Karin Alvtegen - Shame

Too much weight on one side of the scales.

She dropped the photograph on the floor and looked at the other one. Her breath caught when she met the girl’s empty gaze. She was sitting on a blanket on the kitchen floor in the house they had rented. The little red dress. The tiny white shoes that she got from Göran’s parents.

She could feel the tears coming. Her hands remembered how it felt to lift up that little body, hold her in her arms, the way she smelled. The tiny hands that reached out for her in boundless trust but which she hadn’t been capable of receiving. How could she, when no one had ever taught her how to do that sort of thing.

The sorrow she never permitted herself to feel welled up inside her, and the despair she felt was so deep that she couldn’t breathe. She dropped the photograph and, clenching her fists convulsively, she raised them towards the ceiling.

‘Lord God in heaven, help me. Be merciful to me, erase my transgressions with Your great mercy, cleanse me of my misdeeds and purify me of my sin. Against You alone have I sinned and done what is evil, that You may be found righteous in Your words and impartial in Your judgement. Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity, and in sin my mother conceived me.’

Her hands were shaking.

Six months was too long a time. She wouldn’t be able to stand it for so long.

The tears ran down her cheeks and she sobbed out her words.

‘I beg Your forgiveness because I commit the evil that I do not wish to commit. Blessed God, grant me Your forgiveness. You must give me an answer! Dear Lord, show Your mercy! Give me courage to dare!’

And she remembered what they used to do when they needed His counsel and consolation. She quickly wiped her eyes, grasped the Bible firmly in her left hand, and moved her right thumb between the closed book covers. Then she closed her eyes and turned to the page where her thumb had stopped, letting her index finger search over the page and choose a verse at random. Then she stayed seated, with her eyes closed and her finger pointing like a spear straight down into the Holy Scriptures. It was now He would speak. Give the message He wanted to show her and which He had made her finger select.

‘Lord, do not leave me alone.’

She was so afraid. All she wanted was a little reassurance, a single sign that she had nothing to fear, that she could be forgiven. That He was by her side now that everything would soon be over, that atonement was possible. She took a deep breath and put on her glasses, following her finger to the page in the Bible.

And when she read the verse she understood once and for all that the fear she felt now was nothing compared with that which awaited her.

Her hands shook when she read His Word:

Now the end has come upon you, and I will send My anger against you; I will judge you according to your ways, and I will repay you for all your abominations. My eye will not spare you, nor will I have pity; but I will repay your ways, and your abominations will be in your midst; then you shall know that I am the LORD!

A terror she did not think possible pressed the last of the air out of her lungs.

She had received her answer.

He had finally replied.

Her sleep was dreamless. An emptiness where nothing existed. Only a tiresome noise somewhere in the background. Stubbornly it hacked away and demanded her attention. She wanted to slip back into the emptiness, but the noise would not relent. She had to make it stop.

‘Hello?’

‘Is this Monika Lundvall?’

Everything was so fuzzy that she couldn’t reply. She made an attempt to open her eyes but couldn’t do it; only her hand’s grip on the phone managed to convince her that what she was experiencing was real. Everything was pleasantly diffuse. Her head lay on the pillow and in the brief silence that arose, sleep seized hold of her again. But then more words came.

‘Hello? Is this Monika Lundvall?’

‘Yes.’

Because she thought that’s who she was.

‘This is Maj-Britt Pettersson here. I need to talk to you.’

With an effort Monika managed to open her eyes, trying to distinguish enough of reality so she would be capable of replying. It was completely dark in the room. She realised that she was lying in her bed and that she had answered the phone when it rang and that the person who was calling was someone she never wanted to talk to again.

‘You’ll have to speak with the care centre.’

‘It’s not about that. It’s another matter. Something important.’

She propped herself up on one elbow and shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind. To understand what was happening and if possible find a way out so that she could go back to sleep.

The voice went on.

‘I don’t want to tell you on the phone so I suggest you come over here. Shall we say nine o’clock tomorrow morning?’

Monika glanced at the clock radio. 3.49. She was almost sure it was night because it was dark outside the window.

‘I can’t come then.’

‘When can you?’

‘I can’t come over at all. You’ll have to talk to your care centre.’

Never in her life would she go there again. Never. She had no obligations. Not to that woman. She had already done more than anyone could reasonably ask. She was just about to hang up when the voice continued.

‘You know, when someone finds out that she’s going to die she’s not as afraid to go out any longer. And if she’s been sitting in a flat for more than thirty years, she has a lot of catching up to do. Like spending time with her neighbours, for example.’

The fear was unable to penetrate the fog of the drugs. It stayed on the outside, pounded angrily a few times, and then gave up and stood watch. To wait her out. It knew that sooner or later a gap would open up and then it would be ready to overpower her. In the meantime it made her realise that she had no choice. She had to go there. Had to go there and find out what that disgusting woman wanted from her.

She closed her eyes. So tired, down to her very core. Everything she had was used up.

‘Hello? Are you still there?’

The woman most certainly was.

‘Yes.’

‘Then let’s say nine o’clock.’

Maj-Britt sat as if paralysed in her chair, unable to breathe. Her thoughts darted like frightened animals trying to escape. For hours she had prayed, beseeching Him for a sign that would show her what she had to do. Time after time she had let her finger race through the pages of the Bible without finding any intelligible answer. In desperation she had asked for clearer instructions and then, finally, the fourteenth time she tried He had spoken to her again. Paul’s first letter to Timothy. Her finger had not landed precisely there, but on the next page, but she knew it was because she had been too excited and her finger had missed the right verse. It was 1 Timothy 4:16 He wanted to show her, she knew it.

Take heed to yourself and to the doctrine. Continue in them, for in doing this you will save both yourself and those who hear you .

Thankful for His answer, she closed her eyes. She remembered the verse from the Congregation. An admonition to go out and save your fellow man and thereby rescue them from eternal fire. A good deed. He wanted her to save someone else and thus also save herself. But who was it she was supposed to save? Who? Who was it who needed her help?

She got up and went over to the balcony door. On the wall across the way the windows reflected black. Only a single lamp was attempting to defy the dark of night. She wanted to open the door and take a quick breath of the outside air. The desire was new and unfamiliar. She placed her hand on the door handle, saw the black windows staring at her like evil eyes and gave up. She left the door and went back to her easy chair.