Margit Sandemo: The Ice People 21 - Devil´s Ravine

Ebba wasn’t interested in what her daughter Gunilla knew of them. Or, more precisely, Ebba didn’t want to know about it. She was extremely cautious when she sneaked out of the house for her trysts with other men and decided to believe that her daughter knew nothing. Never would she dream of trying to find out whether Gunilla had seen anything. Ebba blinkered herself deliberately.

Drawn by her silhouette over by the window, Karl got up heavily and went over to her.

“Just look at her, Karl,” Ebba said, prodding her husband with her elbow. “Now she’s lost in daydreams again. She just stares at the sunset instead of collecting the buckets.”

Karl grabbed his wife’s arm just as she was about to tap on the window. “Leave her alone! I’ll take care of her when she comes in. What a slovenly girl!”

Ebba was already regretting that she had drawn her husband’s attention to her daughter. “Leave her in peace, Karl! There’s no harm in looking at the sunset. I think she’s so clever. Doesn’t she do what we ask her to? Hasn’t she slogged since she was five years old simply to please us? Surely there’s no harm in losing herself in dreams from time to time? We have to accept that.”

His rough hands had sought Ebba’s bottom. He fumbled slowly inside her clothes. “She’s spoilt,” he mumbled between his teeth. “You make her conceited with your constant admiration, brushing her hair and dressing her in such gaudy clothes. Sinful, secular vanity – that’s what it is!”

Ebba sighed. She couldn’t see anything gaudy about a homespun skirt and clogs. Nevertheless, she admitted to herself that she liked to cosset Gunilla a bit.

Karl gathered up her skirts so that he could find his way with his hand. He was already breathing heavily in her ear. The other hand glided inside her underwear, curling itself around one breast. Her nipple prickled and tickled.

Oh no, not again, you old lecher, she thought, but lifted one leg slightly to make more room for Karl’s hand.

“Gunilla needs to be disciplined. That’s all that’s wrong with her,” the farmer said in a thick voice.

Ebba bit her lip. She knew that Karl was far too strict with their daughter. If he got any worse, then ...

“She’s so peculiar,” he hissed hoarsely while his finger worked its way towards the spot that would arouse Ebba, and so it did this time. She trembled violently, pressing her bottom into Karl. Like a whore, he thought in disgust. Damned whore, now she’s at it again! Karl’s trousers were beginning to tighten dreadfully. He continued with his train of thought, albeit with difficulty. “Other children don’t behave like that! Getting lost in their own thoughts everywhere!”

Ebba rubbed herself against Karl. She looked frightened. “Do you think she knows? Do you think that’s why? That this is what she’s ... pondering about? How is she to know?”

Karl’s eyes flickered. “Nonsense. How would she know?”

“No,” Ebba sighed. How was she to know?

She could feel Karl fumbling impatiently with his clothes. If only he would hurry up a bit. Her stomach was tickling; she pushed her bottom farther outwards and felt stickiness. When she felt the steaming hot thing butt its way forward, she closed her eyes with relish. There! Now it was in place! If only Gunilla didn’t turn around ...

Actually, it made it twice as exciting that they might be seen by somebody who wasn’t supposed to see them.

The farmer moaned quietly at the hassle of the awkward position.

It was probably wrong to describe Karl as a farmer: smallholder would be more correct. Knapahult was part of the big Bergqvara estate, which was now owned by the Posse Family. But Karl’s smallholding had been released from its former dependency and had become an independent farm under circumstances that have nothing to do with this narrative. So Karl’s farm was a bit better than the other smallholdings. That was why he made it a point of honour to maintain a certain standard on his land. They only had their daughter to work for them, but now and then they would ask an old farmhand to lend a helping hand. That was all they had to make do with. The tiny spot on Earth that Karl owned was no bigger than that.

Ugh, how he sweated. Everything seemed wet and slippery to Ebba as she bent forward with her elbows on the windowsill. Gunilla was still looking the other way, which was just as well, because Ebba’s hazy glance and open, gasping mouth, and the ecstatic grimace that distorted her face, would have been bound to startle her. Karl pumped and gasped for breath, slipping out as he muttered something unintelligible and went quite weak in his knees.

“Karl, I want to scream!” Ebba whispered warningly.

“No, please don’t! A woman mustn’t ... feel anything. You know that perfectly well. That’s ... blasphemy. Oh, oh! You whore of Sodom!” He collapsed over Ebba with a low roar. They sank down on the floor and with fingers clenched around the windowsill, Ebba didn’t give a damn about blasphemy or inhibitions. Karl lay over the kicking woman, working like a piston until they both rolled over on their side. Just then, they weren’t bothered about their daughter walking in and surprising them. At last, Karl got to his knees and boxed Ebba’s ear. “Look what you’ve done, you whore! How often must a poor man deny his Lord to satisfy you? Are you completely insatiable? Don’t you think of the salvation of your soul? Do you want to burn in hell?”

“Pull up your trousers,” Ebba said, matter-of-factly. “You look ridiculous with that small, shrunken thing under your fat.”

Karl slapped her again but then got to his feet. Ebba also stood up, shaking her skirts like a hen ruffling its feathers. Then they went, each in their own direction in mutual disgust, but forever united by virtue of their mutual desire for one another.

Karl buckled his belt. If only Gunilla wasn’t so obstinate, everything would be good! Not that she didn’t do as she was told, almost cowed, which was as it should be, but disciplining her was like hitting a wall. For good measure, Karl put her over his knee every Saturday for all the sins she had committed or might commit. Then she was purified and prepared for the Sabbath. Children had to be disciplined strictly, because if you spared the rod you spoiled the child. Of course you did! Nevertheless, Ebba had begun to grumble: Gunilla was too big to be smacked on her bare bottom. What nonsense! The older Gunilla got, the more sins she had to atone for, and it was best to take the bull by the horns right from the beginning. His daughter was certainly not going to be a village slut.

If only she had been a boy! This was his great sorrow and embarrassment, and it haunted him constantly. After all, they had had a baby boy. They had only been allowed to keep him for a few hours before he was taken from them. Karl never got over it ... deception was his word for it. All he got instead was a girl! Life was so cruel and unfair!

He gazed reproachfully out of the window. She was still hanging about, that unworthy creature! Women had no place in God’s congregation! They were a necessary evil, which the superior male had been given in order to test the strength of his faith. What were they worth to the Lord? Nothing!

How could God let him down like that? Karl of Knapahult was his most loyal servant, who had saved so many souls and sentenced so many to damnation!

And all he had got was a daughter!

Gunilla stood with the buckets in her hands, forgetting time and place. She was composing poetry.

Oh, green moon ...

No, that didn’t sound quite right. Maybe yellow moon, then? No, that wouldn’t do either. Oh, silvery moon, which shines and illuminates ...

Oh, why did it have to be so difficult? Gunilla laughed, a little embarrassed by her efforts as a poet. She gave up the moon, addressing her friend instead.