Papa has been acting quite strangely lately. Sometimes I think he’s starting to suffer from a persecution complex. No matter where I go, I run into him and his black dog. I think he’s hunting me with that dog, having him track my scent. I can’t describe it any other way but that he is constantly on my heels as soon as I leave the house. And the other day, I noticed that he had put a rubber band around the bottle of aquavit, as though he imagines me drinking in secret while he’s away at work. His dirty suspicion irritated me and to get back at him I poured myself a pretty large glass and pulled the rubber band down. Besides, it’s very stupid to use a rubber band if you want to see whether there’s less alcohol in the bottle. All you have to do is move the rubber band.
He’s also strange in another way. The other night the dog came into my room, and this was quite unusual. It jumped up on my bed so it could sleep there. I didn’t throw it out, because I’ve gradually come to like it a little. But instead of sleeping, it started digging under my pillow with its paws. Soon, it jumped off and disappeared. After a while, Papa came in with a handkerchief in his hand. It was a little yellow handkerchief that the dog had had in its mouth when it left my room. Papa asked me where I got the handkerchief. I wasn’t able to tell him. Then he tossed it to me and left. It seemed like he actually thought I went around stealing handkerchiefs. One morning, I found a pair of Mama’s stockings on my bed. I don’t know why he put them there.
He might be acting strangely because, despite everything, he is grieving. But I did manage to make him happy yesterday. I was supposed to take the exam yesterday, but because of everything that has happened to me regarding Mama’s death, I had to postpone it until the fall. In this way, I’ll have the whole summer to study, and I plan to study intensively. So I don’t think I’ll get a job this summer as I usually do every year. Of course, I’ll be more dependent on Papa than ever before, but on the other hand, I really want to finish my studies with a degree. Otherwise, it would feel like defeat. It just so happens that I’ve been talking to Papa this whole time about the exam, so that he’ll see that I really have been working toward an immediate goal. Immediate goals have a stimulating effect on him, probably because he thinks they are the cheapest. Without a doubt, he has high expectations for the exam. That isn’t my fault, but once I finally realized what a great disappointment it would be for him if I didn’t do well on it, I had to pretend as though I had already succeeded.
When he got home last night, he asked me how it went as soon as he walked in the door. I never meant to exaggerate, but when I saw how full of hope he was, I told him that I had passed with laudatur. Since he didn’t know what that meant, I told him it was the best grade you could get. Then I showed him the exam book. I hadn’t actually intended to, but I did it to see him genuinely happy for once. That day, I had sat around leafing through the empty book. I had a pen with me, and just for the hell of it, I wrote Cum laudatur and then the professor’s name. Since I didn’t have anything special to do, I put a little stamp together and placed it below his name. Just for the hell of it. My joke made Papa very happy, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was just a joke. Besides, it amused me a little to see how believable I could make the forgery. After all, if a single confession would upset him, and if you don’t hurt someone with a little gag but instead make him happy, then there’s no reason at all to expose the joke as a joke. And there is just as little reason to be sorry about it.
It’s midnight.
He just got home and walked straight into my room. I had a bad feeling. I don’t really know why. He said it as soon as he came in. I’ve been expecting it for a while now, but it was still a shock to hear it. He said that his fiancée is coming to visit us tomorrow evening around nine. She worked till nine, which is why she couldn’t come earlier. I didn’t say anything. Then he asked whether I had a problem with it. I said that I did. But once I said it, I was sorry I did, and he must have noticed because he said, Invite Berit, too. But he didn’t know why I suddenly regretted it. Only I know why. I’ve known for a long time now that it’s necessary for her to come. She has to find out the truth, and I’ll be the one to tell it to her. Once she has learned the truth, she will never come back. Nor will she want to see Papa anymore. So she has to come for Mama’s sake.
The other night when Berit and I were at the cinema, I jokingly said as we were leaving, I’m the Avenger. We had just watched a film by that name. I didn’t mean to frighten Berit, but she got very scared. She was so scared that she told me why she has been so worried about me lately. She’s afraid I’m going to hurt the other woman as soon as I find out who she is.
But I know who she is! She’s a little cashier at a dirty little theater a few blocks from here. I’ve seen her a few times. She looks very plain, at least compared to Mama. She has to be very old, though she likes dressing as if she were very young. She has a hoarse voice, probably from smoking. I’ve heard her voice a few times over the phone. You see, I once found a scrap of paper on the table with a phone number on it. Just for the hell of it, I dialed it and she was the one who answered. Since then, I’ve called her a few times at a quarter past nine. That’s when she closes the register. That’s also when Papa usually arrives with the dog to pick her up. She always gets impatient when I call so late, and it amuses me to keep her from leaving. I also like to hear her calling out “Hello” without saying anything back to her. Her name is Gun Berg. That name is much too young for such an old woman.
So I know very well who she is, and I have even called her. But otherwise I haven’t caused her any harm. But tomorrow I will tell her the truth, and I’m looking forward to her visit. For Mama’s sake, I’ve wanted it for a long time now. That’s why I told Papa he could bring her here. But there will be five at the table, I said. Five? he asked. I’m bringing Mama with me, I responded. Then he told me that I should be sensible. I retorted that I would be as sensible as I could. Then he said I was capable of being very sensible.
Now I’m alone again. Tonight I’ll stay awake and think about what I’m going to say. I’ve been thinking about it for several nights now. I bought a candle, too, which is why I’ve been waiting for her to come.
But it’s late now, Bengt, so . . . good night.
Your Friend
Tea for Four or Five
SOMETIMES WE DO SOMETHING without knowing why. And once it is done, we are surprised that we did it. Or sometimes we are even afraid. But from the surprise, as well as the fear, comes an explanation. It has to come. Because the unexplained fills us with a dread that we cannot tolerate for long. But by the time the explanation is thought of or uttered, we have already forgotten that it came after—that the deed came first. If we’re never reminded of it, because the act corresponds with the explanation, then everything is fine. But sometimes everything is not fine. This is when it suddenly occurs to us that the explanation given to us is mendacious, and that after the consequences of our action become clear to us in light of all that has happened, the explanation reveals itself as a distortion of our true intentions. This is when we experience real dread, because real dread is being unable to rely on your thoughts on their own. Real dread is knowing that your thoughts lie to you, even when you think you are being honest.