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Authors: Vilhelm Moberg
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free will, of its own whim and fancy, on the spur of the moment.
“I myself, I speak English from inspiration!”
“Well, that’s why you spoke it from the beginning, I guess. So your husband-to-be could understand you?”
“Yes, of course. Henry and I understood each other that way from the very beginning.”
Ulrika considered the day when she was married to Pastor Jackson as the greatest happening of her life. Kristina knew she celebrated that day each year; each fourth of May she put on her old bridal gown and the pastor donned his cutaway.
The two women had withdrawn from the other guests and were sitting in a corner of the room. It was only seldom they had the opportunity to speak to each other in confidence.
Ulrika had mentioned her husband’s name, then she sighed and became silent. She seemed depressed. It was not the first time Kristina had been surprised at her behavior when her marriage to Jackson was spoken of. He was such a patient and good-hearted man, but there must be something here that wasn’t quite right as it should be. Had something happened between the couple lately? It sounded as if Ulrika was burdened by something unsaid—why did she always sigh like that at her husband’s name?
“Henry is very good to me, very good,” she said. “But a woman can be happy in one way and unhappy in another.”
“Unhappy in another? What do you mean?” Kristina’s eyes were wide open.
Ulrika looked about and continued in a low voice: “We’re at a wedding today, that’s why my thoughts go in that other way. I’ll tell you, but it must stay between us of course.”
She pulled out her handkerchief, blew her nose thoroughly, and leaned intimately toward Kristina. Henry and she didn’t fit together in bed any more. She had hoped for a long time that it could be worked out, so they would fit, but as they had shared the marital bed now for ten years, she knew there was no hope of improvement. Henry didn’t handle a woman the right way at the very moment when it counted. She didn’t want to blame him in the least for this, because he hadn’t been trained with women from his youth, and when he got a wife—at a ripe age—he was too old to train. And perhaps a man’s way in bed was something he was born with, something that came naturally, if bedplay were to be excellent.
Ulrika looked toward the upper end of the table; there on the bench, in today’s seat of honor, sat the young bridal couple. Her eyes lingered a moment on the young Norwegian girl, whose cheeks were rosy-red with health and from blushing, whose eyes, glitteringly clear, never for a moment left the groom.
Ulrika sighed again in envy and desire: “You see, Kristina, in my marriage I don’t get that bodily bliss a woman craves. The great temptations of my old body have come over me. Desire for sins of the flesh. I have eyed other men . . .”
Kristina grew disturbed at Ulrika’s confidence: “What are you talking about?! You mean that you—the wife of Pastor Jackson . . . ?”
“Yes, it’s true—I’ve been tempted to whoring.”
Kristina made a sudden motion with her hand, as if to silence her. But Ulrika went right on.
“I had to tell you. It happened last summer. A Norwegian tempted me so I had to . . . You know him, Sigurd Thomassen . . .”
“The shoemaker in Stillwater? The one who always complains because he doesn’t have a woman?”
“Exactly! It was he!”
Kristina remembered the man from Ulrika’s great Christmas party when he had tried to become intimate with her: “I’m a kind man, I don’t wish to do anything wrong with any woman . . .”
“Did the Norwegian tempt you to adultery?”
“He wanted the same thing as I.”
And Ulrika’s ample bosom rose with her deep breathing; in this woman-empty America Thomassen was far from the only one who had tried to seduce her. She had met men who had both the inclination, the lust, and the fresh approach. But the Norwegian was the only one whom she
“I myself, I speak English from inspiration!”
“Well, that’s why you spoke it from the beginning, I guess. So your husband-to-be could understand you?”
“Yes, of course. Henry and I understood each other that way from the very beginning.”
Ulrika considered the day when she was married to Pastor Jackson as the greatest happening of her life. Kristina knew she celebrated that day each year; each fourth of May she put on her old bridal gown and the pastor donned his cutaway.
The two women had withdrawn from the other guests and were sitting in a corner of the room. It was only seldom they had the opportunity to speak to each other in confidence.
Ulrika had mentioned her husband’s name, then she sighed and became silent. She seemed depressed. It was not the first time Kristina had been surprised at her behavior when her marriage to Jackson was spoken of. He was such a patient and good-hearted man, but there must be something here that wasn’t quite right as it should be. Had something happened between the couple lately? It sounded as if Ulrika was burdened by something unsaid—why did she always sigh like that at her husband’s name?
“Henry is very good to me, very good,” she said. “But a woman can be happy in one way and unhappy in another.”
“Unhappy in another? What do you mean?” Kristina’s eyes were wide open.
Ulrika looked about and continued in a low voice: “We’re at a wedding today, that’s why my thoughts go in that other way. I’ll tell you, but it must stay between us of course.”
She pulled out her handkerchief, blew her nose thoroughly, and leaned intimately toward Kristina. Henry and she didn’t fit together in bed any more. She had hoped for a long time that it could be worked out, so they would fit, but as they had shared the marital bed now for ten years, she knew there was no hope of improvement. Henry didn’t handle a woman the right way at the very moment when it counted. She didn’t want to blame him in the least for this, because he hadn’t been trained with women from his youth, and when he got a wife—at a ripe age—he was too old to train. And perhaps a man’s way in bed was something he was born with, something that came naturally, if bedplay were to be excellent.
Ulrika looked toward the upper end of the table; there on the bench, in today’s seat of honor, sat the young bridal couple. Her eyes lingered a moment on the young Norwegian girl, whose cheeks were rosy-red with health and from blushing, whose eyes, glitteringly clear, never for a moment left the groom.
Ulrika sighed again in envy and desire: “You see, Kristina, in my marriage I don’t get that bodily bliss a woman craves. The great temptations of my old body have come over me. Desire for sins of the flesh. I have eyed other men . . .”
Kristina grew disturbed at Ulrika’s confidence: “What are you talking about?! You mean that you—the wife of Pastor Jackson . . . ?”
“Yes, it’s true—I’ve been tempted to whoring.”
Kristina made a sudden motion with her hand, as if to silence her. But Ulrika went right on.
“I had to tell you. It happened last summer. A Norwegian tempted me so I had to . . . You know him, Sigurd Thomassen . . .”
“The shoemaker in Stillwater? The one who always complains because he doesn’t have a woman?”
“Exactly! It was he!”
Kristina remembered the man from Ulrika’s great Christmas party when he had tried to become intimate with her: “I’m a kind man, I don’t wish to do anything wrong with any woman . . .”
“Did the Norwegian tempt you to adultery?”
“He wanted the same thing as I.”
And Ulrika’s ample bosom rose with her deep breathing; in this woman-empty America Thomassen was far from the only one who had tried to seduce her. She had met men who had both the inclination, the lust, and the fresh approach. But the Norwegian was the only one whom she
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