And as I awakened I understood that I myself was dead, and that it was I who lay there in the churchyard.
Mother had awakened when I cried, and I was so frightened that I told her my dream. She explained it to me: I was the flower she had planted. But the stalk that blackened and withered and rotted and was eaten by worms — that was my sin-body. The grave where my body rested was our home parish in Sweden, that hellhole, said Mother. But the crown of the flower that God picked and saved, that was my soul.
When Mother comforted me I lost my fright.
And now she and I are traveling to the promised land. There we shall live forever. And the way Mother explained my dream, I shall now grow up and blossom and open like a flower in that land.
Mother has told me that. .
Jonas Petter:
Sometimes I don’t rightly know why I am lying here on this ship. I must be traveling somewhere, I think; I am after something, I believe.
Anyway — I have freed myself of her. She never thought I would do it, but there are already many miles between us. There will still be many more — so many that I can never travel them again.
I woke up one morning and made my decision. We had quarreled the night before. It began with the grain shovel. I wanted to get some oats from the attic bin for the mare, but I couldn’t find the shovel. I asked her if she had seen it. Must I keep track of your shovel? she said; am I your maid? That’s not what I said, I answered; but I need the shovel to get at the oats for the mare. For that gluttonous creature! she said. Your mare stands there with her fat belly like a barrel, and eats all our oats. My mare? I said. Yes, she said, you have most use of her, for you drive around the roads on your own errands. Then I began to get angry. I said, I want the shovel! Have you used it? Have you shoveled oatmeal for the cows? Never, she said. My wretched cows never get oatmeal. Your cows? I said. They are mine as much as yours. Have you forgotten that I brought two cows in my dowry when I moved to this farm? she said. No, I said — and now I was really angry — that I have never forgotten. How could I forget something you have reminded me of every day for twenty years?
It had started with the shovel. The quarrel lasted the night through, and the next morning I had made up my mind.
We have been married for twenty years, and during those years we have had about two small quarrels every week and a big fight every month. All together there must have been several thousand quarrels, over the years. But the shovel one was the last. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I prepared to leave. And in order to have peace and quiet while I got ready, I sharpened the knife and let her crank the stone. That was the only way.
I found the shovel next day. It had slid so deep in the bin I couldn’t see it. And I was grateful to the shovel that it had hidden itself — it helped me get started on my way to North America. I pressed the handle, as though I shook hands with the shoveclass="underline" Thanks for the help!
I have quarreled away one whole year of my life. Now I am so old that I cannot afford to give up any more years in quarrels. I will be careful with the days I have left. I wish to live in peace with all. And I have lived in peace with everyone but her. Why should I live with the only person with whom I can’t get along? Why should I dwell under the same roof with someone who only criticizes and irritates me? Why should I live in a house where I never can have peace?
We should never have married. But our parents thought we were suited for each other — we were equals as far as possessions were concerned. And God tells us in His Fourth Commandment that we must obey and honor our parents so that things may go well and we may live long on earth. I obeyed my parents, and she hers, and we were married. Her outward appearance was shapely enough, she was young and healthy, but otherwise I knew nothing about her. Not what she was like inside, not her disposition. That I got to know by and by.
The first years I had some pleasure in bed with her. But it became less and less, I couldn’t understand why. I became indifferent and lost my desire for her — I couldn’t help it. Now when it was too late I realized that I had never really liked her and would never do so in the future, either. Nor did she care for me or for what I thought. She was more married to the farm than to me. But as my desire for bed play lessened, then hers increased, and she mocked me and wondered if already I was impotent, young man as I was. Then of course I had to show her. I preferred not to touch her, it became merely a sort of habit; I could take it or leave it, without enjoyment. I never dared tell her this, of course. It was the only thing I couldn’t tell her. I was a coward, I know, but I suppose she guessed my thoughts: I take part in this because I dare not refuse. Yes, I think she knew I had lost my desire for her, so she began to hate me. And she acted in such a way that I began to hate her, too. Perhaps I hated most that which could not be changed: the fact that I was married and tied to her.
It should never be between married couples as it was between us.
Our quarrels came more often and lasted longer. There was no peace in the house. And as the children grew up they took her side. They turned against me, because she spoke to them and said: Such is your father! Such has he always been to me, your mother! And then she told the children all I had said and done when I was angry and upset. At such times a person often does things he later regrets, he should not be condemned for what he does or says in those moments.
She turned my children against me, and I had to quarrel with them also. They lost respect for me, they obeyed their mother and believed her but they never obeyed their father or believed in him.
These last years we were seldom together in bed. Once in a while I pleased her when I realized I couldn’t get out of it. I dared not refuse, I was too cowardly. I have been a coward many times in my life, and I would agree to do it for the sake of peace — when I satisfied her in bed she was milder in her mouth for a few days and it was more bearable at home. Sometimes I thought I would tell her: This is the last time! But I was afraid of her, afraid that she would take revenge in some way if I said no to her. Then she would have plagued me worse. Many times I had to swallow a few drinks before I could make myself go near her. Yes, the brännvin helped many a time, without the brännvin I would not always have been able to. But afterward I felt sick with myself; I felt more wretched than any creature in the whole world, worse than the animals. They don’t drink brännvin in order to be able to — they do it only when they have desire. I lay with the one I hated, the one who hated me. Animals don’t do that.
We were a married couple, joined together in Christian and holy bond — matrimony — wedded together as God has ordained. But it should not be so between married mates, not as it was with us.
One time during a big fight I said I would go and cut my throat. It would take more of a man to do that, she said. She mocked me, she didn’t believe me, but that time I did mean it. I went after the sticking knife, I wanted to kill myself. I stood there and felt the edge of the knife, to see if it was sharp enough. I felt the bite with my thumb. And I set the knife against my throat. But then I couldn’t do more. When I felt the cold edge against my skin, I couldn’t. The knife cooled me so that I felt chilled through my whole body; I had no more strength left in my hands, I couldn’t press, I couldn’t cut. I have stuck and killed many hundreds of animals in my day, I have seen the blood gush from their throats, and I knew where to put the knife to myself, I know where the big blood artery is. But I could not make my hand perform the thrust, I couldn’t force it to cut my own flesh, make my own blood gush.