“Yummy,” said Ann, and smiled at him, but she felt a sting of irritation at being reminded of her mother, even if that had not been his intention.
Her parents constantly gave her a bad conscience. It was now over a year since she visited them in Ödeshög. Her mother’s lamentations were becoming increasingly intense. Although she usually phoned once a week, Ann seldom called, and there were basically three recurring subjects: her father’s increasing senility, Ann’s lack of interest in her parents, and last but not least illnesses and death within their shrinking circle of acquaintances.
Ann sometimes caught herself loathing her own mother. Her father was out of range. He was muddled, had been for a long time, and Ann could no longer be angry at him. Why she felt such antipathy and sometimes outright hatred she did not understand. Her upbringing had not been any more difficult than other people’s and she had fled Ödeshög as soon as it was at all possible.
Perhaps it was the lack of joy? Life stood out as so heavy for her mother, as if positive ideas and cheerful memories were forbidden, almost unseemly. For her there was always something negative to latch onto. Ann realized that it was not easy for her mother, caring for a senile person was no story with a happy ending, even if her father was not aggressive like many others with dementia. But her mother’s downhearted attitude toward life went back many years, long before her husband became confused and sick.
One reason for Ann’s irritation and disinclination to visit her parents was that she recognized herself in her mother. It was hard to admit that to herself but, yes, she too had this trait of despondency and pessimism inside her. An inheritance she would have happily done without.
She did everything to struggle against this personality trait, kept an eye on herself, was aware of the signals for approaching melancholy and destructiveness. It was a struggle, but for the first time in many years she felt she had a proper advantage in the match. Erik, young as he was, was a great help. She did not understand how she would have managed through the difficult time without him. And now Anders, who loved her. She wanted to believe that, she wanted to believe in his quiet assurances.
Perhaps she was the one who could break his scourge. She thought so sometimes, when the helpless, tormented face he had worn since his return gave way to the smile that made him beautiful, charming, and active.
For active he could be, both when they made love and when he discussed the state of things in the world.
She shook off these thoughts. Erik had given up and left the kitchen without her noticing. Ann told about the Nobel Prize winner, tried to give a picture of the block in Kåbo where everyone seemed to be lying in wait for each other, and emphasized the comic aspects.
Anders sat down across from her. She pulled his hand to her, picked off a bit of onion skin that was caught on his wrist, and then looked him in the eyes.
“I like you very much,” she said.
He smiled and got that embarrassed look. She held his eyes, did not let him get away. Now she was strong.
“I like you,” she repeated.
He swallowed. Say that you love me, she thought. Now she was weak. A minute passed.
“The cabbage rolls,” he said, pulling back his hand and getting up from the table.
Ann felt a chill spread through her body, the ice-cold of uncertainty that mercilessly brushed aside joy and hope.
But before Anders put the pan in the oven he burrowed his face into the back of her neck and hair and put his arms around her. He mumbled something that Ann could not make out. But that didn’t matter.
Twenty-four
Liisa Lehtonen and Birgitta von Ohler had returned to finish the wallpapering. Agnes had to admit that it seemed to be turning out very nicely. The hall looked more inviting. The professor had mumbled something inaudible before he disappeared into his study. The three women took that as approval.
Liisa was the one in command, she was happy to give orders and took for granted that her opinion should prevail as indisputable. It was a character trait that Agnes had great difficulty with. She was actually accustomed to the professor’s manner, but thought it was somehow unbecoming in a woman who in such an obvious, almost physical way took the initiative and kept it.
Perhaps it was Birgitta’s complaisance that irritated Agnes most. Birgitta who otherwise held her ground well simply acted wishy-washy, though for what reason Agnes did not comprehend. The Finnish woman was not that terrifying. Besides, it was Ohler’s house, so she ought to be a little more respectful, Agnes thought.
She sat down on a chair and listened distractedly to the discussion-perhaps they should take the opportunity to move the furniture in the hall too? She was tired. The night had been difficult. The aches in her hip had tormented her. In addition, the thoughts about the gardener circled like a restless nocturnal bird in her head. The statement he had made about time-that it lives a life of its own and that you cannot rule over it-had shaken her up considerably. It was more than sixty years since she last heard that expression. It was Anna who said it. She often used it to describe how small people were; in any case that was how Agnes understood it, that people did not rule over their own fate.
Her father had heard her say it once and got angry. For him such vague expressions of human wisdom were completely reprehensible. It was God who ruled in everything, over time as well, therefore it could not live a life of its own. It was perhaps due to her father’s fury that Agnes remembered the whole thing so well. Where Anna got the expression from she did not know. Perhaps from Viola, who was full of proverbs and sayings? Or perhaps from Viktor?
It might be a coincidence that the gardener used that particular expression. But Agnes did not believe in chance. Perhaps he was from Roslagen, even Gräsö? Or perhaps the saying was more common than she had thought. Speculating about time was a very human trait.
No matter how that was, she felt ill at ease. Was it the memory of Aron’s indignation, her terror in the presence of his anger and God’s wrath that called forth the uneasiness? He had thundered in her childhood, not least over Anna’s lack of faith, how she deserted the Ohler house and thereby brought shame on her parental home.
Thoughts of Anna had always come and gone. The absence and uncertainty had often been hard to endure. She and Greta never discussed the fact that they had not heard from their sister in more than half a century. What had become of her? Was she still alive?
Could she go over again and ask the gardener a direct question, whether he possibly came from Gräsö? No, that would seem impertinent. It would be better to inquire through Associate Professor Johansson. She knew him and harbored great respect for him. He was upright, as her father Aron would have said. The associate professor would take her question the right way, not as a sign of curiosity or desire to snoop.
“What do you think, Agnes?” the Finnish woman interrupted her musings.
Liisa Lehtonen was standing by the old dresser, measuring its width with her hands.
“It will be fine,” said Agnes. “You decide.”
She got up laboriously from the chair.
“I think I have to go down to the pharmacy,” she said.
Birgitta looked at her inquisitively.
“The professor’s prescription,” Agnes clarified. “And then I need a few pain tablets.”
“Do you have aches?”
Yes, what do you think, was on the tip of Agnes’s tongue but she only nodded. Birgitta came up to her. She was dressed in a yellow overall and had tied a scarf around her head.
She put on a worried face, but Agnes suspected that Birgitta mostly saw an opportunity to interrupt Liisa’s lesson in interior decorating.