Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 25 - The Angel

Everybody thought it was wonderful that Tula was so fond of the poor animals. Her grandfather, Arv, ought to have paid attention to that. Love of animals was something that characterized all the members of the Ice People, in particular those among them who were cursed. However, Arv couldn’t see that there was anything wrong with his grandchild, whom he doted on.

Then there were the unfortunate visits to church. One of Tula’s certainties was that she didn’t want to reveal her peculiarity to anybody! She wanted to be a sweet, nice girl, so that she could do whatever she wanted without a soul suspecting anything.

Every Sunday, the whole family would go to Bergunda Church, and that included Tula, of course. A few times she had been allowed not to attend, with the excuse that she had a temperature or something, but she couldn’t go on like that week after week and she was wise enough to understand that. She simply had to hold out.

For a cursed person like her, it was a great effort just to enter the church, not to mention sitting quietly for hours on end listening to what she considered to be absolute nonsense. It was almost unbearable. Since the blood of evil flowed quite freely in her veins, she had to compensate for her suffering, building a wall against all the priest’s good words. Except that his words weren’t confined to goodness – a congregation should always be made aware of its sins, which only pious prayers could save the people from. When the priest thundered about fire and brimstone in hell, Tula was in her element. But otherwise she would sit with her hands tightly clenched, rattling off long strings of bad words quietly to herself.

The priest’s eyes would often dwell on Tula with her beautiful golden hair. Might she not be an angel who had fallen from heaven? Look how fervently she is praying, he would think. She is putting her entire soul into the prayer, folding her hands so that her knuckles turn white, and her whole face reflects a frenetic determination.

Hell, hell, hell, Tula would be thinking, grinding her teeth audibly while her eyebrows contracted over the threatening look in her eyes.

God’s little lamb, the priest would think.

This little lamb of God wanted the priest and all God’s glory to go straight to hell. You devilish, damned shit! she thought. You and your damned sermon can go to hell! This was how she went on, sometimes using even worse words that she had heard the boys call out to women who walked past them.

At church Tula got into a cold sweat and felt nauseous, and if she wasn’t allowed to react in this grotesque manner, with her fire and brimstone and threats, she would run out screaming and make a scandal. Of course, she didn’t dare to wish for the priest to go to hell. Her oaths weren’t incantations, merely consoling words and wishful thinking. But Tula’s mother, Gunilla, was worried about her daughter’s constant feverish attacks every Sunday afternoon ...

Tula had a little friend the same age as herself. This was Amalia, the farm bailiff’s daughter. They played nicely together, but now and then Amalia thought that Tula had strange ideas. Like the straightforward little girl she was, she would say: “Tula, you’re crazy. You can’t see straight through the wall at people inside!” But this was precisely what Tula could do. She had just mentioned that she’d seen the farm bailiff call on the driver’s wife, and they were naked in bed doing something very strange.

Tula realized immediately that she had dropped her guard and quickly said: “Oh, it was just something I invented. You do understand that? Of course I can’t see through walls!”

“You shouldn’t talk like that,” said Amalia disapprovingly. “Grown-up people are never naked. Surely you know that!”

Tula bore these words in mind. She understood that she was different from other people and strove to be like Amalia in every way. This was how she actually became a time-server, trying to fit in with whatever Amalia believed about this or that. Of course, it wasn’t in Tula’s nature to let others dominate her, but she didn’t dare do otherwise. Amalia thought it was terrific to make the decisions and have somebody who did everything she said. It meant the friendship wasn’t quite genuine, but this was how Tula wanted it. This was how it would have to be if Tula was to hide the fact that she was stricken.

As she grew up, of course, she made a number of blunders! Such as when an arrogant lady in Bergunda Parish was invited to after-church coffee at the estate manager’s house and happened to say something derogatory about Erland of Backa. She declared that he was nothing but the son of a smallholder who had ingratiated himself with the Grip family and married above his station. She said this to another of the guests at a time when none of the hosts was in the room.

Apart from young Tula. The lady was speaking ill of her father! Her dear, sweet, good-natured father! The evil blood of the Ice People boiled over in Tula. And this time, her incantations were not only frightening. This time she really meant them!

“May shame and disgrace come over you, you damned bitch!” the dear child said quietly to herself. “May the whole parish look down on you as if you were a cur that everyone kicks! May you be forced to ask my father for mercy!”

And this was what happened. The lady’s husband was an officer. Everybody knew that he had been stationed abroad for many months. Then a travelling journeyman, a scoundrel who scraped a living doing various dubious jobs wherever he could earn a copper, came to the lady’s door and asked her whether she had any odd jobs she needed done. After that she didn’t know what got into her, but she became very interested in the young man. Her husband had been away for a very long time, after all!

What made her put on that thin dress that revealed most of her breasts? And not wear anything underneath it? She, a very virtuous lady who had never taken any initiative in her relationship with her husband but had sighed and suffered while he fulfilled his marital duty. Afterwards she had sighed again, this time with relief at finally being allowed to go to sleep.

What on earth made her go out into the stable where the odd-job man was grooming the horse? Why did she feel that he was exuding heat that gave her a tickling sensation between her legs? How could she bring herself to tremble and cling to him so that he couldn’t help but understand what the arrogant lady desired? He wasn’t even good-looking, and was probably crawling with lice. The man put his hand up her skirt, and when he could feel how ready she was he didn’t hesitate for a second. It was a passionate coupling in which the lady hardly played a passive role.

Afterwards he left the farm and never returned.

But he left something behind. The arrogant officer’s wife now became a laughing-stock in the parish. The signs soon showed that she had been with another man while her husband was abroad. She was living proof that you could still get pregnant at the age of forty. Before her husband returned, she had a daughter who resembled neither her nor the officer, but was the very image of an itinerant journeyman who had quickly left the parish nine months ago.

Didn’t people talk? That lady, who had always been so haughty and considered herself better than all the other wives in Bergunda! It was balm for wounded souls! Her protestations that the dangerous man had raped her didn’t help in the least. One of her servants, who had also shown an interest in the man and had sneaked after him, had witnessed their encounter in the stable. Never had she heard a raped women moan with such immense pleasure!

The scandal was terrible. The lady couldn’t go outside her house any longer. She hid herself from the abuse, laughter and gobs of spit directed at her.