Nacka, and Jan-Erik was born. Contact with their old friends ceased completely since their new bourgeois life in the wealthy suburb aroused only contempt or disinterest. And a new era began. Their creativity was hampered by wakeful nights and hazy days. The baby demanded new routines that conflicted with publishers’ expectations. Where mutual considerationhad prevailed, it now became necessary to guard their own territory. The fictional characters of the novel suddenly invaded reality to compete with the shrieking baby who demanded constant attention. They were not content with the occasions that arose when Jan-Erik was sleeping, or with the scheduled writing times that they finally had to establish to avoid arguments. And then, like a preliminary solution, Gerda came into the picture. At least to remove all the dirt and take care of the cooking and other daily chores which had forced them into a situation that left not the slightest room for creativity.
Gerda Persson.
Once again Alice felt irritated that she was expected to take an interest in the woman’s death. It was odd what a fuss was being made. Money was so tight everywhere nowadays that the council must have more important things to worry about. What she knew about Gerda was not much, despite the fact that they’d lived under the same roof for almost twenty-five years, from the years Jan-Erik was a baby until the day Gerda turned sixty-seven and needed a housekeeper of her own. And she needed one even before that; she was quite slovenly, if truth be told. But Axel had refused to replace her and let a stranger into the house. He had thought that Alice was exaggerating her criticism. She in turn hadn’t understood what difference it would make to exchange one stranger for another. It was a mystery to her how Axel could have any opinion about the household, since he was always cooped up in his office. Gerda was constantly there, padding through the house like a cat, but they hadn’t really known each other. The boundary between the gentry and servants was clear as glass, and they had both been equally inclined to maintain that distance. But Gerda always had a front-row seat. She had witnessed Alice’s transformation from Axel’s companion and artistic equal to representative wife who was expected to stand by his side and be happy for his sake, watching as he received his honours. Gerda had been along for the wholeride, and Alice begrudged the fact that Gerda knew that she knew that she knew.
Because in the end it had all turned into a perpetual power struggle. By then Annika was already growing in Alice’s womb, and with her birth the fight was over. The schism that Alice felt had stifled the last remnants of her creativity and put her permanently in Axel’s shadow. She had tried to fight her impulses but couldn’t tell whether they were coming from inside or had been sparked from the outside. While Axel felt legitimised to pursue his dreams, her duty had been to renounce hers. The children and what they demanded of her became a threat to all that had once been her destiny: their shouts that disturbed her in the middle of whatever she was doing; their tears that she was expected to soothe; their dependence that ensnared her.
Alice Ragnerfeldt swallowed hard and stared into space. Only the eternal ticking of the kitchen clock held her in the present.
Because what was threatening to suffocate her and had been so obvious again and again was actually only a glimpse. A glimpse that forty-five years later she would give anything to experience again.
To have another chance. To do better.
7
J an-Erik was still sitting there with his morning paper when Louise came into the kitchen. Louise had said goodbye to Ellen then had spent a long time in the bathroom. When she reappeared, her face was made up and she had a towel wrapped round her head. He followed her with his eyes as she walked over to the freezer, took out a bag of rolls, and put two of them in the
Gerda Persson.
Once again Alice felt irritated that she was expected to take an interest in the woman’s death. It was odd what a fuss was being made. Money was so tight everywhere nowadays that the council must have more important things to worry about. What she knew about Gerda was not much, despite the fact that they’d lived under the same roof for almost twenty-five years, from the years Jan-Erik was a baby until the day Gerda turned sixty-seven and needed a housekeeper of her own. And she needed one even before that; she was quite slovenly, if truth be told. But Axel had refused to replace her and let a stranger into the house. He had thought that Alice was exaggerating her criticism. She in turn hadn’t understood what difference it would make to exchange one stranger for another. It was a mystery to her how Axel could have any opinion about the household, since he was always cooped up in his office. Gerda was constantly there, padding through the house like a cat, but they hadn’t really known each other. The boundary between the gentry and servants was clear as glass, and they had both been equally inclined to maintain that distance. But Gerda always had a front-row seat. She had witnessed Alice’s transformation from Axel’s companion and artistic equal to representative wife who was expected to stand by his side and be happy for his sake, watching as he received his honours. Gerda had been along for the wholeride, and Alice begrudged the fact that Gerda knew that she knew that she knew.
Because in the end it had all turned into a perpetual power struggle. By then Annika was already growing in Alice’s womb, and with her birth the fight was over. The schism that Alice felt had stifled the last remnants of her creativity and put her permanently in Axel’s shadow. She had tried to fight her impulses but couldn’t tell whether they were coming from inside or had been sparked from the outside. While Axel felt legitimised to pursue his dreams, her duty had been to renounce hers. The children and what they demanded of her became a threat to all that had once been her destiny: their shouts that disturbed her in the middle of whatever she was doing; their tears that she was expected to soothe; their dependence that ensnared her.
Alice Ragnerfeldt swallowed hard and stared into space. Only the eternal ticking of the kitchen clock held her in the present.
Because what was threatening to suffocate her and had been so obvious again and again was actually only a glimpse. A glimpse that forty-five years later she would give anything to experience again.
To have another chance. To do better.
7
J an-Erik was still sitting there with his morning paper when Louise came into the kitchen. Louise had said goodbye to Ellen then had spent a long time in the bathroom. When she reappeared, her face was made up and she had a towel wrapped round her head. He followed her with his eyes as she walked over to the freezer, took out a bag of rolls, and put two of them in the
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