For the one leaning quite drunkenly on a taxi and searching his pockets for money with one of his tired hands is not a stranger named Knut. It is Bengt’s father, and this is why he shivers by the window. Not because he is naked, but because he has instantly discovered the truth. For a moment this discovery is so horrible that he wishes something dangerous would happen to the man down there. That he would fall flat on his face under the car just as it takes off. Then Bengt feels Gun’s nails digging into his chest. She was leaning over his shoulder, and he can tell from her nails that she also recognizes the man staggering on the sidewalk and waving his hand at a moving car. It’s not someone named Knut whom they hardly know. It’s a terrible man who is Bengt’s father as well as the lover of the woman Bengt loves, too.
This man bends down to pick up a coin on the sidewalk. Then he falls, of course, but he doesn’t stay down. As he slowly heads up to them, Gun swiftly gets dressed under the light of the lamp. And before Bengt turns the lamp off, they look at each other for a brief, shameful moment. Neither of them is particularly beautiful then because they are both flustered. He turns off the lamp just as the key begins fumbling after the lock. With her shoes in her hands, Gun crawls into his bed. He hides her securely underneath the blanket, pressing her as close to him as he can so that she will take up less space; he crumples the red dress in the same way. But the darkness and intimacy provide them some comfort, which allows them to endure it to some degree.
Otherwise what is happening is quite horrible and unbearable. They hear him fumbling about the entrance, trying to find the light, and almost in unison they whisper:
We haven’t forgotten anything, have we?
It’s a dreadful thought that they could have forgotten something, but they soon realize he’s too drunk to be able to notice anything anyway. As the father makes his way through the darkness with dragging steps and sudden outbursts of rage against everything he bumps into, they both try to remember that the doors to Bengt’s room are locked. Finally, they hear him find the daybed and thud into it, as if falling from a blow. After that, it’s silent for a while. Gun is no longer afraid, but she is crying. Nor is Bengt afraid, but he isn’t proud either. And he’s not at all pleased that his father has made her cry. If Knut had been a stranger, he could have been amused by it, but now he can only hate. He recognizes the hatred at once. It’s an old, familiar hatred, as firmly attached to him as his own ears. It’s the hatred he’s known almost his entire life—every time his mother cried on account of his father.
Once they hear him snoring, they jump up and turn on the light. Bengt slips Gun’s shoes back onto her feet and fastens the straps around her ankles. This time, when they look at each other they are genuinely beautiful again, and they kiss each other even more beautifully. When they are done, everything is almost as natural as before. He gives her Berit’s letter to put in the mailbox so that she will get it sooner. He unlocks the door, and they sneak hand in hand across the dark hallway. At the entrance, they kiss each other again, childishly long. Gun will call him. In the future she will always call, but they will only meet occasionally.
When he opens the shade, he sees her standing in the moonlight and waving to him from the other side of the street. He sees her lean far over the gutter, as if trying to reach him. Then she starts to walk away, going slowly past the butcher shop and all the other shops up the corner. Turning the corner is difficult when you are in love, but once she has done it, she isn’t truly gone. The light itself has taken on a reddish tinge from her dress. And when he pulls down the shade and turns around, the entire room is saturated with her. He flings himself on his bed and buries his face in his pillow. The pillow is saturated with her, too. His pillow will never be lonesome again.
After some time, he opens the door to the father’s room and goes inside. He turns on the ceiling light and tiptoes to the daybed. Then he kneels over the sleeping man and takes off his shoes. Without a sound, he sets them down on the floor and then loosens his collar. As he watches the slumbering face, he is struck by a tenderness so unexpected and so overwhelming that he puts his hands over the father’s face and caresses it. While caressing him, he is filled with an irrational joy. He gently peels off his father’s jacket and unbuttons his vest. He hangs the jacket on a hanger in the hallway and pulls out an overcoat. As he spreads the overcoat over his father, his eyes begin to cloud with tears. Then he sits on the floor next to the daybed, and with his father’s hand in his, he gazes up at the ceiling as he cries and cries with joy. Joy, because the room is filled with her and because the room is devoid of his mother. He doesn’t go back to his room until all of his tears are drained.
There, he immediately falls asleep and sleeps so deeply, dreamlessly, and peacefully, as one can only sleep when the unimaginable has happened. The night after discovering America, Columbus must have slept as he never slept before.
A Letter to an Island in Autumn
Beloved!
I’ve done what we’ve agreed upon, and I’ll be coming to the island soon. I didn’t enjoy doing it, but I knew I had no other choice. It was harder to forge the draft papers than I thought. In fact, making your telegram was much easier. Of course, I just took an old one and found a new envelope and stamp; the hardest part was changing the date. I didn’t need to go to so much trouble, after all, because Knut hardly looked at it. He just found it a bit strange that I was being called up for military service now, but he was convinced when I reminded him of the four weeks that I got off last year for my studies. I can assure you that it’s quite painful to have to deceive him like this. It’s the first time in my life that I’ve ever forged anything, and I’ll never become a great forger—this much is certain. My conscience is much too delicate for that. And as soon as the draft papers served their purpose, I burned them up and blew the ashes out the window. It wasn’t until then that I started to feel a little better.
But I won’t truly be at peace until I’m with you again. If I only had the words to convey to you the indescribable peace you give me, what you mean to me, and the infinite significance you have added to my life!! For the first time in my life, I understand what it means to really love someone. This means that I can never be truly alone because you are constantly in my thoughts. Whatever I do and wherever I am, you are always there. If you only knew how happy this makes me, and how happy I can make others because of it.
As you know, Berit has returned. As we agreed, I see her fairly often—much more than before. Our relationship is much better now than it has ever been. I no longer get annoyed with her bad habits, and since I no longer need to feel myself bound to her, I don’t feel the need to hurt her like I did before. This has been quite good for her, in fact. She doesn’t constantly burst into tears, and she seldom has headaches. Of course, she thinks I love her like never before, and why shouldn’t I let her believe it? If you can make someone glad and happy by simply refraining from confessing every single thing you think or do, then I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t. To downright lie is an entirely different matter. But it won’t hurt her in the least if she doesn’t know. If anyone should be hurt, it should be me, but I’m intelligent enough to be able to differentiate between real duplicity, which aims to harm people, and a smart moderation of the so-called truth, whose only goal is to make life easier for everyone involved.
You will forgive me if this becomes a longer, and as you will probably notice, more philosophical letter than the ones you’re otherwise used to, but the fact is that I feel the steps I’m taking are important enough to me that I really have to analyze my situation thoroughly, so that we can both spend the time we have together in peace and quiet. You see, there’s nothing more dangerous than not knowing what you are doing. Most people don’t, and that’s why it’s often a dreadful shock for them when they are one day forced to define their actions. In their subsequent fear from this shock, they lose any chance of seeing reality as it really is, and instead they see a grotesque distortion. This is precisely why it’s so important to be clearly aware, at every moment of your life, of what your actions imply and the consequences they can have. This is why I also devote myself with almost scientific fervor to analyzing our mutual actions. To deceive others isn’t pretty, but to deceive yourself is dangerous.