Stig Dagerman - A Burnt Child

You’re wondering whether I have tried this before. You ask why I’ve waited so long. I have tried, but I didn’t succeed, and I can tell you why. But first I’ll tell you what I have tried. When I was seventeen, Knut took me with him to a socialist meeting. When the group sang “International,” tears came to my eyes. I thought I had found a boundless and thoroughly overwhelming sense of solidarity and fighting spirit with everyone who was singing. Of course, it was an illusion. My own emotions had made me idealize the whole scene, but I didn’t realize this until much later. The singing continued inside me the whole way home. Then outside the front door, Knut asked me, Do you want to be a socialist like me and Alma? I did become one— but not like them. After all, what do you think they sacrificed for their beliefs? Nothing! They may have gone to a meeting instead of a movie a few evenings, and they subscribed to a different paper from that of our neighbors. On Swedish Flag Day they didn’t buy any flags, but on the first of May they did buy a red May Day flower. This is what they called conviction. I call it dirty fraud against what they said they believed in and against the ones who claimed to share the same convictions. When I told them this, they did not understand. They were just “simple people,” so they didn’t need to understand. But when I started to neglect my schoolwork for my principles, they asked me to think about the future. That’s what I couldn’t understand. Then they told me that everyone has to consider their future and, as a matter of fact, everyone did. Then I realized that they were right. I looked around at everyone who believed like we did and found nobody who was willing to sacrifice everything for his beliefs. Maybe they were willing to sacrifice something for a little while, but when their personal dream of the future came into conflict with their beliefs, they chose the dream. The ones who had the fortune to become officials had it best: they didn’t have to give up their convictions; they may have grown a little cold, but they didn’t need to give them up. Nor did they have to give up their dream of personal happiness, because officials with cold convictions can climb as high as possible. So I quit sacrificing everything for my beliefs because anyone who abandons everything by himself is just stupid.

The other time was when I was drafted. As you know, we were supposed to be prepared to defend democracy. I wanted to do everything I could to defend it, but nobody would let me do it. I once told this to a captain who was a Nazi. Then I got six days of probation for slandering a superior in the office. So I started playing dice, and I lost. I played poker, too, and lost. But it was harmless since I didn’t have a lot to lose. From the office, where we played dice when the master sergeant was outside drinking, we had a view of the real war. Of course, we were happy when the right side won, even if they weren’t as right as I had hoped.

I think I’ve learned that before you attempt to sacrifice everything for a just cause, you should always keep in mind that no one is willing to give up as much as you are. Because of that, it’s no longer right but, rather, very wrong, many times over. Therefore, it’s a matter of finding a cause that only a few people are willing to renounce everything for. The fewer there are, the surer you can be that your sacrifice is not in vain. It’s best when there are only two. Love, you see, requires two and sacrifices everything to continue being love.

By now you must be tired of this long letter, and maybe even a little afraid. You shouldn’t be afraid. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You shouldn’t be afraid of morality, because there’s no one who believes in morality as strongly as we believe in each other. There is no one who could sacrifice for morality a thousandth of what we sacrifice for what we believe in. And by the way, is there anything more virtuous than giving up everything for something you know is right?

My darling! On Friday night we’ll finally be alone together, more alone than anyone before us and perhaps even after us. I’m coming on the ten o’clock bus, and you can wait with the boat by the jetty. I’m arriving late so that no one will see us. I’m only bringing along a small suitcase with essentials, since you don’t really need a lot of personal belongings when you’re called in for service—or when you’re in love. Then, you only need each other. There are three days left. Do you think I can wait that long?

Yours,

Bengt

P.S. Something silly happened this evening. Berit found a button in my bed, which must have come loose from your dress. I don’t know if she recognized it, but she started crying all the same. When I asked her why, she asked whether I thought she was ugly. So I told her that I thought she was sweet. Of course, I think she’s ugly, but it’s senseless to let her know that. Then she asked me whether I had been unfaithful to her. I jokingly answered, Yes, several times. She didn’t realize it was a joke, so I had a hard time trying to convince her that the button was Aunt Idás. She finally believed me, because you can convince her of anything if you just keep at it long enough. Knut’s very pleased that she’s around a lot nowadays, and I keep her here as late as I can. It isn’t necessary, of course, to raise any suspicions. We have to be very careful. That’s why I think the island is an excellent choice. There will be some problems with the address. A conscript eventually does need a station address. I pretended to find out that I’d be placed in the vicinity of Norrtälje and gave both Knut and Berit poste restante Norrtälje as the temporary address. It’s no longer a military address, but neither of them has been drafted, so there shouldn’t be any risk. Good night, my darling. I should hurry and post the letter before Knut comes home.

THE SEA IS HIGH AND GREEN during the day and black with flashes of white at night. But the water is clear as it usually is in fall. The six broadleaf trees around the inlet are shedding their leaves, which blow freshly onto the porch every morning. At night, the cool September moon gleams red. When it drifts out of the night’s dark clouds it has blood on its lips. The sailboat season is over, and now colliers sway sluggishly along the horizon. Their smoke sinks black and heavily into the sea. Twice a week a train of barges drifts across the bay, and during that hour Bengt and Gun stay inside, thinking that someone might see them. When they kiss each other, their lips taste like salt. In fact, wherever they put their lips tastes like salt. So after ten days they know the taste of salt all too well.

They stay on the island for two weeks. And during that time they only see each other and no one else. Sometimes they might see people on the barges, but it’s from several hundred feet away. No faces, just black shadows huddled up against the rudders—maybe only smoke from the pipes. Though this is true, they also see the dog. At first he hates the dog, but after the first week he is happy to have it along. But eventually he starts to hate it again.

The first few days are probably the best, the days before they really know each other. It’s harder when they get to know each other, because it’s hard to love the one we know really well. To be in love is to be curious. Therefore, only what we aren’t accustomed to is beautiful. And maybe only that which is new is beautiful. In any case, we’re only capable of loving what is new. So in order to love someone we know well, it’s necessary to forget her first, not entirely but significantly.