Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 27 - The Scandal

For that reason they decided that Tomas should try staying at the Ramlösa Springs for a little while. It had been Count Arvid Mauritz Posse who had suggested it. He had been Tula’s childhood friend and was now one of the most important men in Sweden. And Tula, who wanted the best for her husband, let her son accompany him. She couldn’t join him herself because they were busy moving from Bergqvara. But more about that later – right now the stay at the Ramlösa Sanatorium is what is most important.

Little Magdalena Backman sat on the edge of her bed with her hands in her lap, swinging her crossed feet. She was tired all the way to her child’s soul from all the demands that were placed on her.

There was a discreet knock on the window.

She looked up with surprise but couldn’t see anything except the hand that was knocking eagerly yet quietly. It was night, but just as light outside as during the day.

Magdalena got up hesitantly and went over to the window to look out.

It was the boy from earlier, called Christer. He gestured to her to open her window.

She cast an anxious glance behind her, but she knew that Uncle Julius was in the drawing room drinking punch with the other gentlemen. She could hear them all the way from her room, their roars of laughter and the coquettish chatter of the women in the room next door to the men. Usually anxious, for once she forgot all about her fears and struggled impatiently with the window catch. Finally the window opened.

“Come outside,” Christer whispered.

She looked around.

“They’ve started playing cards,” he said reassuringly, “But arrange your bedclothes just in case.”

“What do you mean?”

“Put something under the duvet so that it looks as if you’re lying there asleep!”

Magdalena grasped what he was saying. This was exciting!

When she had arranged the bedclothes she tiptoed back to the window.

“But how am I to get out? The door is locked and Uncle Julius has the key.”

“Through the window, of course! Come on, I’ll catch you.”

He stretched his arms temptingly towards her.

“But ...”

Her thoughts were running wild. Up in the window. My skirts. Can I hold onto them? How shall I ...?

“Come on, jump! It’s not very far down!”

He was right. But Magdalena, in the name of decency, attempted to crawl out, with one foot at a time, which, of course, went completely wrong. Her skirts rode all the way up as she landed rather helplessly right in his arms.

“As light as a feather,” he said effortlessly. “What do you live on? Pollen?”

At this very moment, as she lay in his powerful young arms, he became her idol and hero. For Magdalena had been a very lonely child.

He put her down carefully and took her hand. They quickly ran through the dewy grass among the beech trees at the back of the main house until they disappeared from view of the resort buildings.

“I can’t stay out very long,” Magdalena whispered. “Uncle Julius doesn’t usually come into my room, but he will hear when I clamber back inside.”

“We’ll work something out.”

How thrilling this was! Magdalena was so overexcited she could barely breathe. The boy found a pile of logs and arranged a place where they could sit down. He cleaned the spot with his handkerchief. Magdalena sat down carefully. She had the feeling that she was taking part in something truly scandalous, but she didn’t regret anything.

“You see, I’m going back tomorrow morning,” Christer said. “And I wanted to talk to you before then because I thought they treated you so badly. I wanted to see if I could help you.”

She experienced everything very intensely, as though she wanted to absorb every single drop of this moment. The gnarled yet smooth tree trunks, if they could be described in such contradictory terms, the light green foliage that formed a canopy above them, the tree she was touching with her hand, the grass against her boots and, not least, the boy sitting next to her. She had never imagined that such powerful currents could flow between two people. It felt as though she was being stung by small, fine needles of delight. She was so fervently aware of his dishevelled hair, the cheerful, deep-set eyes, the teeth with great gaps between them, the slightly upturned nose. His face was harmonious, perhaps mostly because it expressed a friendliness that was genuine.

Magdalena wasn’t accustomed to genuine friendliness.

“Is it true that you can do magic?” she asked shyly, blushing.

Christer tried to look nonchalant, but he didn’t quite manage it. “Oh ... no, it’s nothing special,” he said indifferently, waving the idea away with a lavish movement of his hand. “Let’s focus on you. Why are you here?”

She bowed her head. She didn’t want this charming boy to leave.

“They say I must be sick because I don’t eat anything. But it’s not true. I’m just very scared.”

Christer couldn’t recall ever having seen such small, fine feet in such high, black, buttoned boots before. He took her hand in his. “What are you scared of?”

His hand felt strong and warm.

“I don’t know. Of my dreams.”

“Are they frightening?”

“Yes, but I can never remember what they’re about. It’s as though they’re trying to ... hide.”

Christer tried to look intelligent. “I know what you mean. I don’t think it’s the dreams that you’re afraid of. It’s something else. I think there’s a dark spot in your life.”

This wasn’t something he had thought up on his own, he had heard Heike use the expression once. But it sounded so good that Christer adopted the impressive theory as his own.

His words frightened her. “I don’t like you saying that. It just makes me even more scared.”

“Do you have such a dark spot?”

“I don’t know,” she said despairingly. “Oh, I wish I were dead!”

“No!” Christer gasped. “You mustn’t say such things! You are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen!”

She calmed down. “No, I find that I don’t want to die after all,” she said, thoughtfully. “But I discovered that on my way here,” she continued, stamping on Christer’s staggering notion that it had been the discovery of his existence that had changed her mind.

“Really?” he said, somewhat hurt.

“Yes, as we were riding along a deep gorge, our carriage lost a wheel and I clung on so hard that I realized that I must want to stay alive after all. The only misfortune that occurred was that Uncle Julius’s sturdy lunch basket tumbled into the void. Which wasn’t so deep that the coachman couldn’t clamber down and collect the cheese and sausage that had been scattered over the entire slope.”

Christer laughed. The girl had a sense of humour as well. She was ... wonderful! The fine little nose. The radiant eyes. Oh, how he loved her!

“How ... old are you?” she asked shyly.

“Me? Oh, let me see. I was born in 1818 – that’s easy to remember. And now it’s 1833 ... so that makes me fifteen.”

He knew perfectly well how old he was, he just wanted to bask in the interest she was showing in him for as long as possible. She seemed to be impressed by his awe-inspiring age.

“Where do you live? I mean, when you’re not here?” he asked.

She grimaced. “We live in a big house near Stockholm. It’s terribly refined. It has a park so big that you can get lost in it. But there is a high fence around it so it feels as if you’re in a cage.”

Wealthy, in other words. Christer sighed inwardly. His own parents were far from rich ...

His thoughts were interrupted.

“And where do you live, Christer?”

She had said his name! With a little lisp, in her clear, light voice she had said his name! He could have died from sheer happiness.