Ice by Ulla-lena Lundberg

Author:Ulla-lena Lundberg [Ulla-Lena Lundberg]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781908745422
Publisher: Sort Of Books
Published: 2015-12-07T16:00:00+00:00

And here he is, where everyone can see, his briefcase in hand, knocking on Doctor Gyllen’s door. A long meeting, there is clearly much to discuss concerning the Health Care Centre. Her parents are out rowing in the nice weather. The general’s wife has a parasol raised against the sun, the general has a handkerchief on his head with knots tied at the corners, his braces over his undershirt, his trouser legs rolled up, and his lily-white feet on the duckboards. They row to an island in the bay and have coffee on the granite slope.

The pastor greets her with a smile, the doctor thanks him for yesterday’s reception. “It was all very pleasant.” As for the roof-beam party, maybe better to return to it when Sörling is ready to suggest a date. In any case, they need to discuss the refreshments with Adele Bergman. So:

The pastor has to start, he’s used to that. “All of this must feel like small potatoes compared with your own struggle.”

“Don’t misunderstand me. I do not think what happens here is unimportant. This is the right way to live—normally. Precious for me.”

“Yes, I feel the same way, ever since the end of the war. It’s good that we understand each other on that point. Moreover, I realize that here in Finland there’s a great deal we don’t understand about Rus—, about the Soviet Union. This Iron Curtain they talk about makes it hard for information to get through. Propaganda on their side, propaganda on ours. What are things really like over there?”

“A little better, I hope, now that the war is over. Materially. Maybe not the same hunger. But otherwise my information is quite old. Years have gone. No channels which function. Total isolation. We know nothing. We do not hear even rumours.”

“Before the war there were lots of rumours. People disappearing. No one knew anything for sure.”

“People who have never lived there don’t understand. No one knows what it was like.”

“No. Did you know other Finns in Leningrad? My father was in contact with Finns he met in America who moved to the Soviet Union, but then there were no more letters.”

“Many are dead. Others in camps. Yes, I knew Finns. In happier times, in their youth, my father knew Edvard Gylling. He looked me up in Leningrad. You will think it comic, but we always spoke Swedish together. Except last few times. We didn’t dare. We spoke only Russian, only the most common phrases. ‘I am happy to see you, dear Edvard Gylling.’ ‘And I to see you, dear little Irina Gyllen.’ ‘How is your dear family?’ ‘Fine, thank you, in good health. Fanny especially sends greetings.’ That was his last visit to Leningrad. Then arrested. Fanny taken away. Grown children, no contact.”

“Terrible.”

“He was a good person. An idealist. A socialist. Ach, if he had only stepped back when the civil war in Finland could no longer be prevented.”

“Like our own great donor, who knew enough to flee to Sweden. He had relatives here who helped him move on.

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