When I Was a Child by Vilhelm Moberg

Author:Vilhelm Moberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-87351-931-1
Publisher: Minnesota Historical Society Press
Published: 2014-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

There was one date that Valter Sträng in years to come would ever hate and abhor—the 29th of the month. That day was never again the same to him as other days of the month. The very number became obnoxious to him, it seemed to irritate him even with its sound as it came around each month. He never would expect anything nice to happen to him on that date.

The 27th of August was a Friday. He returned from school in the late afternoon. Mother and Gunnar were carrying in the rye from the Little Field. They gathered a few sheaves in a bundle, tied them together with a rope, and carried the rye on their backs to the barn. It had been poor drying-weather, and the rye was heavy. Valter was hungry and went to the kitchen for a piece of bread, as he often did when Mother was out. In the living-room he saw his father’s chair standing empty. Father had gone to bed with his clothes on. Valter went over to his bed.

Soldier-Sträng lay stretched out on the bed, his blind eyes staring at the ceiling. He was not sleeping. When Valter asked if he was worse, Father gave a nervous laugh. His mouth opened, exposing the holes where teeth were missing, while he laughed.

Not for many a moon had Valter heard his father laugh so heartily. Perhaps the doctor had come and told him that the film was ripe. It should have been ripe long ago, according to the doctor. Something must have happened, Father must have received joyous news to make him so happy.

Valter attempted to smile back. He spoke louder so that his father would be sure to recognize his voice. But again Father did not answer, only laughed some more. His eyes were on the ceiling as if he saw something funny up there and couldn’t help laughing.

Valter took a step backward, the smile frozen on his lips: Father did not answer him, only laughed. And he had never heard him laugh like that before. In fact, he had never heard anyone laugh like that.

He ran to his mother in the Little Field.

“Father has gone to bed!”

“To bed? He was just outside.”

“He’s laughing!”

“What do you mean, boy? Laughing?”

“He keeps laughing and doesn’t answer me!”

Valter had never seen his mother’s face so filled with concern. She dropped the sheaf from her hand and ran back to the cottage. Gunnar and Valter sat down, each on a stone; they avoided looking at each other.

A moment later their mother came running back.

“We must send a message to Carpenter-Elof!”

“Why Elof?” asked Valter.

“That you wouldn’t understand. Gunnar, you run! Your legs are fast!”

Gunnar started off. Mother went back to the house. Valter was left alone in the Little Field. There were still a few shocks of rye to be carried in. He spread the rope on the ground, placed a few sheaves in it, pulled the rope tight, and swung the bundle onto his back. The sheaves were taller than he, and the heads dragged on the ground as he struggled homeward.

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