Everything isn’t the same in the morning though still very much the same. It isn’t as though he forgot anything. When she woke him up with a bowl full of hot tea and rum, he recognizes her immediately. Not a single shadow on this face is foreign to him. He turns his face to the wall and drinks, and she is glad he turns away. The drink he is drinking tastes manly. Then he thinks of the pipe and the heavy cigarette case. He can’t remember the initials, except that he didn’t recognize them at all. But he is exhausted and quite satisfied and has a heavy, warm lump of gratification in his body. The tiger is full and satiated. It is sleeping. He also remembers his misdeed, but he can’t comprehend it. So it doesn’t upset him.
When they swim they now wear bathing suits. They used to run naked from the cottage—shivering in the morning cold—crash into the cold water with outstretched arms, and then dry off in front of the fire. Maybe it’s just particularly cold that day. They walk down the steps cautiously. Jagged leaves cover the rocks, and a thousand little flies rise up from the seaweed. An empty box has floated into the inlet overnight. On the mainland there is a fire burning. It is very bright out and the flame is low, yet pure. When they wade into the water, they do not go together. It reminds him of the time when she and his father went out together. Now she is standing a short distance away and cupping water over her breasts. When Bengt tries pulling her strap down to see her shoulder he breaks the strap. She becomes irritated but doesn’t say anything. She simply goes back to shore, but he doesn’t follow her. Instead, he beckons the dog to him. Together they bob up and down in the sea of green, and together they sink to the bright bottom. His body fills with water and the dog mounts him, dragging him down. And they come up together—the dog, trembling, and he, coughing and spluttering. Smoke starts to rise from the chimney.
When he comes in, she is lying stretched out in front of the fire with her hands folded behind her head. She is looking up at the ceiling, and she is naked. When he lies next to her, she starts to get cold and tells him so. Sullenly, he gets up and sits at the table. Then she asks him if he wants to join her for another swim. He doesn’t respond, nor does he go after her when she runs outside. Only the dog follows her.
Now he is the one lying on the skin rug when she comes back from swimming, and he has a pipe between his teeth. He watches her the whole time to see if she recognizes the pipe. But if she does, she doesn’t show it. He slowly crumbles some cigarettes and fills the pipe—even then, waiting for a hint of recognition. When she still doesn’t reveal anything, he grows discouraged and says that he feels cold. Then she says:
Don’t be stupid.
But he is stupid—stupid and sulky. At the table he lights the pipe and then she sees it.
Have you started smoking pipes? she asks.
Yes, he says, as you can see.
She is a lot wiser than he is. Women are much wiser than men, not more intelligent but wiser. She is still lying in front of the fire. And she is still grinning. She feels the same pain he does, yet she still smiles. Smiling, she starts brushing her hair with the white comb. He cannot let her be. Indeed, he knows her much too well, but that’s only when he is content or tired. But his lust can still transform her, make her almost unrecognizable. He leaves the pipe smoking on the table.
When he comes back it has gone out. As they eat breakfast— no longer on the rug but at the table—he keeps it next to his plate. They eat in silence. And Bengt gives most of his to the dog. It starts to rain. The fire goes out and it gets cold. To warm up, they drink tea with rum. As she clears the table, Gun tells him that he ought to write home and to Berit.
It helps to write. They are sitting on opposite sides of the table and thinking of things to say. They are playing a game, not committing a crime. And since it’s only a game, they are able to do it. So they playfully think of things people do when they’re drafted.
You have to write about girls, Gun says.
He looks up for a moment. Something occurs to him. And it makes him very upset. All of a sudden, he loses the desire to write the letter. He puts the pen down and looks at Gun. When she asks him why he isn’t writing, he says he is thinking about all the girls he has had. Right when he says this, he tries to see if Gun looks jealous—she doesn’t. She just laughs, leaving him disappointed. But not just disappointed. It also pains him to know that he cannot hurt her.
In the letter, however, he writes that there are plenty of girls. We have different ones every night, he continues, so life here is never boring. Father will laugh at that; Gun laughs at it, too. Then she signs his name at the bottom in her handwriting. This way it’s more exciting. Now he feels he has to do something to get her to stop laughing. He crumples new cigarettes and stuffs them into the pipe. As he lights it, he senses that she recognizes it because she immediately seems bothered. Then he blows some smoke over her and says:
To think how little people know about each other.
She asks him what he means. He says that when his father gets the letter, he will believe it, believe that he has a new girl every night. Even Berit will believe hers, thinking that he is always alone. When she still doesn’t understand, he elaborates and explains that whenever Gun says that she loves him, he, too, can’t be sure if it’s true.
Bengt, she says, with eyes as imploring as only a woman’s can be when she is lying.
But then she agrees. It isn’t what he wanted, of course. He wanted to have proof he was wrong. Now he feels utterly empty for a moment.
Gun, he says helplessly, can’t we trust anyone?
She answers that we can trust the one we love.
And if she betrays you? he asks.
She replies that one should still trust her.
He cannot understand. So he wants to hurt her badly.
When I write letters to you, he whispers, you can never know if I’m lying.
Bengt, she says, are you jealous?
Some time goes by. He opens the window and rain sprinkles on his face. Outside, the clouds are low and drift slowly like black airships. The water is completely black. The dog is roaming around the rocks with its tail between its legs, head bowed, and tongue flapping.
Are you jealous of Knut? she asks.
For a very long time he searches deep down. Just as he closes the window and faces the room, she lights the fire on the hearth. Then she lies down and waits for him. When he comes to her, her lips are open but her eyes are closed. He unbuttons her blouse but leaves her lips untouched. Then he turns away. Quietly, he says:
Who is E.S.?
She says he has to kiss her first. When he kisses her, he has to keep going. Once he is tired and satisfied, he realizes that it doesn’t matter who E.S. is; almost nothing matters. Nevertheless, she explains. Nestled in her warmth, he listens to her story. It might hurt to some extent but not much. But when she asks him if it hurts him to know, he says that it hurts a lot. And it’s true. Everything he says is more or less true. That’s what’s so nice. It’s also what is so frightening or what will become frightening.
Is it Erik’s pipe? he asks afterward.
Yes, she answers and strokes his burning skin.
Then he snaps the pipe and throws the pieces in the fire. He doesn’t feel anything as he does it, only that he is doing what he’s supposed to be doing. And he usually feels nothing when he does what he has to. Although she seems to think he is affected.