A Moth to a Flame

by Stig Dagerman

  But I won’t truly be at peace until I’m with you again. If I only had the words to convey to you the indescribable peace you give me, what you mean to me, and the infinite significance you have added to my life!! For the first time in my life, I understand what it means to really love someone. This means that I can never be truly alone because you are constantly in my thoughts. Whatever I do and wherever I am, you are always there. If you only knew how happy this makes me, and how happy I can make others because of it.

  As you know, Berit has returned. As we agreed, I see her fairly often – much more than before. Our relationship is much better now than it has ever been. I no longer get annoyed with her bad habits, and since I no longer need to feel myself bound to her, I don’t feel the need to hurt her like I did before. This has been quite good for her, in fact. She doesn’t constantly burst into tears, and she seldom has headaches. Of course, she thinks I love her like never before, and why shouldn’t I let her believe it? If you can make someone glad and happy by simply refraining from confessing every single thing you think or do, then I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t. To downright lie is an entirely different matter. But it won’t hurt her in the least if she doesn’t know. If anyone should be hurt, it should be me, but I’m intelligent enough to be able to differentiate between real duplicity, which aims to harm people, and a smart moderation of the so-called truth, whose only goal is to make life easier for everyone involved.

  You will forgive me if this becomes a longer, and as you will probably notice, more philosophical letter than the ones you’re otherwise used to, but the fact is that I feel the steps I’m taking are important enough to me that I really have to analyze my situation thoroughly, so that we can both spend the time we have together in peace and quiet. You see, there’s nothing more dangerous than not knowing what you are doing. Most people don’t, and that’s why it’s often a dreadful shock for them when they are one day forced to define their actions. In their subsequent fear from this shock, they lose any chance of seeing reality as it really is, and instead they see a grotesque distortion. This is precisely why it’s so important to be clearly aware, at every moment of your life, of what your actions imply and the consequences they can have. This is why I also devote myself with almost scientific fervor to analyzing our mutual actions. To deceive others isn’t pretty, but to deceive yourself is dangerous.

  I’ve thought a lot about what you said since the last time we saw each other, especially when you asked whether I know what I am doing. Of course I know; otherwise, I couldn’t do it. You can only do such a thing when you know exactly what you’re getting into. In reality, there’s nothing better than being aware of your own actions because, then, there’s almost nothing that you can’t do – I mean without regretting it afterward and becoming miserable. What we are doing is something everyone does, but most do it without really knowing it because they cannot face it. Alma did it, and Knut has done it several times. Berit probably hasn’t done it yet, but she will eventually, of course. I’m sure that most people regret it afterward and become afraid. But I will never regret it. Besides, I love you too much, and I’m much too aware of what I am doing. We who know what we’re doing are like chess players. We don’t ask the pawns where we should move them. We don’t even have respect for the queens.

  You also said that you’re ashamed sometimes. I don’t understand why. We two have nothing to be ashamed of. Anyone who loves as we do is pure, and, until now, I didn’t know what purity was. It is to be so absorbed in a feeling that it burns away all doubts, all cowardice, and all cares within you. You become whole and strong, and you go straight to the goal without hesitation. You become brave, too. To be pure is to be able to sacrifice everything but the one thing you’re living for. I’m prepared to do that, so there’s no need to be ashamed. People like Knut, on the other hand, do need to feel ashamed. What do you think he would sacrifice for his love for you? Nothing! Not one workday, not a single wholehearted act of ruthlessness. And do you think Alma was any less small-minded, or purer? She didn’t even dare to love enough to let her lover come back, not even enough to lie to me.

  I don’t want to be petty like them, so petty that everything I touch turns just as small and paltry. I’ve detested them my whole life for it, because they didn’t dare to be pure, because they weren’t daring enough to do anything truly beautiful. When I look at Knut’s life, I’m afraid. I don’t want to degrade him in front of you, but I have to say that it would kill me if I had to live a life like his. What do you think it means for him to live? Nothing but to wake up in the morning, read the paper, drink a cup of coffee, go to work, repair a chair, eat breakfast, repair a table, go home, buy a newspaper, eat dinner, take a nap, listen to the radio, go to the bathroom, tell a story (preferably a filthy one), go out – to the cinema, a bed, or a café and watch a film, undress a woman, or drink a beer – go home, get undressed, snore, wake up again, drink a cup of coffee, read the paper, and go to work. The worst part isn’t that he thinks this is living; the worst part of his life is that he’s satisfied with it. Most appalling is that he thinks this is how it should be, and he can’t understand anyone who thinks differently. Whenever he doesn’t understand something, he says, I’m sorry; I’m just a simple carpenter. And he’s forced to accept that I study literary history and Scandinavian languages. He accepts it not because it makes me intellectually richer, but because he thinks it will give me the chance to live an easier life than he had. Easier but not different. Essentially, he wants to provide me with exactly the same life. Only I should have more expensive underwear, wake up a couple of hours later, read a different paper, sit at an instructor’s desk instead of stand at a workbench, eat a better breakfast, eat a more expensive dinner, go to the opera instead of the cinema, have four rooms instead of two, maids and a gramophone. Can’t you see how that disgusts me? My whole life I have searched, more or less consciously, for a way to support myself in a way that is different from his – one that is purer, more reckless, and more exciting. One that demands more, that burns more dangerously, that affords everything but the easy life.

  It’s important for me to say this, but above all it’s important for me to say this to you. Why? Because it’s through you that I have the chance to live purely. Now I want to sacrifice everything: my studies, my mourning for Mama, my father’s trust, and my fiancée’s devotion for the only thing I consider worth living for: my love for you.

  You’re wondering whether I have tried this before. You ask why I’ve waited so long. I have tried, but I didn’t succeed, and I can tell you why. But first I’ll tell you what I have tried. When I was seventeen, Knut took me with him to a socialist meeting. When the group sang “International,” tears came to my eyes. I thought I had found a boundless and thoroughly overwhelming sense of solidarity and fighting spirit with everyone who was singing. Of course, it was an illusion. My own emotions had made me idealize the whole scene, but I didn’t realize this until much later. The singing continued inside me the whole way home. Then outside the front door, Knut asked me, Do you want to be a socialist like me and Alma? I did become one – but not like them. After all, what do you think they sacrificed for their beliefs? Nothing! They may have gone to a meeting instead of a movie a few evenings, and they subscribed to a different paper from that of our neighbors. On Swedish Flag Day they didn’t buy any flags, but on the first of May they did buy a red May Day flower. This is what they called conviction. I call it dirty fraud against what they said they believed in and against the ones who claimed to share the same convictions. When I told them this, they did not understand. They were just “simple people,” so they didn’t need to understand. But when I started to neglect my schoolwork for my principles, they asked me to think about the future. That’s what I couldn’t understand. Then they told me that everyone has to consider their future and, as a matter of fact, everyone did. Then I realized that they were right. I looked around at everyone who believed like we did and found nobody who was willing
to sacrifice everything for his beliefs. Maybe they were willing to sacrifice something for a little while, but when their personal dream of the future came into conflict with their beliefs, they chose the dream. The ones who had the fortune to become officials had it best: they didn’t have to give up their convictions; they may have grown a little cold, but they didn’t need to give them up. Nor did they have to give up their dream of personal happiness, because officials with cold convictions can climb as high as possible. So I quit sacrificing everything for my beliefs because anyone who abandons everything by himself is just stupid.

  The other time was when I was drafted. As you know, we were supposed to be prepared to defend democracy. I wanted to do everything I could to defend it, but nobody would let me do it. I once told this to a captain who was a Nazi. Then I got six days of probation for slandering a superior in the office. So I started playing dice, and I lost. I played poker, too, and lost. But it was harmless since I didn’t have a lot to lose. From the office, where we played dice when the master sergeant was outside drinking, we had a view of the real war. Of course, we were happy when the right side won, even if they weren’t as right as I had hoped.

  I think I’ve learned that before you attempt to sacrifice everything for a just cause, you should always keep in mind that no one is willing to give up as much as you are. Because of that, it’s no longer right but, rather, very wrong, many times over. Therefore, it’s a matter of finding a cause that only a few people are willing to renounce everything for. The fewer there are, the surer you can be that your sacrifice is not in vain. It’s best when there are only two. Love, you see, requires two and sacrifices everything to continue being love.

  By now you must be tired of this long letter, and maybe even a little afraid. You shouldn’t be afraid. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You shouldn’t be afraid of morality, because there’s no one who believes in morality as strongly as we believe in each other. There is no one who could sacrifice for morality a thousandth of what we sacrifice for what we believe in. And by the way, is there anything more virtuous than giving up everything for something you know is right?

  My darling! On Friday night we’ll finally be alone together, more alone than anyone before us and perhaps even after us. I’m coming on the ten o’clock bus, and you can wait with the boat by the jetty. I’m arriving late so that no one will see us. I’m only bringing along a small suitcase with essentials, since you don’t really need a lot of personal belongings when you’re called in for service – or when you’re in love. Then, you only need each other. There are three days left. Do you think I can wait that long?

  Yours,

  Bengt

  P.S. Something silly happened this evening. Berit found a button in my bed, which must have come loose from your dress. I don’t know if she recognized it, but she started crying all the same. When I asked her why, she asked whether I thought she was ugly. So I told her that I thought she was sweet. Of course, I think she’s ugly, but it’s senseless to let her know that. Then she asked me whether I had been unfaithful to her. I jokingly answered, Yes, several times. She didn’t realize it was a joke, so I had a hard time trying to convince her that the button was Aunt Ida’s. She finally believed me, because you can convince her of anything if you just keep at it long enough. Knut’s very pleased that she’s around a lot nowadays, and I keep her here as late as I can. It isn’t necessary, of course, to raise any suspicions. We have to be very careful. That’s why I think the island is an excellent choice. There will be some problems with the address. A conscript eventually does need a station address. I pretended to find out that I’d be placed in the vicinity of Norrtälje and gave both Knut and Berit poste restante Norrtälje as the temporary address. It’s no longer a military address, but neither of them has been drafted, so there shouldn’t be any risk. Good night, my darling. I should hurry and post the letter before Knut comes home.

  A Tiger and a Gazelle

  The sea is high and green during the day and black with flashes of white at night. But the water is clear as it usually is in fall. The six broadleaf trees around the inlet are shedding their leaves, which blow freshly onto the porch every morning. At night, the cool September moon gleams red. When it drifts out of the night’s dark clouds it has blood on its lips. The sailboat season is over, and now colliers sway sluggishly along the horizon. Their smoke sinks black and heavily into the sea. Twice a week a train of barges drifts across the bay, and during that hour Bengt and Gun stay inside, thinking that someone might see them. When they kiss each other, their lips taste like salt. In fact, wherever they put their lips tastes like salt. So after ten days they know the taste of salt all too well.

  They stay on the island for two weeks. And during that time they only see each other and no one else. Sometimes they might see people on the barges, but it’s from several hundred feet away. No faces, just black shadows huddled up against the rudders – maybe only smoke from the pipes. Though this is true, they also see the dog. At first he hates the dog, but after the first week he is happy to have it along. But eventually he starts to hate it again.

  The first few days are probably the best, the days before they really know each other. It’s harder when they get to know each other, because it’s hard to love the one we know really well. To be in love is to be curious. Therefore, only what we aren’t accustomed to is beautiful. And maybe only that which is new is beautiful. In any case, we’re only capable of loving what is new. So in order to love someone we know well, it’s necessary to forget her first, not entirely but significantly.

  This is what they learn in fourteen days. But they don’t admit it to each other. They are cautious and even untruthful. To be able to love someone for long, you have to lie, largely to yourself but mostly to the one you love. One form of lying is refinement, and soon they are also refined. They give each other new names, find new places to kiss, new places to fall asleep. It makes them happy for a while, but it cannot hide the truth, so they find other ways to hide it. One way to prolong their love is to combine it with hate; this is the best way but perhaps also the most dangerous. Love and hate are the cat and mouse of emotions. Sometimes the cat chases the mouse, and sometimes the mouse chases the cat. But once the cat and mouse are both tired of the chase, there isn’t much else for them to do. The only thing left is to acknowledge the most painful truth of all, the most painful but also the most honest: that two people in love cannot be alone together on an island without falling out of love, that they cannot be an island. They need contact with the mainland. They need all the other people they know. It’s a horrible consolation for anyone who believes that love is an island in the sea, but once we weary of islands, it’s actually quite comforting. Because when a person grows tired of loving, he is relieved to find there are still so many people to love besides the one he has loved.

  The first few days are wonderful for them. The sun shines, there is a fresh breeze, and they are alone. They drink each other up, sleep, and rouse again. The dog often wakes them up, and when they put it outside, it barks in front of the door, slams its heavy body against it, and raps the doorknob with its paws. If the dog is inside, they jerk from their sleep, awakened from a dream about rain or some waves. The dog is hovering over them and licking their shoulders. Gun pulls it down to her, lays it between them, and pets it. Bengt is a tad jealous of the dog, afraid of it, even – afraid in an absurd kind of way. But he doesn’t dare admit it. He’s afraid the dog is a witness. He’s afraid the dog will understand.

  Otherwise he isn’t afraid at all. He simply thinks it’s all very nice. They found a fur rug in a closet and spread it out in front of the fireplace, where they make large fires several times a day, lie naked in the flickering light, and play with each other’s bodies. For the first time he isn’t ashamed of his body. It’s because Gun says his body is beautiful and because he knows he is strong. She makes him strong. They make each other strong. They aren’t calm like the first time, but much stronger. They lie close to the
fire, which nearly burns them. The sides braving the fire grow hot, but they wrap the rug around their cold parts. For the most part, they lie quietly with only their fingers playing. They constantly find new places to linger on, each softer than the previous. They don’t move around much these days – just trips to the kitchen, to the alcove, to look for firewood, down to the sea. And they play innocent games. They pretend they’re in paradise, the most innocent place of all. Lying naked at the bottom of the boat, they drift for hours and hours through paradise. The ocean crashes against the frame, water splashes inside – it is cold yet it burns. Sometimes he is her child, and he doesn’t mind. And since she has never had a child, she enjoys it, too. Cleaving to her, he drinks her milk; he drinks and drinks and it never runs out. His lips only become sore.

  Then they play games that spare their lips. She is his child, a little doll that he tenderly undresses for bed. They learn not to hurt each other. They pretend they’re made of porcelain and that they have to be delicate with each other if they don’t want to break. They are boundlessly imaginative. When they eat, they eat on the rug, lying on their stomachs like children on green grass. They close the shutters and play all night and throughout the thunder. They toast apples and roast potatoes in the crackling fire. They have wine, too, and they drink it but just a little. Because we never want to see the one we love drunk but only pure – pure, ardent, and beautiful. When they swim, they charge hand in hand into the highest swell, but the dog stays behind barking on the shore. When it finally does join them, they whirl around in the water, all three of them roaring with happiness. Sometimes he carries her under the water, and she is as light as a child. But he never dares carry her on land, because he’s afraid he isn’t strong enough and he’s afraid to look foolish. And nobody in love can afford to look foolish. The first few times she asks why she is so light in the water, he says it’s because she is a child or a bird that he is rescuing. But the day he responds with Archimedes’s principle, she is pensive, though still not afraid.