When the bird stops squawking, Berit is also a little happy, but then Gun starts to sing. She sings softly as Bengt whistles softly and drums softly, too. He doesn’t notice it until a while later, and then, almost ashamed, he stops. He wipes some water off the can and lights a wet cigarette. He looks over his father’s shoulder and glances at Gun. She glances back at him and suddenly stops singing, but the song isn’t over yet. Then the father turns around and drops his heavy hand on her shoulder. She is wearing a white, luminous blouse.
Sing, he says.
But she doesn’t sing. She forgets the melody and the words, too. She just wants them to keep rowing. When Bengt looks at Berit, she is sitting with the wet oar on her lap and crying a little. She’s probably crying because the song was so beautiful—at least he thought it was. But he, too, thought Gun should have stopped singing, although he doesn’t know why. The father’s hand is still on Gun’s shoulder, causing her to gradually sink down, and it’s probably making her dirty, too.
Let’s go now, she says.
Just then, Bengt suddenly has the urge to row. Men in small boats are only too happy to row in the company of women, and Bengt wants to row for Berit. He takes her by the shoulder, not rough or violently, though he can feel through the rough material of her coat that her shoulder is trembling. She herself is not afraid, but her shoulder is. It quivers like a small animal.
Don’t be cold, he says consolingly. Stand up. We’re almost there.
But this is precisely when her chills begin. When Bengt takes a step toward the father, the boat cants, a basket starts sliding across the floor, Gun cries out, though subdued and mildly, and the father lets go of her shoulder to grab the oars.
I want to row, Bengt says and looks into his eyes.
But the father doesn’t want to let go of the oars. The boat is aslant, and a small suitcase is tipping over. Bengt lifts one of the oars over the gunwale, which frees Berit’s lap and she can put her hands there now. The bird starts shrieking again over the tall island. Then the oar sinks, sinks until it’s almost hanging straight down from the gunwale. On one side, the water is rising over the planks. It seems like a lot, and the case of liquor gets wet.
Are you crazy? the father asks. Do you want us to tip over?
Bengt looks down at the oar. It sparkles as the blade turns. Then he looks at Gun and sees her hand, more than anything else, stroking the red collar. He has never seen her touch his father before, so he raises the oar again.
Let Bengt row, Gun whispers; you shouldn’t row the whole way.
So the father makes his way aft, and Bengt sits down to row. When the oars touch the water, he feels how heavy the boat is. The shore isn’t as far as he presumed either. In fact, he can still see the bus with its bright headlights pulling away from the large concrete jetty. But the long island has spun around and the glinting of its white rocks has gone out. The father puts his arm around Berit’s shoulder. Her shoulder is tremulous, but she doesn’t dare break free. Only Bengt notices this. The father’s arm is still there.
Slowly, the boat takes off. A little water still splashes inside every time the oars plunge into the sea, so much that Berit and the father are completely wet, but they don’t say anything. The father merely squeezes the son’s fiancée a little, just a little closer to him. He never noticed before how nice her shoulders feel. Bengt doesn’t really care and only reacts to it in fun. So to get back at the father, he mischievously leans back a little. This allows him to make more powerful strokes with the oars. But it also allows him to feel Gun’s knees digging into his back. She doesn’t move them away, even though she ought to know that he needs more room to row as fast as he is going. He becomes a little irritated by this, so he takes up even more space. The wake is getting rough and deep, and the depressions left by the oars are filled with sparkling foam. Above them, the sky is getting even brighter, but over the water’s black surface and a few feet above that it’s twilight. Now even the sailboat stops shining, and the mast is long gone. But underneath her black hair, Berit’s face is completely white.
Bengt turns around to see how much farther they have to go. At first, he’s unable to see it. At first, he can only see Gun’s shoulder. A shadow from the father’s hand lingers on her white blouse. After the shadow, he sees the island. He also sees the cottage. It’s by the narrow inlet, whose sand is dazzling through the dusk.
Are you tired, Bengt? Gun asks. Not reproachfully, but very gently. Now he needs to show her that he isn’t tired. Needs to show her that he is just as strong as his father. Needs her to see that he has enough strength to do what he has to do. She needs to know. Then she needs to be afraid. Soon, they will both be afraid, perhaps all three of them. He’s the only one who won’t be afraid, because he knows what he’s going to do. He whips the water with the oars, sending the ivory foam flying into the boat.
It’s just a little windy, he says while panting.
But it’s still calm, warm, and serene—and motionless. When he says it, however, no one smiles. Then Gun starts singing again but stops as soon as they approach the shore. She takes off her shoes, splashes into the water with her bare white legs, and pulls the boat up as far as she can, while chatting a little about this and that.
They are exhausted after carrying everything into the house. Bengt, for that reason, is sweaty, although Berit is cold. They unlatch the shutters and open the windows up to the night. They have put everything on the floor in the main room. Now they are sitting around the open fireplace and the charred fire for a while. They grab some beer and sandwiches and sit down to eat. Berit doesn’t want any beer, so the father is nice and goes on his own to get her some water from the can. Then he thinks it would be nice to have a nip. He opens a bottle and mixes his beer pretty strongly with some aquavit. Then Gun holds out her glass and gets a dash, too. But Bengt suddenly changes his mind and doesn’t want any at all. He is suddenly down, and he can’t help it.
You two can drink, he says.
After he says it, he realizes he said it very loudly. However, no one drinks anymore. Then the father catches something in his throat and spits it into the extinguished fire, causing Bengt to cringe. Now it’s time to make up their beds. There are two alcoves at opposite sides of the main room, one with a sliding door separating them. Both alcoves have bunks fixed to the walls. Bengt and Berit will sleep in the outermost alcove. Berit wants the upper bunk, says that sleeping too close to the ground gives her a headache. Then Bengt gives her the lower one. As they spread the sheets over the cold mattresses, he hears Gun laughing from the inner alcove. He thinks it’s an ugly laugh. He walks out of his alcove, but he still can’t hear what she’s laughing at.
They wash up in the little inlet directly in front of the cottage. Berit is the only one who goes straight to bed without washing. She isn’t feeling well. And to avoid freezing, she spreads her black coat over herself. The other three wade into the water. Gun goes out the farthest. The father is standing closest to her and splashes water on her legs. He has rolled his pant legs up to his knees, but Bengt has hardly rolled his up at all. He has absolutely no desire to go too far out into the water. The father and Gun have the soap. After the father rinses his face, he blows his nose into the water. Bengt cringes once again. Soon there are white rings of foam around them. The rings are resting perfectly still on top of the water and twinkle a little before they dissolve. After Gun pulls up her hair, she abruptly takes off her blouse and tosses it to the father. Bengt goes back inside.