Karl Oskar answered her in monosyllables, mostly he listened. Whatever was said of Ulrika in Västergöhl she was a fearless and plucky woman. This was well — such a one was needed at a childbed.
Ulrika continued: She herself had been delivered four times, but at her childbeds no man had needed to see her suffer; least of all the fathers of the children, for they had kept themselves far, far away. They had kept away at the birth and after; indeed, she had never heard from them again. It was best for them, of course; they were wise; they wanted to partake of the sweet tickling, but not of the sour suffering. Men were always quick to be on their way; and she had been too proud to ask their whereabouts. No one could ever accuse her of having run after men. It was the menfolk who had never left her in peace, they had tempted and promised and lured her in every way; and that poor excuse for a man who didn’t do the right thing of his own will was not worth running after.
Yes, Ulrika knew the menfolk; the only one who might know them better was God the Father Himself, Who had made them. She had been with many; she knew what cowards they were toward women, how they tried to shirk their responsibility for what they had done, how they lied and accused others, how they wriggled and squirmed — those men. She knew how they shammed concern and acted the hypocrite, their tongues sweet and soft until they got a woman on her back, and how afterward — having been let in to enjoy the feast — they grew cheap and penurious and unkind: turned back into the useless cowards they actually were.
There might be a few real men; the best that could happen to a woman in this world was to be married to a real man, one she could rely on when she needed him.
“You are a man with a will, Karl Oskar. And you take care of your brats as well as your woman,” said Ulrika.
The man who received this praise felt somewhat embarrassed.
The Glad One went on: Kristina was a fine, honest woman, she did not begrudge her a good man. She, Ulrika, had accommodated many married men who were in need of her, but she would never go to bed with Kristina’s husband, no, not even for a whole barrel of gold.
This annoyed Karl Oskar and he rebuffed her tartly: “I’ve never asked you, have I?”
“You were pretty hot on me at sea. You can’t deny that. No one fools me about such things.”
Karl Oskar felt his cheeks burn; even his ears smarted: once on the ship he had used Ulrika — in his dreams. But no one could help what he dreamed. And even if there had been times when he felt himself tempted by the Glad One’s attractive body, he was too proud to go where other men had been before. Better not pay any attention to what she was saying, it wasn’t a penny’s worth. It was just like Ulrika to talk of bed play when they were on their way to a woman in childbirth. His own wife to boot! He would not be dragged into a quarrel with the woman he had fetched to help. .
Ulrika went on heedlessly. She nudged Karl Oskar in the side and told him it was nothing to be ashamed of that he was hot on women, particularly as he had been forced to go without for such a long time — his wife had been ill, and pregnant, these were long-drawn-out obstacles, trying his patience. But any man of Kristina’s she, Ulrika, would never help, however badly in need he might be.
What she said was true; it struck him to the quick. But he did not answer. He had a sense of relief as the surface of Lake Ki-Chi-Saga glittered in the moonlight ahead of them.
A hundred yards from the cabin they stopped short at the sound of a scream. Both listened intently; it wasn’t a bird on the lake, it was a human voice, a voice Karl Oskar recognized: “It’s Kristina!”
He ran ahead as fast as his legs could carry him. He hammered with his fists on the door, which was bolted from the inside; he could hear his wife’s shrieks, she was in her bed, unable to open the door. How would he get in?
“Kristina! Can you hear me?”
Ulrika came up to his side, panting: “Have you locked her in?”
“Yes. And I don’t think she is able to open. .”
“Break a window.”
Karl Oskar picked up a piece of firewood and was ready to break the nearest window when he heard Johan inside: the boy was trying to open the heavy bolts. The father directed the boy, told him how to lean against the door while he pulled the bolts, and he and Ulrika tried to pull the door toward them. After a few eternity-long minutes, the door swung open on its hinges.
Kristina was lying on her side in the bed, her body twisting as she shrieked and moaned.
“Kristina! How is it?”
“It’s bad. Where is Ulrika? I’ve been waiting so. .”
“We hurried as much as we could.” Karl Oskar took hold of his wife’s hand: it was clammy with perspiration; her eyes were wide open, she turned them slowly to her husband: “Isn’t Ulrika with you?”
Ulrika had thrown off her shawl and now stepped up to the bed, pushing Karl Oskar aside: “Here I am. Good evening, Kristina. Now we’ll help each other.”
“Ulrika! God bless you for coming.”
“How far along are you? Any pushing pains yet?”
“Only the warning pains, I think. But — oh, my dear, sweet Ulrika! Why did you take so long?”
The fire in the corner had died down, Lill-Märta and Harald were huddled on their bed with their clothes on, asleep, but Johan was up and about, his eyes wide open, full of terror: “Why does Mother cry so?”
“She has pain.”
“Is her nose going to bleed again, as on the ship?”
“You can see for yourself — her nose doesn’t bleed.”
There had been one night on the Charlotta which Johan never would forget. “Will Mother die?”
“No — she won’t die. Go to bed and be a good boy.”
“Father — is it true? Mother won’t die tonight?”
“She is just a little sick. She’ll be well again tomorrow morning when you wake up.”
Ulrika pulled down the blanket and felt Kristina’s body with her hands, lightly touching her lower abdomen; then she asked: Had the birth-water come, and how long between the last pains? While Karl Oskar undressed the children and tucked them in, and rekindled the fire, the two women spoke together: they understood each other with few words, they had gone through the same number of childbeds, four each; they were united and close through their like experience.
“It feels large,” said Ulrika after the examination.
“I have thought — perhaps it’s twins.”
“Haven’t you had twins before?”
“Lill-Märta’s twin brother was taken from us when he was fourteen days old.”
“It runs in the family. Karl Oskar. Get me some light. Heat water over the fire. Be of some use!”
Ulrika assumed command in the cabin, and Karl Oskar speedily performed as he was told to do. It was not his custom to take orders, but tonight at his wife’s childbed he was glad someone told him what to do.
From dry pine wood he made such a roaring fire that it lighted the bed where Kristina lay, comforted by her helping-woman in between the pains. She had not had time to sew anything for the child, not the slightest little garment; she had had so many other things to do this fall. And she had thought it would be another two weeks yet; it came too early according to her figuring; no, not a single diaper — and suppose she had twins!
“No devil can figure out the time,” said Ulrika. “A brat will creep out whenever God wants him to.”
Kristina had hoped it would happen in warm daylight; then she could have sent her children out to play. Now they had to stay inside and listen to her moans; but she couldn’t help that.