Petter thinks about this and says that the important thing for him is that they’re friendly to his face, it creates goodwill and makes all transactions so much easier. “Of course I realize that there will be occasional confrontations, but then it’s good to remember that their faces are normally so friendly. For the time being, until I’ve got a clear picture of the battle lines, I’m going to assume that all the friendliness is genuine.” He stops and adds, abashedly, “Call me naive if you like, but I really believe it is. The same way my friendliness is genuine. What would I have to gain by ingratiating myself with a lot of grinning?”
“Quite a bit,” Fredrik thinks, but he says, “It’s not a question of their ingratiating themselves. It’s more about a frightening desire to question. To object. Delay. Resist. Obstruct. Stall. Conspire. Betray. Deny. As if all of that was so much fun that it’s impossible to resist—practically the meaning of existence. Even the ones you’ve come to know as wise, temperate, experienced, fair-minded people. Even them.”
They stand looking out to sea, in the general direction of Petter’s islands to the south, not visible now but sometimes appearing above the horizon like a mirage on a hot summer day. He struggles with the thought that Fredrik wants to spoil his devotion to his congregation, which in Petter’s case includes even their weaknesses. It also occurs to him that Fredrik’s remarks are not general observations but rather the result of personal disappointment, maybe even bitterness. He smiles. “It sounds like you speak from experience.”
In the face of such sunniness, the priest of Mellom melts once again. He smiles back and suggests that they find somewhere pleasant to sit down—out of the wind, with a good view and a nice rock ledge to sit on.
And then he says, “As you’ve certainly noticed, we’re alone out here. No fatherly dean to ask for advice. We have the theological authority, although we’re young and green, whereas the old men are polished politicians to a man. You can’t let them see you’re inexperienced. You’re the one who can read canon law. You’re the one who understands the instructions from the cathedral chapter. You’re the one responsible for seeing that the rules and decrees are followed. If you show any uncertainty, they’re like wolves. And if you give as good as you get, then suddenly they present a united front.”
Petter waits. It’s about Fredrik’s parsonage. In winter so cold it’s almost uninhabitable. The curtains blow right out into the room. The rag rugs ripple in the draft through the floor. Raspberry bushes are forcing their way between the floorboards in the parlour. The tile stoves have been condemned, the brickwork is cracked. The water buckets are covered with ice in the mornings. The children would be better off in an igloo, which would keep them warmer even in the Arctic. But the crux of the matter is this: the decision was made to build a new parsonage back in his predecessor’s days. The place was chosen, and the plans were drawn. The church’s Central Fund came through with its usual contribution. The minutes of the parish committee show a decision to provide the congregation’s share in the form of lumber and labour. But the execution of this decision is a joke! Nothing has been done. Nothing is being done. And because the decision’s been made to build a new parsonage, no repairs can be made to the old one. Every meeting of the committee is a battle. Every meeting ends with postponement. If he weren’t their opponent, he’d be impressed by their delaying tactics. Such calculated infamy! Such insinuations! The members of the congregation have to pay for their own labour and materials when they build a house, but the priest wants to put others to work so he can lounge about in the finest house on the island.
“It’s not about me!” he says. “I mean, it’s not my house they’re going to build, it’s the property of the parish and it will benefit every priest who comes here. They refuse to see that.”
“Goodness!” says Petter. “I haven’t even given a thought to next winter. We’re going to have a draughty time of it ourselves.”
“A decision has been made. It’s right there in the minutes. There are letters from the church’s Central Fund. It’s my official duty to see that a new parsonage is built. I’m neglecting my duty if nothing happens. I mean to stay here until the new parsonage is almost finished, then we’re going to move. They’ll realize it wasn’t for my own sake I pushed the project through.”
Petter greatly admires all this determination. “Moving is the last thing I have in mind,” he says. “I’m only afraid that someone else will go after the post before I’ve taken my exams and can apply to be permanent vicar myself.”
That sends Fredrik Berg into gales of laughter. “And who would that be? They haven’t had anything but temporary pastors out there since I don’t when.”
“But there must be other people like me,” Petter says. “I won’t rest easy until I’ve got the paper in my hand. But how I’m going to have time to study with everything we have going on is more than I can imagine. I’m only one person, although I need to be at least two.”
Fredrik Berg is also studying for his pastoral examination— not, however, so he can stay but so that he can find a post somewhere else. They agree that the paper is a good thing to have, because it gives them more room to manoeuvre. But they also agree that it’s a real nuisance having to prepare for yet one more examination, and pull together a dissertation, while at the same time struggling on as a lonely priest in a remote parish where you can only laugh hollowly at the thought of finding textbooks in the local library. Those books are going to cost a pretty penny, but the lack of time is even worse.
“Most of all, the lack of blocks of uninterrupted time,” Petter expands on the theme. “Of course I’m used to that, but somehow I thought it would be different when you controlled your own time. How dumb can you get?”
Fredrik Berg sounds resigned. “You said you had only one child so far. We have three. And we’re careful not to have more. I never thought, either, that life could be so stressful. Wife and kids is the most natural thing in the world, I thought. Human beings have lived in families for thousands of years, you think the routine is built in. I simply couldn’t imagine how chaotic it would be.”
Petter laughs, what else can he do?
Fredrik Berg looks happy, too, but he means what he says. Petter has a moment of terror—what if the demands on his time never lessen but only increase? How will he deal with it? But on the other hand, it’s different with Mona and Sanna. There’s no one quite like Mona. And he couldn’t live without Sanna. There’s no chaos with them. An oasis. Life. Quickly he returns to the subject of the pastoral examinations, picks up the discussion of the heavy volumes they have to plough through, the dissertation topics they’re considering.
“It frightens me,” Petter says, “that out here, theology seems less relevant than a lot of other academic subjects.” Fredrik agrees. Amazingly little of what they studied is of any use to them in real life. For their work as pastors, they should instead have studied finance and had someone really good teach them how to manage with minimal resources.
“Like Mona,” says Petter with a full heart. “She studied home economics and keeps books that take my breath away. When it comes time to discuss the annual budget in the vestry, I’m going to ask her for advice. And of course I’ll look at what they’ve done before.”
“They’ll like that,” Fredrik says. “If you try anything new, your life won’t be worth living.”
“Yes, I know,” Petter says. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m no reactionary, but in this case I really don’t think it’s necessarily an improvement to replace customs that have evolved over a long time and worked out their kinks with new ones, just because they’re modern and up-to-date.” He looks a little embarrassed and goes on. “Take the liturgy, for example. It’s taken a thousand years to polish it, and I doubt I could come up with something better in an afternoon.”