The Glitter Scene (9 page)

A sad story, a story about the unnecessary.

Tobias who stands by and watches. Remembers “Karin” too, not often but sometimes. Her desertion, and his. The baroness who soon after the catastrophe said confused, stammering: “That is what you do. First. Instead
of doing what you should be doing. Go to the city with ‘Astrid’ ”—that is the cousin’s mama’s real name, which only the baroness has ever used—“and buy things.” As if it would make things easier. Art supplies for Bengt, a radio cassette player. Yes, it is “Astrid” who suddenly wants it but it is the baroness who pays for it. She tells Tobias about Astrid who had a tin can filled with coins in her authentic checkered milkman shopping bag, which she had insisted on taking with her on their visit to the city; she had suddenly taken the can out in the appliance store and opened the lid and poured the contents out on the counter. “Is this enough?” With tears in her eyes, and the baroness explains that it was first in that moment that she understood how, behind the cousin’s mama’s calm, sorrowful façade, such a daze had been hidden, that she herself had fallen silent. And in some way also understood that she should do something. Not just for Bengt, but for everyone, for everything. Those children, so defenseless. But at the same time she realized the opposite. She could not, cannot—has enough problems of her own: Eddie de Wire and the guilty conscience about her own shortcomings, everything that went wrong.

The cousin’s mama who had stood in the shop like a child, chasms that had opened for the baroness. But the only thing she had been capable of doing was collecting the coins and getting out her checkbook and paying for that gadget—at the same time as she hated herself, her checks, her money, her possibilities.

Everything you should have done but did not while there was still time. “Time is the time we do something else, Tobias,” the baroness had said to Tobias on the veranda and said that there was a poem that went like that
which had suddenly popped into her head and Tobias never hated her like he loved her in that moment.

•

“WHERE IS EVERYONE? I WANT TO PLAAY!” Doris out in the yard again, had become a bit bored with just the cousin’s mama and the crosswords in the kitchen. And the music:
I go up to the mountains with my lonely heart
—a pop song of the day as good as any other, which she hums where she is standing there on the steps, looking around with a hardtack sandwich in hand.

“WHERE?” Doris yells. Deadly silence. No one answers Doris. But then Doris catches sight of Rita and Solveig and Bengt on the hill on the First Cape.

“I’m comiiing!” And Doris heads off in the direction of the path that leads up to the hill. But no one stays there and waits for her. Bengt disappears and Rita and Solveig make their way down on the other side, leaving the garden and the house that will soon be occupied by others:
let’s get out of here
as they say in the District.

Enough of that. But also, enough of the twin-unity. What happens happens there even though no one notices until it is impossible to hide it any longer. A crack that becomes a sore that is widened until it can be seen by day, red and gaping. Doris starts running up the hill.

Rita and Solveig walk down, as said. You can see them strolling down the hill, out of Doris’s sight, leaving the garden and the house that will soon be inhabited by other people,
let’s get out of here
.

Lose yourself. Because what you are, have been together, is not good enough.

And you have started hating what you are
.

The game. The Winter Garden, on the hill. Can be
determined. Silly. Realized. The utopia. More fantasy was needed than what they possessed in order to make the game, which was really never a game but an own world, real—a possibility. Well, been there done that and no one there is interested in witnessing the development of the fall, from A to B in that way.

And: what remains. The astronaut. The nuclear physicist. A damned many years until college, university.

But at the same time—these are just movements that can be sensed under the surface.

And are never spoken about, almost no fights, reconciliations.

An old Lifeguard’s Medal that Solveig still sleeps with under her pillow. A sign of luck. Talisman.
Pathetic
. But it disappears, as Rita starts saying: “You are, Solveig, a pathetic.”

•

But Doris comes to the twins’ cottage that same night. “Today I got, tomorrow I will get and get.” Doris warbling her own little song, a few hours after she raced up the hill on the First Cape only to discover that the siblings had escaped.

Doris in the twins’ cottage, jumping around there too: clumsy dance steps on the floor, tippytoe, today … tomorrow … GET! Doris everywhere, at the table where Solveig and Tobias are trying to focus on her math homework … but mathematics, sigh, Doris does not
want
that one, yawns theatrically, you become bored after all. So Doris continues on, to the bookshelf, takes out the Swedish Academy’s word list that was Tobias’s Christmas present to the twins and that Solveig used to take with her to the cousin’s kitchen as an aid for the cousin’s mama with
all of the crosswords she was solving before all of the terrible things happened and Doris Flinkenberg came to the cousin’s house. Some strange, funny word that Doris can find and take away from there; and Doris flips, flips until she realizes, which she says too, with delight,
“I
am so little, I can’t read!” And moves on to picking up different things at random, whereupon she stretches out on her stomach on Solveig’s bed, “get and get,” but drowsy now, and then of course after a moment of motionlessness as if she were sleeping, so to speak, she sticks her hand under the pillow.

“Damn it, Doris!” Solveig’s voice suddenly surprises all of them, resounds loud and wild in the cottage. “You put my medal back!” And everything stops, is frozen. Doris above all. Doris sits up, so small pitiful afraid—as if all of the terrible things she has been through bubble up inside her, gather in her eyes in an unbearable way. Opens her hand, it is empty, but says, stammering, “Sorry, sorry …” bottom lip quivering, like a preparation for crying.

“Now, now, girls,” Tobias says but Solveig gets up and walks out, slamming the door behind her.

And later, that night, Solveig goes to the outbuilding farthest away on the cousin’s property alone and she has newspaper and matches with her.

The place where Björn was found when he was dead. It is definitely burning, but just a little, nothing dangerous. The outbuilding itself will fall down under its own weight during a storm, but not until the following year, in the spring.

But suddenly Bengt is there, with the water bucket, and puts it out.

And everyone sees: Solveig standing and crying by the outbuilding. Rita coming, taking her hand, leading her home. They walk, Solveig crying, Rita putting her arm around her. Past the cousin’s mama who is standing on the steps of the cousin’s house, and Doris, heavy with sleep in her pajamas and big boots, just below. Rubbing her eyes, but then, shoots into the cousin’s house and as fast as lightning she is back with a blanket and runs after Rita and Solveig on the field and “if you are freezing, here,” and wants to put the blanket over Solveig’s shoulders. And Solveig stops, turns around, says a soft but very emotional “thank you” to Doris Flinkenberg.

And it is—all of the small things that happen that evening, that night, the only release.

•

But later, gradually, everything evens out. In the District too: life goes on, everything acute and inflammatory comes to rest, the whispering as well. Is pushed aside by new happenings, bad, good, everything imaginable from day to day, big and small, which draws attention to itself. And Rita, Solveig—they are of course on the other hand completely ordinary youths in the District, students at the school, the coed school and the high school up in the town center. And that is finally what wins over everything that does not exist, that is not left: like the American girl and the baroness and the other summer residents. And the winter comes, the spring, the summer, several summers falls winters seasons.

And at the cousin’s property, in the cousin’s house, there is something about Doris Flinkenberg for real. Her mood, her joy, her
light
. Which infects everything and brings about a change. Something about Doris, so
smart, wonderful—she gradually wins everyone’s heart. With the exception of the cousin’s papa’s of course, but he does not count. He has withdrawn to his room next to the kitchen, closed the door. Sits there and boozes by himself, sometimes does not even come out at mealtimes.

The effect Doris has, Doris-light. Doris who, despite everything, comes and makes everything normal again. And when after that scene with Solveig in the twins’ cottage Doris’s own present-getter zeal becomes weaker, it becomes more fun for the twins and for Bengt to be around her. So that you notice that you WANT to give Doris a lot of things—especially when she is not there in person begging for them.

•

Doris came like the first orange after the war
. The cousin’s mama says many times when she becomes herself again. And Doris laughs, nods and agrees. WANTS to be an orange, but also banana and pear and large green apples of the kind that can be bought at the real store—
the whole
fruit basket.

“Look, it’s me!” The fruit basket standing on the prize table at the Christmas bazaar at the fellowship hall in the middle of December: all of those wonderful fruits under the crackly cellophane and the red silk bow around the handle. First prize, of course, and Doris points at it, laughs. And Rita and Solveig and Bengt and Tobias and the cousin’s mama laugh too, it is funny of course and Bengt, who has inexplicable good luck with games, buys a few lottery tickets and wins that basket too, which he then, in full view of everyone, hands over to little Doris Flinkenberg.

So heavy, so large, she barely has the strength to carry it, has to drag it behind her on the floor of the fellowship hall but she gladly does it of course, a fine show besides. But then
CRUNCH
someone is suddenly there sticking her hand in through the cellophane, swiping the largest most delicious green apple: it is the Pastor’s daughter Maj-Gun Maalamaa, almost as little as Doris, who has been running around among the guests at the church bazaar with a terror-inducing old lady mask, “Here comes Liz Maalamaa, buhuu buhuu!” as if she wanted to frighten people and maybe it is a little creepy because the mask looks dreadful but no one wants to play along with those kinds of games NOW in the whirl of the general Christmas bazaar with the elves and the Christmas peace and the candles, so no one pays any attention. Just her brother who is slightly older, wearing a suit and white shirt with a tie even though he is probably only eight–nine years old, he is trying to keep an eye on his little sister, who the less attention you pay her the more high-spirited and unbearable she becomes.

But she is standing there now, the Pastor’s daughter Maj-Gun Maalamaa, with the apple from Doris’s basket in her hand. Takes off the mask and takes a big bite of the apple right in front of Doris,
smack
, and “ha-ha-ha” to Doris. “Give it back!” Doris yells. Give it back. But suddenly Doris, when Maj-Gun does not pay her any attention, so pitiful and suddenly almost afraid. “Stop!” she almost whispers, but Maj-Gun does not stop, only when her father the pastor shows up and pulls her ear, does she yell bloody murder, “NO!”

“Don’t pay her any attention,” says Solveig, who has been standing next to Doris the entire time; and it turns
out all right later, because the Pastor comes and apologizes and takes Doris and Rita and Solveig to the kitchen of the fellowship hall where he has sweets that he lets his disobedient daughter Maj-Gun offer them. Especially Doris, who will get the nicest piece, a shiny red chocolate heart with a truffle inside wrapped in paper. “Maj-Gun should apologize,” says the Pastor. And Maj-Gun finally says it, sorrysorry.

The fear, how it had flamed up in Doris’s eyes. The Pastor had also seen it. And probably thinks it is a matter of the old lady mask so he explains to Doris Flinkenberg who has her mouth so full with delicious chocolate that she cannot speak but just makes her eyes wide—that the mask is not dangerous at all but represents the face of a famous actress, Ava Gardner, does Doris want to try it on?

But just as Doris is going to nod yes please there is a furious howl from Maj-Gun Maalamaa who snatches the mask out of papa Pastor’s hand and yells that it is not a movie star but her horrible godmother Liz Maalamaa! And Doris recoils, almost frightened—but Maj-Gun has run away, with the mask, the apple, before the pastor has time to become even angrier with her.

But the fear in Doris’s eyes, you think about it later. That it is still there beneath everything. Under the surface of this that and the other—jump rope jumping, cassette player, song of the day
I go up the mountain with my lonely heart
in the cousin’s kitchen, crosswords,
True Crimes
with the cousin’s mama … and the cousin’s mama!—it remains. Like the scars in her skin, the burns from the grill, the cigarettes, under her clothes.

Can pass, but never leave.

A fear that exists there and can be called forth.

Like an omen as well. Because that fear, it disappears for a long time but returns when she gets older and contributes so that she, many years later, in her teens, will take her own life: goes and shoots herself at Bule Marsh.

Just sixteen years old—and incomprehensible. At the same time not. Because by that time there is also another story. Doris’s own, private one. Because what also happens and very soon, already the following spring, after Doris arrives at the cousin’s house, is that she starts going out on her own. On the prowl for a companion of the same age, a friend of her own. Because despite everything, things become a bit humdrum with the cousin’s mama and the older cousins at the cousin’s property.

And she finds her way to the house in the darker part, completely new then. And a girl the same age lives there. Her name is Sandra Wärn and she becomes like fat on bacon with Doris for many years. A friendship that becomes love for Doris and that Doris enters into hook, line, and sinker. But it ceases, a fight, some misunderstanding, as can happen between two who are close, maybe too close—and when it suddenly ends Doris is skinless.