The Best Intentions (4 page)

So Johan Åkerblom is resting. His Protestant heritage forbids him to get undressed and rest his back and aching hip in his comfortable bed. So he sits in his big reading armchair in an elegant short smoking jacket and with a scholarly treatise within reach. He has only pushed his glasses up onto his forehead. His afternoon pipe, the tobacco jar, and the little glass of absinthe are on the table by his chair. His light room faces the courtyard, hence the quietness. A tall tree keeps the sun off the window and casts flickering green shadows on bookshelves and pictures with Italian motifs on the walls. A solemn grandfather clock measures the time with courteous ticks. A light-colored patterned oriental carpet covers the floorboards.

Anyhow, the door now opens, very gently, and the main character of this story comes in quietly. Anna is just twenty, small and neat but well developed, with long brown hair with a reddish tinge at the ends, warm brown eyes, finely shaped nose, a sensually friendly mouth, and childishly rounded cheeks. She is wearing an expensive lace blouse, a broad belt around her narrow waist, and a long tailored skirt in light woolen material. She is wearing no jewelry except a pair of light diamond earrings. Her boots are fashionably high heeled.

That's what she looks like — Anna, my mother, whose name was really Karin. I neither want to nor am able to explain why I have this need to mix up and change names: my father's name was Erik, and my maternal grandmother's was Anna. Oh, well, perhaps it's all part of the game — and a game it is.

Anna:
Are you asleep, Papa?

Johan Åkerblom:
Of course. I'm asleep and dreaming I'm asleep. And
I'm dreaming I'm sitting in my study asleep. Then the door opens and in comes the most beautiful — the most loving — the most affectionate of them all. And she comes over to me and blows on me with her gentle breath and says, Are you asleep, Papa? Then I dream I'm thinking: this must be what it's like to wake up in paradise.

Anna:
You should take your glasses off when you're resting, Papa. Otherwise they might fall on the floor and break.

Johan Åkerblom
: You're just as would-be-wise as your mother. You should know by now that with me everything is intentional and well thought out. If I push my glasses up onto my forehead when I take my little midday rest, that gives the impression of a creative state with my eyes closed. No one —except you — may surprise Johan Åkerblom with dropped jaw and open mouth.

Anna:
Oh, no. You were sleeping correctly and upright and under control. As always.

Johan Åkerblom
: Well, what do you want, dear heart?

Anna:
Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. May I have a sip of your absinthe, by the way? They say it's so depraved. Just think how Christian Krohg and all those brilliant Norwegians went mad about absinthe. (Takes a sip.) If you're going to drink absinthe, then I suppose you have to be just a little depraved to be capable of drinking absinthe. Sit still now, Papa, and I'll fix your hair so you look nice.

Anna disappears into an inner room and comes back at once with a hairbrush and comb.

Johan Åkerblom
: Weren't we going to have a guest to dinner? Wasn't Ernst . . . ?

Anna:
It's a friend of Ernst's. They sing in the Academic Choir together. Ernst says he's studying theology.

Johan Åkerblom
: What? Is he going to be a minister? Does our Ernst mix with an apprentice priest — the end of the world must be nigh!

Anna:
Don't be silly, Papa. Ernst says this boy — I've forgotten his name — is awfully nice, rather shy but awfully nice. He's also said to be terribly poor. But handsome.

Johan Åkerblom:
Oh, yes, yes, now I understand this unexpected interest in your brother's latest friend.

Anna:
Papa, you're being silly again. I'm going to marry my brother Ernst. He is the Only One for me.

Johan Åkerblom:
But what about me?

Anna:
Oh, you, too, Papa of course! Hasn't Mama told you to trim those tufts of hair in your ears? How can anyone hear with so much hair in his ears?

Johan Åkerblom
: They're particularly fine, so-called hearing hairs, and no one may touch them! With my hearing hairs, I have a very special kind of hearing, which tells me what people are thinking. Most people say one thing and think another. I hear that immediately with my hearing hairs.

Anna:
Can you say what I'm thinking at this moment?

Johan Åkerblom
: You're too close. Too much strain on my hearing hairs. Stand over there in that ray of sunlight; then I'll tell you at once what you're thinking.

Anna
(
laughing
): Well, Papa!

Johan Åkerblom
: You're very pleased with yourself. And you're also very pleased your father loves you.

As the clock on the cathedral, the clock in the dining room, the clock in the drawing room, and the introspective clock in the study all strike five, the door opens and the superintendent of traffic enters the salon with Anna at his side. He has put his right arm around her shoulders and leans heavily on his cane with his left.

Everyone rises and greets the Head of the Household. Perhaps this is the right moment to describe those present. Karin has already been mentioned, as has her son, Ernst, who is the same age as Henrik. The three brothers, Oscar, Gustav, and Carl, are standing slightly to one side, sorting out some of Carl's constant money troubles, all of them talking at once. When their father comes into the room with Anna, they at once fall silent and turn to smile politely at the two of them.

Oscar is like his father, a well-off wholesaler, self-confident and taciturn. He is married to Svea, a tall thin woman of sickly appearance, her glasses concealing her pain-filled gaze. She is always considered to be on the brink of death. Every autumn, she goes on cures and takes the waters in southern Germany or Switzerland, and each spring she returns bowed, swaying slightly, a tortured apologetic smile on her face: I didn't die this time either. You must be patient.

Gustav is a professor of Roman law and a bore, something those around him are given to pointing out. He has become quite stout to protect himself. He laughs good-naturedly and shakes his head at his own sorrows. His wife, Martha, is of Russian origin, speaks Swedish with a broad accent, and is good-humored. She and her husband are united by an intimate love of the delights of the table. They have two lovely and somewhat unruly daughters in their early teens.

Carl is an engineer and inventor, largely unsuccessful. Most people consider him the black sheep of the family. He combines intelligence with misanthropy, is a bachelor and not particularly clean either spiritually or physically, the latter to his stepmother's constant annoyance. Yes, there is something fishy about brother Carl, and I will return to him in a moment.

Also present is Torsten Bohlin, a young genius with bold features and flowing hair, who is carelessly elegant and loved by the family. At twenty-four, he is writing his doctoral thesis (on the Gregorian chant in pre-Protestant choirs as reflected in the collection of melodies found in Skattungbyn Church during the 1898 restoration). Last but not least, young Bohlin is regarded as Anna's intended. It's said that the two young people have been observed expressing their warm feelings for each other.

Upright Miss Siri appears in the doorway to the dining room, apparently slightly put out. Karin Åkerblom says from across the room, “Our extra dinner guest has not arrived. We'll wait a few minutes and see if he appears.”

Karin
(
to Ernst
): Are you sure you told your friend that we have dinner at five o'clock?

Ernst:
I emphasized that we are insanely punctual in this family. He pointed out that he himself was a desperate enthusiast for punctuality.

Johan Åkerblom:
What kind of creature is he?

Ernst:
Papa dear, he's not a creature at all. He is studying theology and is going to be a priest, God willing.

Carl:
A priest, a priest! Why not a priest in the family? A professional addition to this gang of hypocrites.

Martha:
Has this fabulous creature a name?

Ernst:
Henrik Bergman. From the Gästrike-Hälsinge student hostel. We both sing in the Academic Choir. He's an excellent baritone, and he's also got three unmarried aunts on his father's side.

Oscar:
The ladies of Elfvik.

Ernst:
The ladies of Elfvik.

Johan Åkerblom:
Then Fredrik, the member of Parliament, must be his grandfather.

Karin:
Do we know him?

Johan Åkerblom
: A really cunning old fox. He's keen on a special alliance — an Agrarian party. That would be a fine old mess. Conflicts and splinterings. For that matter, we're supposed to be related somewhere along the line. Second cousins or something of the kind.

This gives rise to some hilarity, which is silenced when the doorbell rings. “I'll go,” says Anna firmly, stopping Miss Siri, who is on her way with the special look of disapproval on her face that would frighten anyone. Anna opens the door, and there is Henrik Bergman. He is petrified.

Henrik:
I was delayed. I'm late.

Anna:
You can have some dinner all the same. Though I expect you'll have to sit in the kitchen.

Henrik:
I'm terribly . . . I'm usually . . .

Anna:
. . . a stickler for punctuality. We know that already. Come on in. Otherwise dinner will be later than ever.

Henrik:
I don't think I dare. No.

Henrik turns abruptly and takes a few quick strides toward the steps. Anna goes after him and grasps his arm, suppressing her desire to laugh.

Anna:
We are apt to be rather dangerous when we're all together as a family, especially when we don't get our food at the prescribed time. But I think you should really pluck up your courage. The food'll be terribly good, and I have made the dessert all by myself. Come on, now. For
my
sake.

She takes off his student cap and smooths down his hair with her hand. “There we are now. You look fine,” and she shoves him ahead of her into the salon.

Anna:
Mr. Bergman says he is very sorry. He has been at a friend's sickbed and had to go to the pharmacy. There was a line there. So he was delayed.

Karin:
How do you do, Mr. Bergman. Welcome to our home. I hope your friend isn't seriously . . .

Henrik:
No, no. He has only . . .

Anna:
. . . broken his leg. This is my father.

Johan Åkerblom
: Welcome to my home. I do believe you're quite like your grandfather.

Henrik:
So they say, yes.

Anna:
My brothers Gustav and Oscar and Carl, and Martha who is married to Gustav, and Svea to Oscar, and the girls are Gustav and Martha's daughters, and this is Torsten Bohlin, who is considered to be my intended. Now you know the whole family.

Karin:
Then I suggest we at last go in to dinner.

Ernst:
Hello there, Henrik.

Henrik:
Hello.

Ernst:
Who's broken his leg?

Henrik:
No one. It was your sister who . . .

Ernst:
Ah yes, you must watch out for her.

Henrik:
I've no longer . . .

Karin
(
interrupting
): Perhaps, Mr. Bergman, you would please sit down over there beside Mrs. Martha. And Torsten, you sit beside Anna. Then we can say grace.

All:
For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful.

They all hurriedly bow and curtsy, then sit down among much cheerful chatter. Miss Siri and Miss Lisen in black and white, and starched caps, appear with fresh asparagus and mineral water.

Henrik Bergman is now afflicted with further trials. He has never seen asparagus before. He has never before had a four-course dinner. He has never drunk anything but water, beer, or schnapps with his food, and he has never in his life seen a finger bowl with a small red flower swimming around in the water. He has never seen so many knives and forks, and he has never before conversed with a sarcastically good-humored lady with a strong Russian accent. Walls loom high and chasms open.

Martha:
I'm from St. Petersburg. Our family still live in a large house near Alexander Gardens. St. Petersburg is very beautiful, especially in the autumn. Have you ever been to St. Petersburg, Mr. Bergman? I go home every year in September. That's the most beautiful time of year, when everyone has come back from their summer holidays and the season starts, the parties, the theaters, and the concerts. So you're going to be a priest? Your looks are most appropriate. You have lovely sorrowful eyes, Mr. Bergman, and the women are sure to fall for such looks. But you must keep your hair off your forehead when you've got such a lovely poet's forehead. Let me help you! My husband, Gustav, that nice old fat gentleman sitting over there, yes, him! I'm talking about you, my darling. He's a professor of Roman law. You wouldn't think so to look at him, would you (
laughs gaily
)? I've been in Sweden for almost twenty years. I love your country, but I'm Russian. No, Gustav looks like a baker. But he's got a warm heart. He was on a visit to St. Petersburg, and we met at a charity banquet. He proposed later that evening, and I said to myself, Martha, stupid girl, no doubt you could find a more handsome man, but
that
man has a heart of purest gold, and so we married a year later and I have indeed wondered occasionally about this country and its peculiar people, but I have never really regretted it. Regrets aren't compatible with nature, anyhow. Are you a man for regrets, Mr. Bergman? (
Laughs, grows serious
.) The churches are so poverty-stricken in this country, the hymns so poverty-stricken, no great moments. My dear Mr. Bergman, sometimes I think I worship two quite different gods. (
Laughs quietly
.) Now I'll . . . no, wait a moment. I'll show you how to eat asparagus. It's the tip that's the good part. We have to take the stalk in our fingers. It tastes better that way — and is more enjoyable; then you put it to your mouth and bite, but
carefully
And then this is what you do with the finger bowl. Look at me now, Mr. Bergman.