And she thought about Monika again. The guilt she bore.
Two lives, each with too much weight on one side of the scales.
It had suddenly become harder to breathe, and she realised to her horror how afraid she was. She was used to solitude, but to go alone to meet what awaited her…
Our Father Who art in heaven …
She turned round and looked towards the wardrobe. She knew that it lay hidden on the top shelf, untouched all these years, with the familiar wear on the cover from that time so long ago. But she had turned her back on Him. Said that she could manage without Him and told Him to leave her in peace. Renounced Him. Now she understood at once. With crystal-clear certainty everything was suddenly made manifest. He had only been biding His time. He always knew that she would come crawling back the day the grains of sand in the hourglass unquestionably began to run out. When she could no longer hide in life but stood naked before what everyone knows but pretends to ignore. The fact that one day everything will come to an end. That one day everyone must give up all that is familiar and surrender to what has been the greatest fear of humanity since time immemorial.
He knew that then she would inevitably cry out for Him, begging Him on her knees for His forgiveness and blessing and pleading for His mercy.
He had been right.
He had won and she had lost.
She lay naked before Him, ready for submission.
The defeat was monumental.
She closed her eyes and felt herself blushing. In the colour of shame she went over to the wardrobe and opened the doors. Felt on the shelf with her hand, over piles of sheets and tablecloths and curtains forgotten for years, until she finally felt the familiar shape. She stopped, hesitating a bit; the humiliation burned like fire. And confessing that she had done wrong was also to confess that He had always been right. It increased her guilt even more. She was giving Him the right to punish her.
She found the Bible and took it down. Looked at the well-thumbed book covers. Something was inserted between the pages and without thinking she pulled out what was concealed inside. Not until it was too late and her eyes had already seen them did she remember what they were. Two photographs. Slowly she went back to the easy chair and sank down in it. Closed her eyes but opened them again and let her gaze take in the loving couple. A beautiful spring day. A slim white dress and Göran in a black suit. The veil she had chosen with such care. Their hands intertwined. Their sense of conviction. Utter certainty. Vanja right behind them, so happy for her sake. The familiar smile, the gleam in her eyes, her Vanja who was always there whenever she needed her. Who had always wished her well. And to whom even now she had lied: betraying, condemning and rejecting her.
Too much weight on one side of the scales.
She dropped the photograph on the floor and looked at the other one. Her breath caught when she met the girl’s empty gaze. She was sitting on a blanket on the kitchen floor in the house they had rented. The little red dress. The tiny white shoes that she got from Göran’s parents.
She could feel the tears coming. Her hands remembered how it felt to lift up that little body, hold her in her arms, the way she smelled. The tiny hands that reached out for her in boundless trust but which she hadn’t been capable of receiving. How could she, when no one had ever taught her how to do that sort of thing.
The sorrow she never permitted herself to feel welled up inside her, and the despair she felt was so deep that she couldn’t breathe. She dropped the photograph and, clenching her fists convulsively, she raised them towards the ceiling.
‘Lord God in heaven, help me. Be merciful to me, erase my transgressions with Your great mercy, cleanse me of my misdeeds and purify me of my sin. Against You alone have I sinned and done what is evil, that You may be found righteous in Your words and impartial in Your judgement. Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity, and in sin my mother conceived me.’
Her hands were shaking.
Six months was too long a time. She wouldn’t be able to stand it for so long.
The tears ran down her cheeks and she sobbed out her words.
‘I beg Your forgiveness because I commit the evil that I do not wish to commit. Blessed God, grant me Your forgiveness. You must give me an answer! Dear Lord, show Your mercy! Give me courage to dare!’
And she remembered what they used to do when they needed His counsel and consolation. She quickly wiped her eyes, grasped the Bible firmly in her left hand, and moved her right thumb between the closed book covers. Then she closed her eyes and turned to the page where her thumb had stopped, letting her index finger search over the page and choose a verse at random. Then she stayed seated, with her eyes closed and her finger pointing like a spear straight down into the Holy Scriptures. It was now He would speak. Give the message He wanted to show her and which He had made her finger select.
‘Lord, do not leave me alone.’
She was so afraid. All she wanted was a little reassurance, a single sign that she had nothing to fear, that she could be forgiven. That He was by her side now that everything would soon be over, that atonement was possible. She took a deep breath and put on her glasses, following her finger to the page in the Bible.
And when she read the verse she understood once and for all that the fear she felt now was nothing compared with that which awaited her.
Her hands shook when she read His Word:
Now the end has come upon you, and I will send My anger against you; I will judge you according to your ways, and I will repay you for all your abominations. My eye will not spare you, nor will I have pity; but I will repay your ways, and your abominations will be in your midst; then you shall know that I am the LORD!
A terror she did not think possible pressed the last of the air out of her lungs.
She had received her answer.
He had finally replied.
31
Her sleep was dreamless. An emptiness where nothing existed. Only a tiresome noise somewhere in the background. Stubbornly it hacked away and demanded her attention. She wanted to slip back into the emptiness, but the noise would not relent. She had to make it stop.
‘Hello?’
‘Is this Monika Lundvall?’
Everything was so fuzzy that she couldn’t reply. She made an attempt to open her eyes but couldn’t do it; only her hand’s grip on the phone managed to convince her that what she was experiencing was real. Everything was pleasantly diffuse. Her head lay on the pillow and in the brief silence that arose, sleep seized hold of her again. But then more words came.
‘Hello? Is this Monika Lundvall?’
‘Yes.’
Because she thought that’s who she was.
‘This is Maj-Britt Pettersson here. I need to talk to you.’
With an effort Monika managed to open her eyes, trying to distinguish enough of reality so she would be capable of replying. It was completely dark in the room. She realised that she was lying in her bed and that she had answered the phone when it rang and that the person who was calling was someone she never wanted to talk to again.
‘You’ll have to speak with the care centre.’
‘It’s not about that. It’s another matter. Something important.’
She propped herself up on one elbow and shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind. To understand what was happening and if possible find a way out so that she could go back to sleep.
The voice went on.
‘I don’t want to tell you on the phone so I suggest you come over here. Shall we say nine o’clock tomorrow morning?’
Monika glanced at the clock radio. 3.49. She was almost sure it was night because it was dark outside the window.