The Lily Pond (15 page)

“How about introducing your girlfriend?” Sven asks.

May extends a hand. “I’m May Karlsson,” she says gravely. “Stephanie’s classmate.”

Sven shakes May’s hand. “Sven Söderberg. Stephanie’s … well, big brother, sort of.”

Big brother!

“You sure have a lot of good books,” May tells him. “I sometimes get to borrow them from Stephanie.”

“Which are your favorites?”

“I like them all,” says May. “Especially the working-class authors. Actually, I think I like Eyvind Johnson best of all.”

Sven gives her an appreciative look.

“My goodness, Eyvind Johnson! We agree on that. He’s one of my very favorites, too.”

Stephie lowers her eyes. Sven lent her several books by Eyvind Johnson but she didn’t get any further than halfway through the first one. It was full of insects and forests and strange kinds of people who were unfamiliar to her. Apparently
they were the kind of people May understood; Stephie knows May couldn’t put the books down, and now she and Sven are engrossed in conversation about them.

“We were on our way to the tram,” says Stephie. “It’s really raining hard.”

“You’re right. We’d better move along.” Sven turns to May. “How about coming along with us and having a nice hot cup of tea in Elna’s kitchen so we can go on talking?”

“Thank you,” says May. “That would be very nice if you think it’s all right.”

Stephie has never invited May to her room. She hasn’t been sure what Mrs. Söderberg would think of her bringing friends back with her, and she’s been too bashful to ask. But here is Sven, asking May over as if it is the most natural thing in the world.

Nobody asks her what she thinks.

They hurry along the sidewalk, the rain falling more and more heavily. Sven takes a newspaper out of his briefcase and splits it in three parts so they each have a section to hold overhead.

May looks impressed when they walk in through the front door of the building and she sees the wide stone staircase, the gold-fringed lampshades, and the checkered marble floor. But she doesn’t say a word, not even when, like a real gentleman, Sven holds the elevator gate open for her and Stephie. She’s silent as they ride up to the fourth floor and as Sven unlocks the apartment door and lets them into the hall. Then she can no longer contain herself.

“Holy smokes!” May exclaims. “Not even the apartments my mamma cleans are this elegant.”

Sven smiles. “May I help you with your coats, ladies?”

A few minutes later they’re sitting at the kitchen table with large cups of steaming tea in front of them. Sven and May talk nonstop. Now the subject is social equality; they’re talking about how working people have to get more power in society.

Stephie feels excluded. Yes, Sven does talk about things like this with her, too, but she doesn’t have much to say about them. May is full of opinions about housing and child benefits and other things Stephie knows nothing about.

“Socialism,” says Sven, “is the only solution. So the workers are going to have to put some clout behind their demands.”

At that, Elna looks up from the bread dough she’s been kneading.

“Shame on you, Sven Söderberg!” she says. “Putting communist ideas into the heads of innocent young girls.”

“Elna,” says Sven. “Don’t be so old-fashioned. If you took a real job in a factory and spent your days with other workers, you’d see things differently.”

“And who are you to know?” Elna asks. “As if this weren’t a real job. And as if I could ever possibly have as good a workplace as I have now.”

Eventually Putte stands whining outside the kitchen door. It’s already an hour later than when he usually gets taken out for his walk.

“I’ll go,” says Sven, “so you can go on talking, girls.” He doesn’t seem to have noticed that he and May have been doing all the talking, while Stephie has hardly said a word.

Stephie and May go into Stephie’s room. May continues talking at great length, admiring the furniture, the wallpaper, and the curtains. Stephie’s annoyed and almost wishes May would go home.

It would have been better if Stephie had never heard Sven calling her. Then May would have gone home on the tram and Stephie would have had Sven all to herself. They could have borrowed one of the doctor’s big black umbrellas and taken Putte for a walk together. If two people share an umbrella, they have to walk very close together, and sometimes their hands and shoulders happen to touch.

“What a wonderful room,” says May. “You really are lucky, getting to live here.”

The anger that has been building up in Stephie all afternoon now explodes.

“You idiot,” she says. “Don’t you know I’d rather live in a cupboard if only I could be with my own family? I hate living like this and having to be grateful all the time.”

May looks offended. “That’s not what I meant—” she begins.

“I don’t care what you meant,” Stephie interrupts.

Silence.

“I guess I’d better be going, then,” May says finally.

“Do as you please,” Stephie answers.

She sits down at the desk with her back to May. Soon
after, she hears the door to the room open and close. Then the front door.

She wants to rush out into the hall, open the door wide, and shout to May to wait, but she doesn’t.

A little while later, Sven returns from walking Putte. He knocks on Stephie’s door.

“Did your friend leave?” asks Sven. “You could have invited her for dinner. You have dinner at her place all the time, don’t you?”

Stephie shrugs.

“Where does she live, anyway?”

“In Mayhill,” says Stephie. “At number twenty-four, Kaptensgatan.”

She puts emphasis on the address. She wants to find out what Mayhill, Kaptensgatan, and the tavern have to do with Sven. But if the street name makes an impression on Sven, he doesn’t let it show.

“Aha,” he says in a distracted tone.

Stephie isn’t ready to drop the subject. “Maybe you don’t recognize it.”

“Did you say Kaptensgatan?” Sven asks. “Isn’t that somewhere around Stigbergstorget?”

Stephie feels like screaming, “You know perfectly well where it is. You go there all the time and sit around a tavern with old unshaven men in ragged clothes. Why do you go there, Sven? Why?”

But she doesn’t say any of it.

weekend Stephie is going out to the island again. It’s been a strange week. She and May have spent their days side by side in the classroom, as usual, eaten at the same table in the lunchroom, as usual, walked around the schoolyard on their breaks, as usual. Yet nothing between them has been as usual. May has been quiet and on her guard. Stephie has wished May would say something about that afternoon in Stephie’s room. If she did, Stephie would be able to apologize to her.

But so far May hasn’t said anything, and Stephie doesn’t dare bring it up herself. The tension between them has made Stephie almost forget that confounded trip to the movies. While she’s packing her suitcase on Saturday morning, though, she begins thinking about it again. That Aunt
Märta hasn’t been in touch doesn’t necessarily mean she hasn’t heard.

She may just be biding her time, waiting for a chance to talk to Stephie face to face. Stephie remembers other occasions when Aunt Märta has been angry with her and when she has been punished for mistakes that, in Stephie’s eyes, were smaller than this one. She’s not looking forward to seeing Aunt Märta. She even considers spending the weekend sick in bed instead of going home; she does have a bit of a cold.

But if she doesn’t go now, she’ll have to go next weekend or the weekend after that. At the very latest, she could wait three weeks and go for Christmas vacation, but if she did, she’d be running the risk of ruining Christmas. Just as well to get it over with.

The raw, cold wind on the river penetrates Stephie’s clothing. Still, she stays out on deck for quite a while. If she lets her cold get worse, even gets a fever, Aunt Märta is sure to feel sorry for her and not be quite as angry.

No one is waiting for her at the pier when they get to the island. Stephie looks at the
Diana
’s berth, but it’s empty. So Uncle Evert’s out fishing. Too bad; he’s usually the one who takes Stephie’s side when Aunt Märta is upset with her.

She heads up through the village on her own. Dusk has already fallen; there is not a soul in sight. After a few minutes, though, two figures, one large and one small, emerge.
As they get closer, she realizes the shapes are Auntie Alma and Nellie.

“Stephie,” Nellie cries, running toward her.

Stephie hugs her little sister.

“Is it true, Stephie?” Nellie asks. “Is it?”

“What?”

“That you went to the movies?”

So everybody knows all about it. The hope that Miss Holm might not have said anything is swept away.

“Well, I don’t think you’re an evil person,” says Nellie. “And I told everybody at Sunday school that, too.”

“Welcome home, Stephie,” Auntie Alma says. “You’re in a bit of hot water now, though.”

Auntie Alma’s tone frightens Stephie. What if Aunt Märta considers going to the movies such a serious sin that she refuses to let Stephie stay in the city, with all its “temptations”? She would have to leave grammar school.

“Märta’s knees are giving her trouble again,” says Auntie Alma. “That’s why she didn’t come to pick you up on her bike. Nellie wanted to be the one who met you, but I wouldn’t let her go alone in the dark.”

Stephie hardly hears a word Auntie Alma is saying. Her thoughts are going around in circles. How is Aunt Märta going to react?

When they reach Auntie Alma’s, Auntie Alma and Nellie go inside after extracting a promise from Stephie that she’ll come to see Nellie the next day. Stephie walks the
rest of the way home as slowly as she can, in spite of the icy wind blowing off the sea. When she reaches the crest of the hill and sees the white house at the bottom, she stops, as she has done many times before. Way out at sea she can see the red flashes of the lighthouse. It’s so dark she can just barely make out the point where the shore ends and the water begins.

The kitchen light is on. Inside, the house is warm, and Aunt Märta is waiting. The moment Stephie opens the door, she can smell the fried mackerel. At the beginning of her time on the island, the smell of mackerel, which they ate several times a week, made her stomach turn. Later she got used to it. Now she likes it, though she’s still afraid of getting a bone stuck in her throat.

Aunt Märta’s at the stove.

“I’m heating up your dinner,” she says. “Alma phoned to say you were on your way.”

Aunt Märta has strips of wool around her knees, outside her stockings. When she moves to the sink to pour the water off the boiled potatoes, Stephie can see that she’s in pain.

“Let me do that,” says Stephie. “You sit down and rest, Aunt Märta.”

“Who needs to sit down?” Aunt Märta mutters. “There’ll be plenty of time to rest in heaven. Anyway, I’m done now.”

Stephie takes the plate of fish and potatoes Aunt Märta hands her, along with a glass of milk. Aunt Märta sits across the table from her while she eats, but she says nothing about
the movies. She talks about her aching knees and how it might be rheumatism, about the fishing and how well things are going, about the shopkeeper’s daughter Sylvia, who is going to have to leave grammar school; she’ll be going to secretarial school instead.

Not until Stephie has finished eating does Aunt Märta say, “You do the dishes now and then join me in the sitting room. You and I have something to talk about.”

While Stephie is cleaning up, she can hear the radio from the sitting room. Aunt Märta is listening to the vespers service.

Stephie washes the dishes, dries them, and puts them away. She wipes the kitchen table, the counter, and the stove top and sweeps the floor well. In the end there is nothing more to do. She can no longer postpone the inevitable.

The vespers are finished and Aunt Märta has turned off the radio.

She’s sitting up very straight, her hands clasped, her elbows on the table, with the big Bible in its usual place.

“Come over here,” she says, “and sit down.”

Stephie sits on one of the hard chairs, opposite Aunt Märta.