Open Grave

Thirty-five

Ronald was a taciturn young man who lugged Agnes’s plastic bags and suitcases down without comment. He did not seem a bit impressed at finding himself in an aristocratic Nobel Prize winner’s home. Perhaps he was eager to get going.

Agnes stayed upstairs. Even though the two rooms she had the use of were emptied of her belongings she was worried about having forgotten something. She opened wardrobes and pulled out dresser drawers, wandering around like a lost soul in the bedroom and the small drawing room. Greta had silently observed her and then went down to help pack the things in the car.

Neither the professor, Birgitta, nor Liisa Lehtonen had been seen at all.

The atmosphere in the house was unnatural. In an attempt at a joke Ronald asked if someone had died.

When everything was packed there was nothing more for Agnes to do: She had to go down one flight. Birgitta was standing in the hall, pale and without makeup, peering out through the open door, as if she wanted to check what was being carried out of the house. Birgitta said nothing when Agnes slipped through the hall and into the kitchen. It was as if Birgitta did not notice her.

Greta had made coffee and Agnes really wanted a cup, perhaps have a sandwich, before she left. She had also thought about fixing something for Ronald and Greta but she remained standing in front of the counter in the kitchen where she had worked for fifty-five years. During the first twenty years there had been a cook. After that Agnes had been the one responsible for the food.

Everything went so fast, she thought. The idea that she would pack up and move away was a foreign thought only a few weeks ago. Sure, she had thought about having passed the retirement mark several years ago, but during the past week everything had accelerated with a dizzying velocity. She could barely keep up herself. Without Greta the departure never would have been possible. Then she would have submitted to the professor’s anger and Birgitta’s attempts at persuasion.

Mechanically she took out bread and fixings. She made a few sandwiches, had a few mouthfuls of coffee, and quickly felt livelier. It was also as if the weather powers were in a lighter mood. The clouds were pushed aside and she could glimpse a few patches of blue sky.

Agnes did not hear Birgitta slip into the kitchen and jumped in fright when she started talking. She stood leaning against the doorpost. Her expression was that of the injured party, it was the sullen Birgitta Agnes knew so well. She had nothing new to say but instead repeated her arguments that Agnes was putting them in a difficult position.

Agnes decided not to defend herself. She realized that it was pointless.

“So you don’t even notice me anymore?” Birgitta complained.

“I just didn’t hear you come in,” said Agnes. “Would you like some coffee?”

Birgitta shook her head. Bitterness made her ugly. She took a couple of steps toward Agnes and was preparing to go on renewed attack when Greta came into the kitchen. She ignored Birgitta. Agnes sensed that they had had a dispute.

“Everything is stowed away. Ronald is waiting in the car.”

“Doesn’t he want a sandwich?”

“No, he wants to get going.”

Agnes sensed that her sister was at least equally eager to leave the house. She had seemed strangely absent the whole morning, blamed it on sleeping poorly.

“Well, then we’ll say good-bye,” said Agnes, extending her hand.

Birgitta sobbed. Agnes felt sorry for her in a way, understood that in the future she was the one who would have to take the blows when the professor got worked up and shouted about things large and small. On the other hand her way of reacting with anger was insolent. If she had only been sad Agnes could have given her a hug and consoled her like in the past.

At the same moment the professor entered the kitchen. Behind him Liisa could be seen.

“See to it that you leave now!” he hissed.

Even Birgitta looked dumbfounded. Greta shook her head.

“Goodbye,” said Agnes, extending her hand.

The professor pretended not to see it. Instead he turned toward Birgitta.

“Now that the servants have abandoned the house you’ll have to see to-”

“We can talk about that later,” Birgitta cut him off.

The professor stared. Agnes knew that he loathed being interrupted. She saw besides that he was dizzy.

“Thanks, then!” said Greta, making an effort to continue, but Agnes stopped her by placing a hand on her sister’s arm.

Agnes did not want any trouble. She just wanted to disappear from the house.

“Hags,” the professor snorted.

“I am no hag to you!”

Greta held up an index finger in front of his face as if she were scolding a child.

“Is this the thanks I get?” the professor shouted. “Here we have fed you all these years. You’ve had it good here. Agnes! Don’t say otherwise, don’t try to lie!”

Agnes had not expected an affectionate farewell, but not this anger either, this aggressiveness, this injustice.

“Silence!” Greta thundered with Aron’s voice. “You should be grateful that we have been so loyal for all these years.”

She also assumed some of her father’s features: the face which despite its wrinkles stood out as sculpted, the prominent jaw and flaming eyes. The preacher who did not stand aside.

“Loyal,” the professor said with a sneer.

He twisted his lips but the effect was missing when he was forced to support himself with both hands on the back of the chair in front of him so as not to fall down. He was breathing with great exertion.

“Daddy!” Birgitta pleaded.

Despite Agnes’s renewed attempts to silence her Greta did not let herself be stopped. She placed herself close to the professor and forced him to meet her eyes. Agnes could glimpse fear in his eyes for the first time since she had been in the house. Was it due to Greta’s fury or was he worried about having a heart attack? It would be embarrassing for him to ask for a pill, it would be an illustration of his dependence and weakness.

“We know about everything that has happened here in the house,” said Greta. “Everything! And there are so many skeletons in the closet that it’s enough for a whole cemetery. Last night I rescued you from disgrace, but now I don’t know if I did the right thing. You have bullied Agnes all these years and it is a miracle that she put up with it. But now it’s over. We have done our part. And we don’t deserve to be scolded.”

The words positively rushed out of Greta’s mouth. She talked about the long shifts and the lack of freedom, the constant attending. Agnes stared at her sister. She recognized all this, but what was the disgrace Greta mentioned?

“Daddy,” Birgitta pleaded again, “we don’t care about that! Come!”

By pulling him on the arm she tried to get her father to leave the kitchen, lead him away from the verbal barrage. But such a retreat was inconceivable, Agnes understood that. That went against everything the professor stood for. He was not the one who stepped aside. On the contrary, he shook himself free and appeared to be recovering from the attack of dizziness. Then came the counterattack.

“Not free? If there is anyone who hasn’t been free it’s me, who has taken responsibility for everything and everyone. Have you ever had to make a single decision about anything? Get out, you ungrateful cows!”

Greta’s reply came like a whiplash. “So you said that to Anna too?”

The professor stiffened. Liisa who had so far kept in the background took a couple of steps into the kitchen.

“Anna disappeared without saying anything,” said the professor.

“She was struck dumb,” said Greta. “Silenced. I don’t know what happened, but I can guess. And then the old professor went out to Father and talked nonsense about Anna.”

“You know nothing about that,” the professor snarled.

With his superior manner the professor had retaken command. It was as if nothing really had any effect on him. Greta did not have the same experience either in the art of being disrespectful and shameless. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and when she opened her eyes again she looked completely powerless. It was as if she had shot off all of her ammunition and more than anything wanted to disappear from the house and Uppsala.

“Ronald is waiting,” said Agnes, in an attempt to make contact with her sister.

Greta raised her eyes and took her hand. Together they left the kitchen, went through the hall, opened the door, and stepped out onto the stairs. When Agnes caught sight of Ronald, who was leaning against the car-unexpectedly enough with a broad smile on his face-she squeezed her sister’s hand. She was happy about Greta, about the smiling Ronald from Gräsö, and about being free. She had made it through.