Would you mind holding the cake for a moment?
But it’s already too late. His triumph has died out. Gun looks at him and smiles, smiles and says:
Are you tired, Bengt?
He doesn’t manage to avert his eyes, so he’s able to see that when she looks at him her face is younger—not young but somewhat younger. Because of this, his hands tremble some more when he hands the cake to his father. And when he tries to hide the shaking, it only makes it worse.
As they eat the cake, drink the last of the tea, and sip the wine, the candle continues to burn. It burns all alone because nobody is looking at it. And because nobody acknowledges it, it’s no longer the mother’s candle. It’s just an ordinary candle, purchased one day at a department store. But to transform the candle and to break the silence, which is deep and dangerous, Berit bangs her cup on her saucer and says:
What a nice candle. I haven’t seen such a nice candle since the funeral.
She didn’t mean any harm by what she said. She never means any harm. She only meant well, only wanted to get Bengt to see how much she cares for him, how much she is on his side, for she was suddenly struck with a curiously emetic certainty of what the most important thing is: to make sure, above all else, that he is not alone. Even so, it’s as if he didn’t understand what she said, because as soon as she says it, he glares at her. And the horrifying thing is that his eyes are not grateful. The horrifying thing is that they don’t understand a thing. The horrifying thing is when his mouth sharply asks:
Berit, what kind of accent is that?
But for him it’s horrifying because he knows she didn’t say it with an accent. So he hopes she won’t answer. And she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything for a very long time, not until everything they have to drink is drunk and everything they have to eat is eaten. She gets up quickly and says with a lonely, high-pitched voice:
I suppose I’ll clear the table.
Then the son blows out the candle because he doesn’t want to burn himself again. In silence, Berit gathers up the cups and the plates. But the silence seems to be too deep for the father, too. He gets up quickly and the moment he stands up, all three of them know that he is now the Comedian who will entertain them, the one we see at every party, the one who would travel the world to be funny at all costs.
He pushes Berit back in her chair because the Comedian is here and he is going to clear the table in the world’s funniest away. He rattles some spoons and makes a racket with cups and clinks the glasses because the point for the entertainer and the ones who are watching in fear is that it should never get quiet. The thing that makes the loudest noise, however, is in his pocket. He had anticipated it would get so quiet that he would have to entertain, so he asked a coworker named Fritz, who entertains all the time, what the funniest thing to do is. Then Fritz gave him something that would really please his company. It’s nothing special, just a piece of metal, in fact. You have to drop it for it to be interesting, and when you drop it, it sounds like someone spilling a load of porcelain from a tray.
So he puts it on the tray. To make them laugh even more, he then puts only three cups on it and walks into the kitchen. He purposely stumbles on the threshold as he drops the piece of metal. They find it very funny, and when he comes back with the empty tray, he drops that, too. They think it’s very amusing the first three times, but by the tenth time they are slightly bored. By then, Berit is the only one who laughs.
Bengt does not laugh. Because when the father goes into the kitchen with the last of the wine glasses and, as usual, trips on the threshold, he suddenly notices something strange about the father’s back: he doesn’t recognize it. That’s the peculiar thing, and since he doesn’t recognize it, he thinks, Is this man really my father? Is my father a clown?
As soon as he thinks it he is sorry, because it hurts to think about his father that way. Feeling guilty, he happens to look at Gun—not intentionally but inadvertently. Just then, the piece of metal falls on the hallway floor again and he sees what she is thinking. She is smiling with that strained smile one has when the one you love is making a fool of himself, smiling and thinking, Can that man be my future husband? Then she senses someone is watching her, and when she sees that it’s Bengt, she smiles at him. But in his confusion, he sees that this smile is different. Confused, he smiles back. He knows that he shouldn’t, knows what he ought to do instead. Be stern and harsh and don’t smile. But even if Judas were to drink tea and port wine with us, we would smile back at him, too, if he smiled at us. But then we would leave the room.
Therefore, when the father comes back, the son says that he and Berit have to leave. The father is happier than he lets on because if they didn’t leave, he would have to continue entertaining them. In which case, he would put the candlestick on the tray and be forced to let it fall. He is happy to be absolved.
I suppose you won’t be out long, he says as he stuffs the piece of metal in his pocket.
The son hears the joy in his voice and replies:
Well, I’m just taking Berit home. And we’ll probably walk, at least to Katarina Elevator.
Before they leave, Gun breaks off a rose and sticks it in Bengt’s buttonhole. She stands close to him and her perfume fills his nose and mouth. The father is standing with the tray under his arm and thinks it’s a lovely gesture. That’s how a mother should behave. He wants the two of them to like each other, like a mother cares for a son and a son his mother. So he’s irritated when Gun extends her hand and Bengt doesn’t take it. To avoid shaking her hand, he pretends to be looking for some matches. But the father still forgives him because he is leaving.
Once Berit and Bengt reach the street, Bengt has a headache, so he wants Berit to take the streetcar. Nowadays, he always lets her take the streetcar, but he always gives her money for it. Bengt thinks the streetcar stop is too far, but Berit thinks it isn’t far enough.
You should have shaken her hand, Berit says.
Then Bengt lets go of her arm, but Berit takes it again because she’s afraid of leaving him alone right now.
I don’t want to shake her hand, he says. I never will.
Then, Bengt, she asks, curiously relieved, why did you take the flower?
At once, Bengt rips the flower from his buttonhole and chucks it into the gutter. He also tears his arm away.
On his way back, he checks to see whether the flower is still there. It is, but someone has stepped on it in the dark. His headache has subsided, but now he feels a strange wave of heat in his body that he usually only feels after certain dreams, a heat wrapped in a thin layer of fear. Earlier, he experienced something strange. He tried to forget it immediately, but since it wouldn’t let itself be forgotten, it was part of the reason why he left the apartment. They were still sitting at the table. Gun suddenly tells his father that she must have a rock in her shoe, so he kneels down at her feet— clumsily yet well meaning. At once, the son notices that the curtain is no longer drawn, so he gets up and pulls it across. He stays by the door for a while, straightening some of the rings that had gotten tangled up together. When he turns around, the father has just taken off Gun’s shoe. Now he is holding her foot in his hands. Then the son is suddenly shocked when he realizes that he recognizes the foot, that he has seen exactly the same foot once before in his life. Even though it’s a preposterous thought and a preposterous feeling, shivers run down his spine.
Now when he tries entering the dark building, another strange thing happens. He is already standing with his keys in his hand when he suddenly puts them back in his pocket. For he feels he can’t go inside. The feeling is so overwhelming that he starts shivering again. Instead, he walks across the street and stands in the doorway next to the butcher shop. A thin veil of rain separates him and the building they live in. The night’s dark clouds spill over the roof, thick as pitch. I have to wait until she’s gone, he thinks and looks up at the window. The candle is burning in the other room, and the windows are closed. He creeps farther into the darkness of the doorway and prepares to wait a while. But, standing in the doorway, he is struck by something else that had just happened, something extraordinary.