The Best Intentions by Ingmar Bergman

Author:Ingmar Bergman
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Skyhorse
Published: 2011-06-15T21:00:00+00:00

The guard dashes by in the aisle and says “Forsboda nextf” Anna and Henrik are sitting side by side, holding hands, tense but solemn. The rain has followed them inland, but sunlight suddenly pours into the dusty compartment and draws sharp contours and rushing shadows over faces and paneling. It is afternoon and the sun is already low. Henrik leans his face against Anna’s cheek and says, “Anna, whatever happens, whatever surprises we come across, whatever peculiar people we have to look after, we’ll be together.” “Yes, now we’ll always be together,” whispers Anna through the clatter and squealing brakes, the wheels thundering over a small bridge, the engine making one last effort with an extra chug and billowing smoke. Then the train is standing at the shining wet stone platform of Forsboda station. The guard’s door slams, the gate’s bell rings, the signal is dropped, the stationmaster makes a sign with his arm, and the engine pulls out with its cylinders chugging. This is only a small local train and at once disappears around the curve by the lake. Anna and Henrik are left looking around on the platform, two suitcases between them, one large, the other smaller.

A horse and buggy are waiting beside the wall of the station building, the hood down. Alongside the trap is a man in a long coat with gold braid on his collar and a peaked cap pulled down over his forehead. “Is it the pastor?” says peaked cap, without moving. “That’s right,” says Henrik. “Then you’re to come with me. The squire says I’m to drive the pastor to the parsonage. But he didn’t say anything about anyone being with him.” “This is my fiancee,” says Henrik. “Oh, yes, then your fiancee’ll have to come, too, though the squire didn’t say anything about any fiancee,” says peaked cap, still without moving. Anna and Henrik pick up their suitcases and carry them to the buggy. Peaked cap heaves them in under the seat, and the couple climb up. The driver sits on a board behind the passengers. “Lucky I didn’t take the small buggy because it’s got only two seats,” says peaked cap, smacking his lips at the horse, which sets off at a spanking pace. “You’d have had to stay behind at the station, Miss,” peaked cap adds, smiling toothlessly, but not in an unfriendly way.

Henrik realizes this is a joke inviting him to converse, so he asks whether it has been raining all day “It’s been raining all day and there’ll be more this evening, so it’s just as well I didn’t take the small carriage, because it’s got no hood. I let the hood down just before the train came in.”

Then nothing is said for a long while. “There’s the church,” says peaked cap, pointing at a huge, unwieldy nineteenth-century cathedral flung down on a slope and surrounded by sparse autumn-red trees. “The pastor won’t be preaching much in the big church, I suppose, but more in the estate chapel.” His tone of voice is not free of classification.

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