide lamps shining sharply down on the pale faces, old people, young girls, families with children, boys in uniform.

They all sit down, shifting and making room, a gentle coughing buzz. Pastor Levander gets up on the platform and says a silent prayer. Then he raises his eyes and looks at the assembled crowd without ingratiation and speaks in a light but penetrating voice.

Levander:
And they brought to him one who was deaf and almost dumb and bade Jesus lay his hand upon him.

Congregation:
Yes, yes, praise the Lord!

Levander:
Then Jesus took him aside from the people and put his fingers in his ear and spat and touched his tongue.

Congregation:
Hallelujah! The Lord be praised!

Levander:
. . . and looked up at the heavens, sighed and said to him “Effata” — “open up.”

Congregation:
Effata, Jesus, thou my savior!

Levander:
Then his ears were opened and the bands on his tongue loosened, and he spoke plainly and clearly.

Congregation:
He spoke, he spoke, Oh, Jesus! Jesus!

Levander:
And Jesus forbade them to tell of this to anyone, but the more he forbade them, the more they told of what had happened!

Congregation:
Come to me, Jesus! Open my heart!

Levander:
And the people were amazed beyond all things and said: “He has brought about everything. He lets the deaf hear and the dumb speak.” Hallelujah, sisters and brothers, let us together praise the Lord
Jesus Christ for the miracles he creates with us daily and always. May we with rejoicing raise our voices in praise and prayer.

The organ squeals and squeaks and is at once drowned.

All
(sing):
Crushed by the threat of law, by your hand I'm guided, to the throne of grace, to the foot of the cross, where salvation is prepared! Here am I purified in the blood of Jesus. Here I find another courage. Here life in faith is given!

Levander:
The Grace of God and Peace be with you all, but especially with those of you who come from the extremes of darkness, especially those of you who are slaves of your deeds, especially those of you who think yourselves rejected and weep tears of blood, those of you who are choked by your evil words and your evil thoughts, those of you who carry earth in your mouth and the poison of serpents in your mind. Grace be with you! The Grace of Jesus Christ be with you. And may He have mercy on you this night and grant you peace.