Bengt! This is what my purity has done. I must finally confess to you that something horrible has happened, something I can only endure by analyzing it to death, until I’m able to understand something of its nature. The same night of the phone call, though a bit later, something downright terrifying happened. I was still lying in the daybed. I wasn’t asleep, but I wasn’t really awake either—I think I was on the verge of falling asleep. I heard a whisper waft through the room, a whisper that I immediately recognized as my mother’s. “No, no, not now,” the whisper said, “Bengt can hear.” That was all. But in reality it was a lot. You see, in the same moment the whisper faded, I remembered that I had heard my mother whisper these very words once before. And I suddenly remembered when. I must have been about twelve then. I was home sick with the measles, the shade was drawn, and I was terribly bored. The doorbell rang the first day I stayed home, and I heard Mama greeting someone I didn’t recognize at the entrance. It was a man, and she called him Erik. They were talking in the kitchen, but then they went into the other room together. The daybed was where it is now, against the wall on the other side of my room, and I could tell they were sitting on it. They were talking quietly, and even though my door was ajar I couldn’t hear what it was about. Then the whisper came out of nowhere. There was something I was absolutely not allowed to hear, but Mama must have gauged incorrectly because it was actually her whispering that was clearer than anything else she had said before. “No, no, not now,” she whispered, “Bengt can hear.” At once, this Erik character left and didn’t come back again. The whole time I lay sick in bed I pondered over what it was I wasn’t supposed to hear. I could have simply asked Mama about it, but I instinctively suspected that she wouldn’t care to answer or that she would tell me something that wasn’t true. Then school and friends came along, and I forgot about the whole thing. It had never reappeared from out of the blue until this night. I have to confess that my forgotten memory stunned me, of course, now since I fully understand the significance of what really happened. What I wasn’t supposed to find out was, quite simply, that this stranger Erik was my mother’s lover. It was horrible to catch such an unexpected glimpse of a relationship that I was completely unaware of my whole life. To make sure that my memory wasn’t deceiving me, I very cautiously asked Papa the following day if our family had ever known someone named Erik. He immediately answered that he used to have a coworker named Erik. He had since moved to Södertälje and disappeared. He was incidentally quite fond of Alma, he said after a while, but she always kept a tight rein on him. Later still, he added, Though, you never know.
Though, you never know. I knew this last part was merely the bait he wanted me to bite—a weak, shameless attempt on his part to justify himself and his actions. In reality, I could tell that he was firmly convinced that Mama never betrayed him with Erik. Still, I have to admit that he’s right. You never know. Isn’t it terrible, Bengt, that no one ever knows? You can’t trust anyone. The one you trust most, the one you have loved the most, even she can betray you. Your own mother can say to you, I’m going out shopping now, Bengt, when she’s really going out to catch a cab to her lover. Your own fiancée can say, I have a headache tonight, Bengt, and can’t go out, while another man is in her room, lying on a made-up sofa. There’s only one person in the whole world you can trust, and that person is you. It’s a horrible thought, but once you’ve thought about it for a while, you realize that it’s also a soothing thought. As long as you can trust yourself, then you have nothing to lose. It’s only when you discover that you can’t trust yourself that all is lost. Therefore, it’s necessary to be trustworthy to yourself at every moment, to not let you trick yourself. That’s why it’s so important to be aware of your own actions, and the only way you can do that is to analyze every last ounce of your emotions and your deeds.
This is what I have done, and of course I’ve realized that what happened cannot in any way minimize the shamefulness of my father’s and his fiancée’s relationship. It is and remains a disgraceful act that betrays another person, even if that person has also betrayed. On the other hand, it obviously can’t help changing my feelings about Mama to some degree. Of course, I miss her all the time, but a tinge of doubt has crept in, dulling the intensity of my mourning and diminishing its permanence. It’s clear that I can no longer miss her with the same sadness now that I know that even her purity, the quality I loved most about her, was not untainted.
The important thing is that I’m no longer obligated to mourn my mother. Having suddenly discovered that she committed the same act that I’ve been despising Papa for, it’s obvious that my innocent grief has been tainted. I don’t enjoy mourning for the sake of mourning. I’m no self-tormentor, after all. Now I understand that the revenge I’ve felt obligated to carry out against Papa and his fiancée on behalf of Mama is really for myself, because the virtue I cherish most, purity, has been so ruthlessly violated.
Furthermore, what has happened has made me suspicious of everything and everyone. I don’t even trust Berit anymore. The other night I told her that no one could trust anyone, not even your own mother. We were sitting on a bench in Djurgården.Instead of starting to cry, as I had expected, she became surprisingly angry. She said, Why do you constantly defend her? She meant I was defending Papa’s fiancée. It was so absurd that I could’ve laughed. Lately, I’ve noticed that Berit criticizes her all the time, as if she were trying to divert attention from herself. I’m keen enough of an observer to be able to separate embellishment from the truth. After recently seeing Berit to her door one evening, I noticed that she lingered in the window, as if checking to see if I had really left. A little later, I called her for no particular reason and told her, also for no reason at all, that I saw how painstakingly she had checked to see if the coast was really clear. She started crying, and it relieved me a little.
Later.
Papa just got home. He’s been walking back and forth in the other room all night, so I knew he had something to say, but he couldn’t come out with it. Finally, he said it. His fiancée wants us to spend Midsummer in a cottage she’s borrowing in the archipelago. I surprised Papa by answering yes. My answer didn’t surprise me at all. I know now that if I’m ever going to have the chance to take revenge on her, it has to happen when we’re together because then she won’t be able to be evasive or hang up the phone—which could happen if I were to write her or tell her what I think over the phone. Besides, the cottage is supposedly on a small island, which makes my job much easier. I could tell Papa was happy I said yes. Based on the things he’s been saying lately, he still seems to hope that I’ll come to think of her as a mother one day. He is so naïve. I hoped you would be sensible, he said afterward. We’ll see how sensible I am, I answered. Then he stroked my hair. Then I heard him leave and call someone. Evidently, she must have a telephone at home, even though I couldn’t find her number in the phone book. And I wouldn’t be surprised if she were divorced, perhaps several times. So the number is probably in her husband’s name. I can’t describe how happy I am that my revenge is finally within reach. On Midsummer, I won’t leave a single word I’m going to say to her and Papa to chance. There’s still a month to go, but I’ll use it wisely!