Читать книгу The Ice People 25 - The Angel - Margit Sandemo - Страница 7

Chapter 2

It was this love of animals that would often nearly ruin Tula – or, more precisely, betray her. Each year at killing time she would make a big scene, because she knew every single animal in the barn and considered herself their friend. One year she had been unable to control herself and had wished death on those committing this “atrocity” against one of her four-legged friends. The four men who helped to slaughter the animals were bedridden for several weeks with a life-threatening illness, while Tula huddled in a corner, grieving over the friend she had patted and talked to in the barn so often. No one connected young Tula to the four men’s illness, of course, because they could see how she was suffering. So when killing time came round again, Gunilla moved to the small farm with the little girl in order to spare her unnecessary mental pain.

Everybody thought it was wonderful that Tula was so fond of the poor animals. Her grandfather, Arv, ought to have paid attention to that. Love of animals was something that characterized all the members of the Ice People, in particular those among them who were cursed. However, Arv couldn’t see that there was anything wrong with his grandchild, whom he doted on.

Then there were the unfortunate visits to church. One of Tula’s certainties was that she didn’t want to reveal her peculiarity to anybody! She wanted to be a sweet, nice girl, so that she could do whatever she wanted without a soul suspecting anything.

Every Sunday, the whole family would go to Bergunda Church, and that included Tula, of course. A few times she had been allowed not to attend, with the excuse that she had a temperature or something, but she couldn’t go on like that week after week and she was wise enough to understand that. She simply had to hold out.

For a cursed person like her, it was a great effort just to enter the church, not to mention sitting quietly for hours on end listening to what she considered to be absolute nonsense. It was almost unbearable. Since the blood of evil flowed quite freely in her veins, she had to compensate for her suffering, building a wall against all the priest’s good words. Except that his words weren’t confined to goodness – a congregation should always be made aware of its sins, which only pious prayers could save the people from. When the priest thundered about fire and brimstone in hell, Tula was in her element. But otherwise she would sit with her hands tightly clenched, rattling off long strings of bad words quietly to herself.

The priest’s eyes would often dwell on Tula with her beautiful golden hair. Might she not be an angel who had fallen from heaven? Look how fervently she is praying, he would think. She is putting her entire soul into the prayer, folding her hands so that her knuckles turn white, and her whole face reflects a frenetic determination.

Hell, hell, hell, Tula would be thinking, grinding her teeth audibly while her eyebrows contracted over the threatening look in her eyes.

God’s little lamb, the priest would think.

This little lamb of God wanted the priest and all God’s glory to go straight to hell. You devilish, damned shit! she thought. You and your damned sermon can go to hell! This was how she went on, sometimes using even worse words that she had heard the boys call out to women who walked past them.

At church Tula got into a cold sweat and felt nauseous, and if she wasn’t allowed to react in this grotesque manner, with her fire and brimstone and threats, she would run out screaming and make a scandal. Of course, she didn’t dare to wish for the priest to go to hell. Her oaths weren’t incantations, merely consoling words and wishful thinking. But Tula’s mother, Gunilla, was worried about her daughter’s constant feverish attacks every Sunday afternoon ...

Tula had a little friend the same age as herself. This was Amalia, the farm bailiff’s daughter. They played nicely together, but now and then Amalia thought that Tula had strange ideas. Like the straightforward little girl she was, she would say: “Tula, you’re crazy. You can’t see straight through the wall at people inside!” But this was precisely what Tula could do. She had just mentioned that she’d seen the farm bailiff call on the driver’s wife, and they were naked in bed doing something very strange.

Tula realized immediately that she had dropped her guard and quickly said: “Oh, it was just something I invented. You do understand that? Of course I can’t see through walls!”

“You shouldn’t talk like that,” said Amalia disapprovingly. “Grown-up people are never naked. Surely you know that!”

Tula bore these words in mind. She understood that she was different from other people and strove to be like Amalia in every way. This was how she actually became a time-server, trying to fit in with whatever Amalia believed about this or that. Of course, it wasn’t in Tula’s nature to let others dominate her, but she didn’t dare do otherwise. Amalia thought it was terrific to make the decisions and have somebody who did everything she said. It meant the friendship wasn’t quite genuine, but this was how Tula wanted it. This was how it would have to be if Tula was to hide the fact that she was stricken.

As she grew up, of course, she made a number of blunders! Such as when an arrogant lady in Bergunda Parish was invited to after-church coffee at the estate manager’s house and happened to say something derogatory about Erland of Backa. She declared that he was nothing but the son of a smallholder who had ingratiated himself with the Grip family and married above his station. She said this to another of the guests at a time when none of the hosts was in the room.

Apart from young Tula. The lady was speaking ill of her father! Her dear, sweet, good-natured father! The evil blood of the Ice People boiled over in Tula. And this time, her incantations were not only frightening. This time she really meant them!

“May shame and disgrace come over you, you damned bitch!” the dear child said quietly to herself. “May the whole parish look down on you as if you were a cur that everyone kicks! May you be forced to ask my father for mercy!”

And this was what happened. The lady’s husband was an officer. Everybody knew that he had been stationed abroad for many months. Then a travelling journeyman, a scoundrel who scraped a living doing various dubious jobs wherever he could earn a copper, came to the lady’s door and asked her whether she had any odd jobs she needed done. After that she didn’t know what got into her, but she became very interested in the young man. Her husband had been away for a very long time, after all!

What made her put on that thin dress that revealed most of her breasts? And not wear anything underneath it? She, a very virtuous lady who had never taken any initiative in her relationship with her husband but had sighed and suffered while he fulfilled his marital duty. Afterwards she had sighed again, this time with relief at finally being allowed to go to sleep.

What on earth made her go out into the stable where the odd-job man was grooming the horse? Why did she feel that he was exuding heat that gave her a tickling sensation between her legs? How could she bring herself to tremble and cling to him so that he couldn’t help but understand what the arrogant lady desired? He wasn’t even good-looking, and was probably crawling with lice. The man put his hand up her skirt, and when he could feel how ready she was he didn’t hesitate for a second. It was a passionate coupling in which the lady hardly played a passive role.

Afterwards he left the farm and never returned.

But he left something behind. The arrogant officer’s wife now became a laughing-stock in the parish. The signs soon showed that she had been with another man while her husband was abroad. She was living proof that you could still get pregnant at the age of forty. Before her husband returned, she had a daughter who resembled neither her nor the officer, but was the very image of an itinerant journeyman who had quickly left the parish nine months ago.

Didn’t people talk? That lady, who had always been so haughty and considered herself better than all the other wives in Bergunda! It was balm for wounded souls! Her protestations that the dangerous man had raped her didn’t help in the least. One of her servants, who had also shown an interest in the man and had sneaked after him, had witnessed their encounter in the stable. Never had she heard a raped women moan with such immense pleasure!

The scandal was terrible. The lady couldn’t go outside her house any longer. She hid herself from the abuse, laughter and gobs of spit directed at her.

One evening, under cover of darkness, she sneaked over to Erland of Backa, who was on leave for a couple of weeks. On her knees, crying, she begged him: “Please, please have mercy on an unfortunate woman. I know you serve under my husband’s command. Please greet him from me and tell him that whatever he might hear, I’m totally innocent. Please be merciful!”

“Well ... er ...” began Erland, who was somewhat slow on the uptake. “But that’s not true!”

“I swear on the salvation of my soul!”

Erland, deadly serious, replied: “Someone saw you jumping up and down on that man – he was virtually raped!”

The lady turned pale and wrung her hands. “Oh, I entreat you! Can’t you tell my husband before he comes back that it wasn’t my fault?”

Erland said: “I never lie! However, I’ll ask your husband to be patient with you. Cows are impossible to control once they’re on heat until they have a bull with them. When womenfolk are keen to copulate, they must have a man. That is the rule of nature. Your husband has been away for a long time, so no wonder you’re itching. I’ll ask the captain to keep this at the back of his mind when he returns. I’ll prepare him for his wife’s embarrassment, and I’ll ask him to be nice to your young daughter because she didn’t ask to be conceived in such a miserable manner – in adultery in the stable hay.”

This made the officer’s wife want to clip Erland’s ears, though of course she couldn’t do that. Instead she humbled herself and said: “Thank you, Mr Backa!”

But if she ever had the opportunity, she was going to seek revenge for all his insulting words. A miserable standard-bearer, a smallholder, having the nerve to chastise her, the wife of a captain! This was ... this was unheard of!

Then she remembered her situation again, and the proof of her adultery lying in the cot at home, and walked away downcast and with her head bowed.

Erland’s intercession didn’t help much. The husband returned home like an angry bull. The little girl was allowed to stay, since Erland had asked him so nicely to be good to her and the captain didn’t have any children of his own. He found a good nurse to take care of the child but his wife was mercilessly kicked out. He didn’t want to have to look at her any more. He thought of all the humiliating times when he had had to beg to be allowed what was his marital right and had lain in a lifeless embrace listening to her sighs of self-sacrifice, waiting for him to finish. And then she had sex with the most shameless of men – with an itinerant journeyman!

When the lady crossed the avenue leading to Bergqvara Farm, on her way out of the parish with her most important belongings in a duffel bag, she saw a little girl leaning against a tree on the avenue. It was Tula, the estate manager’s granddaughter. Sadly, the captain’s wife thought of the daughter she had been forced to leave behind. Perhaps her own little girl would turn out to be just as sweet and chubby as Tula? And have just as open and innocent a look in her eyes? An adorable child. The loss was tearing at the captain’s wife. She bent her head even more.

Tula watched her leave. With an indifferent look, she followed the humiliated figure until she was out of sight. Then she skipped home along the avenue, two hops with each foot so that her golden curls danced. The very next moment, Tula had forgotten all about the officer’s wife.

Tula had another very good friend. This was her “other grandmother”, as she called Ebba of Knapahult.

Tula’s mother had told her that she had been brought up by Ebba, but that neither Ebba nor Siri was her real mother.

Tula’s real grandmother was Vibeke, but she had died many years ago.

Ebba no longer lived in Knapahult. She had married another man in the parish, where Tula would often visit her, which both of them enjoyed. Tula liked the way Grandmother Ebba talked: it was simple and straightforward, and sometimes coarse and racy. Ebba could tell an awful lot of stories.

They probably weren’t all quite true. Young Tula got to learn quite a bit about men and what they could get up to. Fortunately, nobody at home knew what Tula learned at Ebba’s house!

Tula thought that this business of men was very exciting. She had already seen quite a lot that she hadn’t understood at first but which was now explained to her. That men liked to touch women and girls in particular places. Tula mustn’t allow them to do that. This was what Ebba had told her without knowing what seeds of thoughts she was sowing in little Tula. When Tula was ten years old she stumbled on a couple making love in the forest. She quietly walked up to them and sat down next to them to see what they were doing. Whatever they were doing seemed both nice and troublesome. Tula didn’t understand it at all.

She didn’t know that the couple had gone up there, near the farm that belonged to Erland and Gunilla, because it was often deserted. The couple came from the other end of the parish and wanted to be as far away as possible from anyone they knew in order to have some time together in peace and quiet.

Suddenly the woman caught sight of young Tula and let out a hoarse, bird-like scream, struggling to get to her feet. Then the man also saw the little girl, who was sitting there gazing at them and politely observing what they were doing. Jumping up while trying to pull up his trousers, which were round his ankles, he stumbled and fell. The woman had gathered up her underwear and crawled quite a distance on her bare knees before she could get to her feet.

Nevertheless, Tula had gained a partial explanation of the mystery. It was in vain that the man covered his private parts because she had already seen them and knew what they could be used for now.

“Interesting,” she muttered as she trudged home. There was nobody there because her father was on military duty and Tula and her mother were staying with her grandfather. Now and then she liked to walk home on her own. So many strange thoughts were buzzing around in her head and were nobody else’s business. When she was on her own she could practise all sorts of little tricks and fumble her way, and thus find out how much witchcraft she had mastered and what was a dead end for her.

Tula found the key under the dark stone on the window-sill, unlocked the door and went inside.

The silence in the house seemed wonderful.

Then she thought about what she had seen. Her friend Amalia had hinted something about the grown-ups’ strange games but she had been giggling so much that Tula hadn’t understood a word. In fact, Amalia probably knew just as little as Tula herself. Tula took a candle and tried it on herself. But of course, it met opposition. “Ow,” she said throwing the candle away. “It hurts.” Then she locked the door after her and went off to Bergqvara Farm.

“Grown-ups are stupid,” she decided.

Then began a new phase in Tula’s life. She acquired an idol! The whole family journeyed to Skenäs in Södermanland for Anna Maria’s confirmation. There she met her cousins, Anna Maria and Eskil, who were almost the same age. They were only five years older than Tula, and, oh, they were such fun to play with! Anna Maria was quiet and shy but smiled so sweetly and gently, and she also seemed to admire the wild Eskil. Tula, for her part, thought the world of him! All the things he dared to do! All the things he said!

She followed him like a shadow. They climbed the tallest oak tree – Anna Maria and the other children there from her mother’s family didn’t dare to do that, but Tula climbed up, and laughed and waved from the treetop. The grown-ups were shocked and wanted to fetch a ladder to rescue Eskil and Tula, but before the ladder had arrived the children were down again. All the children huddled in a corner of the barn, whispering secrets to one another. Eskil was the obvious leader, and his opinions and suggestions were dizzying. Tula didn’t always know whether he was being serious – like when he suggested that they should set fire to the ladies’ toilet from underneath – but she knew that she must be careful not to do anything that would reveal her hidden talents.

But there was someone else at the confirmation party whom she respected enormously: Eskil’s father, Heike Lind of the Ice People. Tula admired Heike immensely. She would have loved to walk over to him and say: “You and I are of a piece!” However, her instinct told her that she shouldn’t. She wasn’t to reveal her secret just now. She would be much freer if everybody took her for God’s little lamb. So she avoided looking Uncle Heike in the eye. Not in a way that was noticeable – no, not at all. When she was at her happiest and most innocent, she would happily return Heike’s gaze, and he would return her smile without getting suspicious. However, when she was up to something, she didn’t even dare to look in his direction.

Because she knew that he would immediately discover what was hidden in her eyes. She was lucky that there wasn’t a hint of gold in her eyes, not even when she wished anyone harm.

Nevertheless, she had heard the story of Sölve and how the colour of his eyes had changed little by little, so she didn’t dare to run any risks.

Tula behaved very nicely and decently at Skenäs. But she heaved a sigh of relief when they were on their way home again. A sigh of relief and longing. It was nice to have an idol like Eskil, and nice, when she invented fun and mischief, to think, I wonder what Eskil would say about this? He would probably think that I’m plucky. And clever. He would admire me. It was also nice to have him at a distance. That was all she demanded of her idol. Having him nearby all the time would be too much of a strain, because she would always have to remember not to exceed the boundaries of normality. Tula found it natural to wish good luck and happiness to those she liked and misery to those she didn’t care for, and then to strike with some suitable incantations so that what she wanted would happen. But Eskil would certainly begin to ask questions, and she didn’t want that at all. And since he was her idol and not her first love – she was too young for that – it suited her nicely that she lived in another country.

They never wrote to one another. Tula didn’t care for such nonsense. Nevertheless, Eskil became her guiding star, which was a good thing because knowing that he was a normal human being made her jam on the brakes before she went too far with her witchcraft. She needed to learn discretion, and this was why she didn’t seek revenge on Amalia when her friend played with other girls, or on Grandmother Siri when she didn’t want Tula to watch a cow being served by a bull. That didn’t matter so much because Tula watched anyway. Nor did she allow herself to be provoked by her many aunts and uncles on the smallholding, even though Erland’s siblings irritated her intensely. She found them slow on the uptake and stupid. They were her close relatives and she liked them in a way. However, she saw that her own dear father was the only one in the family who was able to use his brain. Not that he was burdened by wisdom, but he had a lot of good common sense. Besides, he was so nice to her and Gunilla that it was impossible not to love him an awful lot.

Tula’s mother and father were very different from each other. But they understood and respected one another, and Tula knew that her mother had had many problems during her upbringing, because Grandmother Ebba had told her. Erland was very patient with Tula’s mother; he would console her when she was scared of other people or was troubled by painful memories. Tula could well understand why the wise and warm Gunilla had married her father Erland, even if he wasn’t all that bright and would brag now and then so all you could do was laugh at him.

Nobody had as good parents as she did!

But when Tula was eleven – almost twelve – years old, she experienced something that was so shocking that she completely forgot her resolution not to practise too much witchcraft.