Stig Dagerman - A Burnt Child

With the other key, he unlocks the bookcase. His index finger glides slowly from book spine to book spine and abruptly stops at three books that he knows very well. They are his own textbooks. They were probably sitting out in the room at one time, and the father put them away without saying anything. They are very dusty, so he wipes off the dust and switches them with three other books.

After all the excitement he is very tired, so he lies in bed for a while and smokes. When the sun starts shining in his eyes, he pulls the shades down halfway. He falls asleep at once. And he has a dream as he sleeps. It’s a very strange dream. He dreams about a foot. He is holding the foot in his hands, and it is very hot. It is also very beautiful and bare, too. He slowly raises it to his mouth and kisses it. It isn’t until then that he notices the foot is dead, dead yet burning. Then someone screams from another room.

But no one has screamed. He was merely awakened by the ringing telephone. With it still sounding like a scream, he unlocks his door and rushes to answer it. He is tremendously relieved to have been woken up and relieved that it was a woman calling. It’s his fiancée. She is worried and asks him how he is doing. He asks why she is upset. She admits that she has been worried about him for a long time but that she doesn’t really know why. One time she dreamed that something happened to him. Then he asks what, but she doesn’t know. Or she doesn’t want to say. Then she says something that surprises him.

Bengt, she says, I care so much for you.

She has never said that over the telephone before. He asks her why she is saying it now, but she cannot answer. Then he suddenly notices how warm his body is and how hot his cheeks are. A soft, warm wave of desire is now surging through him.

I have to see you, he says; I have to see you tonight. I have to see you at your place.

And it’s true. He has to. Then she surprises him again.

Yes, she whispers, come!

He has never been allowed to come before, and she has never wanted to go to him when he was alone. She said she didn’t want to, because of his mother. And now that his mother is dead she says she doesn’t want to, because his mother is dead. When he asked if he could come to her, she said that she’s a roomer and that it’s never quiet there. Someone will be knocking on the wall if you so much as move, so you’re never really alone there either. When he then suggested they get a hotel room, she started crying. She didn’t tell him why. But after speculating about it, he never suggested it again. There were a few times when they lay next to each other in the grass at Djurgården or Gärdet. But then after a while they always started to get cold and they got up again. And somebody always comes along, even when they think they have the place to themselves. Besides, grass is always wet for people in love. So he had to wash his own handkerchiefs, like Hemingway’s sick bullfighter. But since his mother’s death, he just throws them away.

After all of that, he is tremendously surprised when she says yes.

When he hangs up, he has already forgotten about the dream. He has also forgotten to take the keys out of the desk and bookcase locks. He is simply happy and aroused. Since it’s almost five o’clock and the father will be home soon, the son puts a pan on the stove to warm up yesterday’s peas. Then he washes two soup plates and two spoons under the faucet. As he’s about to put the bottle away, he finds the father’s wallet on the table. He immediately grabs it and starts rummaging through the compartments. It happens so fast that his emotions can’t keep up. There’s nothing unusual in the wallet except for a yellow ticket stub that has a phone number on the back of it. It’s clearly a number from Södermalm since it starts with four-zero. Then he hears the black dog barking on the stairs. Sometimes the father takes the dog to work with him in the mornings. Because the barking startles him, he drops the wallet on the table. He thought about writing the number down. Instead, he stuffs the stub inside his pocket.

Over soup, the father asks him how his classes went. The son tells him they went well, but he doesn’t tell him any stories. Instead, he tells him that he’ll be at Berit’s tonight. The father is very happy to hear this, almost as happy as when he hears a funny story. He doesn’t really understand why he is so happy. But since the shot glasses are still on the table, he pours them both a shot. As he pours, he notices that the bottle has gotten lighter. Because fathers with grown sons always know how much is in a bottle when they put it away.

When the son reaches the street, he is giddy and in high spirits. He’s also a little drunk and doesn’t feel the wind. And he thinks it’s brighter than it really is. When he turns the corner, he buys a newspaper. There’s no streetcar in sight, and as impatient as he is, he cannot stand still. So he crosses the street and continues walking a bit in the opposite direction. When he still doesn’t see a streetcar, he goes into a café. He sits by the window and orders a coffee. The streetcar finally comes after he’s been sitting for a while. Suddenly, he feels like he’s in no hurry at all. This surprises him, but he accepts it because he is used to trusting his instinct. He smokes a few cigarettes and begins to read the paper. After reading for a little while, he sees the father and the dog walking on the other side of the street. They walk right past a beerhouse, but after walking a few yards, the father seems to change his mind, turns around, and goes inside.

The son moves his table toward the wall because the father has also sat in front of a window. He is sitting there and reading, but the dog is not visible.

Then the son gets up and goes over to the telephone at the counter to call his fiancée and tell her that it will be a while before he can come. But when he lifts the receiver, something strange happens: he hears the scrap of paper rustling inside his breast pocket. He takes it out and, on a whim, dials the mysterious number. He listens for a while, but nobody answers. Then it occurs to him that somewhere in some room somebody knows it’s he calling. That’s why no one is picking up. When he sits down again, he sees the father is still sitting, too. So he sits for a little while longer—actually, for a long time. The father leaves at nine.

At that time, it isn’t dark yet but still twilight. A few cars have turned on their headlights. Some streetcars, too. A long streetcar, so long that it doesn’t look like it will end, comes clanging by. After it passes, he sees the father running down the street as if it were raining. And it isn’t raining when the son leaves the café, but he still marches briskly down the street. When the father and the dog disappear behind a corner, the son moves faster, even though it still isn’t raining. When he turns the corner, the father and the dog are gone. Directly on the corner is a tall entrance of a building. He hastily opens the gate and listens, but the building is completely silent. Then he suddenly hears the barking of a dog, not from inside the building but still very close.

A small movie theater called the Lantern is next to the building. And above the entrance there are three lights—white, red, and green—enclosed within a blue lantern. At night there are always a lot of young men smoking outside as well as bareheaded young girls who are eager to laugh. Whenever the picture is over, the attendant with a limp turns off the three lights in the lantern. Then he comes out to lock the double doors and the emergency exit, and then he fastens three large padlocks around the closures of the display case. Lastly, he closes the wrought-iron gate on the street and locks it. Long after the film has ended, the boys and girls are still there. They are loudest and laugh the most right before they leave. In the mornings the display window has been found broken three times already, but no one has ever stolen a photograph. And every morning the ground behind the gate is littered with cigarette butts.