Ulla-Lena Lundberg - Ice

Then Helsingfors, where he went to university, marked by the war when he left, marked by the war still. But the same restless activity as in Åbo, building and repairing. He will see many people here on his way home. Now he crosses Mannerheim Road to the bus station, finds the Borgå platform, sits down in the sun and waits for the next bus. He takes out his notes and tries to read, but with so much activity around him he finds it hard to concentrate, and his eyes are as curious as a child’s—there’s so much going on, cars and trams, the ice-cream stand that has sprung up after all the years of war. As an adult, he is happy that everything has returned to normal, while his childish eye hunts for everything new— automobile models, clothing, the new design of the street lights. Of course he hasn’t missed traffic and crowds! Of course he loves seeing them again! If only he were free of his exhaustion, his aching unease. That’s why he’s travelling directly to Borgå, so he can rest and read his most important notes one more time and then sleep one long, quiet night. Wake up rested and clear-headed.

When he arrives in Borgå late that afternoon, still in possession of his suitcase and briefcase, he leaves his things at the small hotel and asks about an inexpensive restaurant. He’s been travelling all night and plans an early evening. The desk clerk gives him a meaningful look and tells him a person has been there asking for him—a woman.

The pastor is amazed. “I don’t know anyone here. Did she say who she was? Did she leave any kind of message? Are you sure it was me she was looking for?”

No and no and yes indeed, she asked for him by name.

“My goodness. Well, since I wasn’t expecting anyone and don’t know who she is, I’ll get something to eat and go for a little walk. I ought to be back in an hour or so.”

Why this intense unease? Mostly, of course, because he desperately needs to be alone this evening and collect himself for tomorrow. But also because the clerk called her “a person—a woman” in a certain tone of voice, not “lady” or “young lady”. If it had been someone from the cathedral chapter, she would have left a message. But also, and most of all, because he can in fact recall a certain female person from this area. No no no.

Mona has admonished him to eat a good meal once he gets there, despite the expense, because he’ll need his strength the next day. If she knows her husband, he’ll be way too nervous in the morning to eat anything but bread and butter. Obediently, he orders meatballs served with boiled potatoes and gravy and lingonberry jam. It smells good, but it nauseates him. It’s all the rocking and bouncing taking its toll, he tells himself. He’s also nervous and, he can’t deny it, scared. He picks at the food without the sensual pleasure he had anticipated. Finally he orders a cup of tea and an apple pastry, an unnecessary expense the way he feels. When he’s finished, he goes for a walk, watches the traffic in the river and has a look at the houses and streets of the old city, the cathedral looming overhead. Such pleasure he’s had from that walk in the past, and so little he has now. He must return to the hotel because that’s where he has his things, even though the weather is so nice that he could sleep under a bush or in a boathouse by the river.

Pastor Kummel enters the hotel the same way the animals on the Åland II were herded into the slaughterhouse trucks on the quay. And sure enough, a female person sits in one of the chairs by the window. She stands up at once. “Petter! Do you remember me? It’s me, Hilda.”

He extends his hand. “Of course I remember you, Hilda! How are you! And how in the world did you know I would be in Borgå?”

“Your mother wrote to tell me. It made me so happy in my adversity. You come as if sent by Providence.”

“Has something happened?” he asks sympathetically, while thinking of his mother. It’s kind of her to stay in touch with her former housemaids. And typical of her to spread far and wide the news of her children’s plans and intentions. Including, apparently, times and places. Mama! You think you’re an adult and live your own life, but in the background, always and eternally, is Mama.

Hilda bursts into actual tears. “My husband is dead and I don’t know what to do. I must talk to you.”

“Hilda, dear Hilda, this comes so suddenly. Didn’t Mama tell you that I have a big examination at the cathedral chapter early tomorrow morning? It’s very important, and I need to spend the evening preparing.”

She weeps. “When a person’s in distress, she has the right to speak to a priest.”

She has clearly boxed him in, and clearly he has to do as she asks. But it is not what the desk clerk expected as he stands there following every word and gesture. The pastor has registered as Pastor Petter Kummel, and this woman appears to want comfort from this man of the church. If only he knew how complicated it was. If he had the slightest idea, the clock on the wall would stop and the ivy wither. Petter points to the chair she sat in. “Shall we sit down? Tell me what’s happened.”

She rolls her eyes towards the desk clerk. “Please, Petter, in private. You must have a room?”

Petter is in despair, and it’s good if the staring desk clerk sees it. This is nothing he has arranged. But, as a priest and a human being, what is he to do? Petter turns to the clerk apologetically. “I understand perfectly well that there is a rule against entertaining guests in the rooms. But this lady is a former servant in my parents’ home, and as a priest I cannot turn her away in her need. Could you permit us to talk in my room?”

“Well, all right, then,” the man says. “As an exception, this once.” He hands Petter the key.

“Thank you,” he says. “Please, follow me,” he says to her and walks ahead down the corridor, unlocks the door and holds it open. One chair, which is for her, and the bed, where he is forced to sit. As inappropriate as it could possibly be under the circumstances, for Hilda and a bed figured in a nighttime episode that gives him considerable anguish.

The same pressure in the bladder then as now. Hilda slept in the kitchen, and it was through the kitchen he had to pass in order to get to the outhouse. He was sixteen years old, obsessed with the stories told him by the men in the hospital ward where he was taken for his tuberculosis. He thought constantly about women and sex, masturbated, begged God for forgiveness and the strength to resist. Never thought of the women in the house in that way, was only afraid of disturbing them when, quiet as a mouse, he closed the kitchen door before tiptoeing up the stairs to the boys’ bedroom.

She, awake, “Is that you Petter?”

“Sorry, Hilda, did I wake you? I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t be sorry. Come and sit here.”

“I think I’d better get back to bed. It’s the middle of the night. I apologize again.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re a big boy and can do as you like. Come over here and sit down like I’m telling you.”

And he, obedient, sits down. She: “Like that. Only a little closer.” She laughs quietly, deep in her throat, and presses up against him. He leans away, tries to stand up, she pulls him down. “Now, now. Don’t you know what to do? Such a big boy.”

It’s as if he’d been clubbed. No will of his own. Only half conscious. Knows only that he must be quiet so he doesn’t wake up the whole house. She throws off the covers, and there it is, the smell those awful, obscene men talked about, the smell of sex that makes it stand up straight! She reaches her hand down to the crotch of his pyjamas. “Yes, you are a man.” Contented sigh. She takes his hand and puts it on her body. Her nightgown has ridden up. “What do you think of this?”