Poor Bengt, she whispers.
He doesn’t dislike sympathy, never has. It lets him know that he is suffering. And he enjoys suffering.
I’ve never thought that about you, he says, suffering.
But in reality, he has thought that. And now, to suffer more, he begins accusing her. He claims that she doesn’t love him. This is a dangerous thing to say. If you want someone to love you, you don’t ask her to see if she “really” does. Because, when all is said and done, there isn’t much we “really” do. If you search deep down, you will find that the weight never reaches the bottom. Then you become terrified of the abyss within yourself. But you are never truly afraid until you discover that another name for this abyss is emptiness.
She walks in and sits on the bed. She lifts up the wet dog and starts petting it. When he can’t think of anything else to say, she says:
I can’t help it that I’m older than you. There were many before you. I can’t help that. Can’t you understand, Bengt?
Of course, he can’t understand. A lover is like an actor. For him to perform really well, his heart has to believe that he’s the first to play the role. If his heart isn’t able to believe it, then his reason has to be convinced, at least, that no one has ever played the part as well as he. Once Bengt finally grows tired of suffering, he sits on the floor, beneath her, and asks:
Do you still love him?
No, she answers, I never have.
He asks to know why, so she explains. She explains what kind of man he was. She talks about him as if he were dead, but he is only in prison. She puts the dog down and pulls Bengt off the floor instead. She has to fill her emptiness, too, after all.
The man she talks about has been sitting in prison for a long time. He was a barber. When she met him, he was rich and happy. He was also pretentious and vain. He always combed his hair before going to bed. This makes them both laugh for the first time that day. He always tried to be funny, too. For instance, he always called the Swiss the Swisserists. He always tried to make her laugh, but she felt less inclined to do so as time went on. So he came up with new jokes that were even less funny. He used to put brilliantine in his hair before going to bed. He also bought her an island. When she asked him where he got his money, he didn’t say, but he was very upset that she had asked. Then she realized that it was because of his uneasiness that he was with her. Just when she was about to break it off, he was caught. He had been selling counterfeit liquor ration coupons. He wanted her to hide him, but she didn’t want to. She did not care for him enough.
After she explained everything, she asks him if he is satisfied. He says that he is because that’s all he is. Satisfied that he was able to release his rage, satisfied that he had hurt her, satisfied that he was able to suffer. But when he kisses her, he notices that her body is still full of the other man. He wants to kiss him out of her; he wants to love him out of her. But when he tries, he cannot do it. Limp and crying, he falls next to her on the bed.
Poor Bengt, she says.
Then he leaps up, dashes out, and pushes the boat into the sea. By the time she reaches the shore, he is already drifting away. He is standing up in the boat, trying to get it to ride straight into the waves. They aren’t high, but he is nevertheless powerless. The oars slip from his hands, he trips on the planked floor, crashes down, and doesn’t pick himself up. She manages to pull the boat back to shore. When she turns him on his back, he pretends to be badly hurt.
Bengt, be sensible, she says as she tries helping him to his feet.
Her dress is soaked up to her waist. When they get inside, she slings it over the damper to dry. He flings himself down on the ground, longing for her tenderness or maybe just one word. A single little word would save him. The word could even save her. As she packs up in the kitchen, she leaves the door open to hear the word. But all she hears is the creaking of the floorboards when he rolls over. As he rolls over, the dog comes up and sniffs him. He suddenly clutches it by the throat and starts to squeeze. When it tries to break loose, he becomes enraged and squeezes even tighter. Inside the kitchen, Gun drops whatever she was doing and comes running out. She pinches him to get him to stop.
Be sensible, Bengt! she yells.
But he doesn’t want to be sensible. Anyone who fails with a woman doesn’t feel like being sensible; he wants to be wild. But he isn’t wild now, just very afraid, afraid as men usually are. Not afraid because he cannot love her the way she deserves, but because he might not be normal.
When he calms down, she asks him to explain himself. She is very gentle now, stroking his hair and kissing the salt from his face. He is lying down, silent and stiff. More than anything, he wants to humiliate her and to hurt her. He wouldn’t be able to love her until he hurt her as much as she deserves. Not until then would he be fervent and strong. Therefore, the reason he gives her for trying to strangle the dog isn’t true, or more precisely, it’s as true as everything else.
It’s his dog, isn’t it?! he shouts.
Yes, she answers fatigued, he bought it for me.
In that moment, he knows what he is going to do to finally kill the mysterious man inside her, so that he himself could survive. He sits at the table, cool and collected, and they both drink a cup of rum before rowing out. Afterward, it’s easier for them to accept each other. You can accept anything at all when you’re a little intoxicated. They walk arm in arm down to shore, caressing each other’s hands. Bengt leads the dog in the brown leash. She doesn’t know what he’s going to do, nor does she really care. She is tired and resigned. Then she sits in the stern with her hands on her lap. She looks very old.
This time he doesn’t fail at getting the boat out. The sea is calmer, too. He doesn’t look at her as he rows, and she wonders why but is too tired to ask. When she turns around to look back at the shore, she sees that he has tied the dog to the boat. It’s trying to swim, but it’s having too much trouble. When she tries to untie the leash, she feels his hard grip on her shoulder. Startled and a little afraid, she faces him. He is holding a rock in one hand. It is round and wet and quite heavy. A hard wave thrashes the side of the boat. She slips off the seat and, sitting on the floor of the boat, she finds him looming over her with the rock raised in the air. To avoid seeing any more, she squeezes her eyes shut. And to avoid hearing anything else, she plugs her ears.
When it’s all over, he tosses the leash into the boat. He tries to help her up, but she won’t let him. After rowing back to the inlet, he carries her ashore. She is very heavy, but he still manages. Gently yet forcibly, he lays her on the bed. Pale and feeble, she lies with her eyes closed, but she isn’t covering her ears. So she hears what he says.
Don’t you see? he whispers. It was his. So I had to do it. You got it from him because you were supposed to drag him around with you wherever you went. Can’t you understand that? Can’t you forgive me?
Maybe she does understand, maybe not. She is very tired and it is dark outside. She asks him to go and close all the shutters. When he comes back, he is naked. For a brief moment, he is standing just a step away from her bed, breathing heavily and fervently in the dark.
Bengt, she whispers, light the lamp.
When he shines it on her, she opens her eyes. Strong and aroused, he leans over her, stronger and more aroused than ever before. His eyes are black. His lips are open at first, but then he closes them. It doesn’t matter to her. Indifferent, she lets herself be undressed by his strong, burning hands. When he is finished, she asks him to turn off the lamp, and she closes her eyes when he blows it out. Although it’s dark and she cannot see him, she still closes her eyes. He finds her wrist in the dark. He grabs it firmly and forcibly and raises her up to him. He takes both of her hands and makes them feel his body. She has to feel how strong he is. And she does, but she doesn’t care. She is indifferent to the fact that a man is getting into her bed.