They nod appreciatively, thinking that now they’ve got the pastor warmed up and the rest will be merely a formality. They have no reason to suspect that his energy has reached its limit, and that his answers in the discussion of his dissertation on the Sixty-eighth Psalm will grow steadily more and more fragmentary and incoherent. When they switch to an examination of his command of church law, they find troubling gaps in his knowledge and an uncertainty about terminology that they had honestly not expected. As regards the works of theology and church history he was required to master, they would have preferred a more comprehensive grasp of the material and a more coherent analysis of the passages under discussion. They don’t know exactly how much sweat is running down his back, pasting his shirt to his body, but experience does perhaps tell them that an abundance of sweat is his reason for sitting so stiffly and holding his arms at his side, knowing as he does that every careless gesture releases a cloud of body odour.
The session drags on and on because they are so eager to give him a chance to redeem himself. Both of them wonder silently if he is ill—he raises one hand and presses his thumb and forefinger to his eyes, as if to keep them from falling out. His face is rigid, and his mouth moves reluctantly. Very painful for all parties. Of course they can pass him, but he has simply not risen to the high marks that his dissertation seemed to promise. A real shame, since high marks are required for the more qualified postings.
The dean clears his throat. “The dissertation was excellent. On the other hand, the discussion regarding it was less rewarding. When it comes to knowledge of the literature, there are a surprising number of gaps. On the basis of the dissertation, I recommend ‘approved’, but without honours. What does my colleague think about his understanding of church law?”
The priest assessor clears his throat. “Somewhat sketchy, I have to admit. The terminology is insufficient. But there was good understanding of practical application. Commitment to the life of worship a plus. I too recommend approval without honours.”
“Then we’re agreed to give Pastor Kummel a grade of ‘approved’ on his pastoral examination?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” the pastor says. “Almost better than I deserved.”
A short pause. The dean: “Now that we’re finished and your answer cannot affect our judgment, may I ask you, Pastor Kummel, if you’re not feeling well?”
A pause and a sucking in of breath, a suppressed sigh. He focuses with difficulty. “I don’t mean to make excuses, but I have a headache that’s killing me.”
“We thought there must be something. It might have been better for you to have claimed illness and come back in the spring. But done is done.”
“Yes,” the pastor says.
“Hrmm,” says the priest assessor. “The bishop said he would like to, hrmm, congratulate the pastor on his examination. I’ll go and see if he has time to see you.”
This takes some time, and the pastor is not wrong to suppose that the bishop gets a description of the exam. Then he’s told to go in, and there stands the bishop, smiling benignly, so full of health and well-being that Petter’s eyes swim. “Good day, good day,” he says and takes Petter’s hand, gripping it so hard that he can feel it in his head. “You’re a long way from home! How are things on the Örlands?”
“Fine, thank you. I’m grateful for the appointment. I think I’ve found my place.”
“I’m so pleased. Hmm. On the other hand, I was sorry to hear about the result of your examination, which was something of a disappointment. I understand you’re indisposed.”
“Yes, you might say. A tremendous headache. But I’m not trying to excuse myself. The way things went, I’m happy to have passed.”
“That’s one way of looking at it, of course. But your ambitions were rather greater.”
“I’m happy with ‘approved’. It means I can now apply for the incumbency as vicar. When the position of incumbent vicar of Örland is posted as vacant, you will find my name among the applicants.”
The bishop chuckles. “I don’t think we need to use the plural in this case. I don’t know when was the last time the Örlands had an incumbent vicar. Interesting! Pastor Kummel, have you considered the possibility that your talents might be put to better use in an urban parish where young people and workers face greater challenges?”
Petter smiles self-consciously. “I have marks indicating that my talents are meagre. And my calling is to the Örlands.” Which sounds false, though it’s true.
“In that case,” says the bishop, still genial, “then I’ll simply have to plan on a pastoral installation off the edge of the map. Try to arrange it for the summer so we’ll have nice weather and the priest assessor won’t get seasick. But now I’ll let you go so you can start to do something about that headache. Where will you be staying?”
“At my wife’s family farm outside Helsingfors. Tomorrow I’m going to officiate at the wedding of one of her sisters.”
“Well, how nice. Yes, then I’ll wish you a pleasant journey back to the Örlands and ask you to give my regards to your young wife.”
“Thank you,” Petter says. They shake hands. His briefcase waits loyally in the chair outside. The secretary hands him his freshly typed certificate of completed pastoral examination, discreetly enclosed in a brown envelope. He pays the stamp fee, thanks her, and reaches for his coat. “I’m very sorry about your headache,” she says behind him. “Be sure and get some real rest.”
So out into the fresh air, the sun cruelly blinding. Walks by way of the hotel, thanks the desk clerk humbly for watching his suitcase, whereupon the man triumphantly produces his alarm clock, which he’d left in the room. “Other things on your mind?” he supposes. Petter thanks him again, avoids stumbling on the doorsill, has to put down his bag to open the door, two murderous steps down to the sidewalk. He’s sweating terribly in the sunshine, wades like a drowning man to the bus station, where of course the bus to Helsingfors has just left. He sees a park bench under a tree and sits and waits and waits. When he’s finally on his way, he falls asleep with his briefcase in his arms and is lost to the world for almost an hour. In Helsingfors, people are starting to leave work and head home, there is a lot of traffic at the bus station and it’s a wonder he doesn’t run straight into the arms of someone he knows. He tries to avoid looking at people, and no one expects to see him, and they don’t.
One more bus ride and he finally arrives at the Helléns’. Most of the people in the house are at the clubhouse getting things ready for the wedding, but Mrs Hellén has been waiting for him and is happy to see him. “Well, now we can have a wedding, now that the priest is here,” she says. “I was starting to worry.” She smiles and then turns serious. “Come in and sit down. How are you? Didn’t it go well?”
“Yes, it was all right. I passed. Just barely. I haven’t slept for two nights and I have an unbelievable headache.”
“It shows. Now you need something to eat, and it’s important to get a lot to drink. We’ve got the house full of people and they all need to eat, so I’ve made a big pot of meat soup, and you can have bread and butter with it. Now, tell me all about it.”
Mona often says of her mother that she’s like a wall. A clam that never opens. Impossible to have an intimate conversation with. She never gives a personal answer to a question that can be a matter of life and death. Always the same—courteous, tactful. All the things that Petter likes her for. Most of all, he loves her discretion. Mona sees it as lack of interest, but to him it’s like a miracle compared with his own mother’s loose talk and constant gossip.
“Yes, I will,” he says. “Just between the two of us. I’ve had some really bad luck. I thought I was pretty well prepared and I’d arranged things so I’d have a quiet night in Borgå. So I reach the hotel in good spirits, only to be confronted by a housemaid we had years ago, Hilda, maybe you remember her? Unfortunately, Mama had told her I was going to be in Borgå, and there she sat, red-eyed from weeping. She’d lost her
husband. What could I do? People have the right to turn to a priest. I’m to comfort them and give them courage. How could I have lived with myself if I’d turned her away on account of my exam? It turned into an awkward situation. She wanted to come up to my room, and then she wouldn’t leave. She talked and cried, and I was so tired I couldn’t get her to stop. It was past twelve-thirty when she left. And by then I was so shaken I couldn’t sleep. I got up with a burning headache and made a pretty poor show of it at the chapter house. I didn’t deserve any better than the miserable passing grade I got. I should be happy it didn’t go worse. I’m ashamed of myself. And now I have to call Mona, who’s waiting to hear how it went.”
“She’s already called. She thought you’d come on the three o’clock bus, but I told her you’d probably come with the five. I was right. Go and call her right away, then you’ll have that out of the way before the others come home.”
The telephone is on the wall beside Hellén’s desk. Petter sits down and orders the call. Fru Hellén doesn’t leave the room, and he’s grateful. She sits there as if she understood that he needed a protector and can’t be left alone. The call comes through almost immediately. He can picture the operator on the Örlands at full alert. She’s very businesslike about reporting long-distance calls.
Mona: “Hello!”
He decides to begin with the news that all of the Örlands is waiting for. “Mona!” he shouts. “I’m sorry you had to wait. But everything took so much time! Anyway, I passed, that’s the main thing. So how are you and the girls?”
“Fine. But how are you? You sound funny.”
“I’ve got a terrible headache. I have to admit it didn’t go exactly the way I’d planned. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.”
“But anyway you passed?”
“Yes. But … Mona, I’ll see you in a few days, and then we can talk more. I just need a good night’s sleep and I’ll be human again. It will be absolutely wonderful to get home.”
He leaves her with all her suspicions aroused. She doesn’t sound good when he ends the call. He turns to his mother-in-law apologetically. “You can’t start explaining things on the phone. In any case, I’ll soon be home.”
“Absolutely,” she says. “I’m thinking about how we can get you to bed as quickly as possible. I’ve put a bed in the weaving room, and I’ll tell everyone not to disturb you. But there’s going to be a lot of activity in the house all the same, so I’m going to give you a bromide to sleep on. Now don’t look so horrified, I take them myself when I need one, and I’ll be taking one tonight. Tomorrow you’ll wake up clear-headed and you’ll be in fine form for the wedding. If you want to wash, there’s warm water in the sauna, and I suggest you go out before the others come back. You’ll all have time to talk in the morning.”
He wonders if she’s noticed how bad he smells. And his cassock! He can’t possibly stand before the bridal couple smelling like a pigsty. She sees that he’s deeply embarrassed about something and leans her head to one side.
“I know how much you must have to do,” he begins, “but the truth is that I’ve been sweating like a pig all day and you can smell my cassock a long way off. If you know any means of getting out the odour, I’d be more than grateful.”
A tiny sigh escapes her. The sweat pads have to be unstitched, washed, ironed, and basted back in. But she tells him he can leave his cassock—and his shirt too—in the sauna. And in the morning she’ll deliver it to him in better shape, along with his washed, ironed shirt. “Thank you so much! I’m like a child, and you’re never rid of us!”
And indeed he does feel significantly better the next day. Yesterday feels pleasantly distant, surrounded as he is by friendly faces and lots of questions. The wedding goes well; of course it goes well when you follow the prayer book and the bride and groom say yes! The next day he visits relatives in Helsingfors and theological friends in the evening, and in between he shops for the clothes and necessities on Mona’s list. He also makes a private visit to a goldsmith and buys a piece of silver jewellery for her—in memory of his pastoral exam was his idea—now a memento of a somewhat different kind. He had thought all this would be diverting and fun, but what he feels most of all is a consuming homesickness. Of course he’d imagined how nice it would be to climb aboard the Åbo train and happily return to the Örlands, but not that it would feel as if he’d escaped with his life by the skin of his teeth.
How willingly he puts up with the dreadfully uncomfortable journey just for the joy of going ashore at Mellom quay. In September, the night sky is dark, but he knows that Post-Anton is there with the connecting boat and that it’s only a matter of hours. It is also a quite unexpected pleasure to see Fredrik, in the middle of the night, standing on the quay as he steps ashore with his suitcase and briefcase and an extra box.
“Well, welcome back! May I offer my congratulations?”
“Is it really you? Giving up a night’s sleep? I don’t know what to say. I passed, but not with honours. I’d like to tell you the whole story, but there isn’t time. And the telephone … I’ll write you a letter.”
Fredrik has stood there beaming benevolently, ready to pound him on the back and congratulate him. Now his happy anticipation is visibly replaced by a worried question—what has happened? Simultaneously, for one fleeting moment, his concern is overshadowed by an almost parenthetical realization that he is not altogether displeased by Petter’s not having passed with honours. But the moment passes, and the concern remains. “Now I’m really curious! If you need pastoral counselling, I’m at your service.”
Cargo is quickly transferred. We don’t stand here dawdling, for everyone has come a long way, and those on their way to the Örlands have a good distance yet to go. The pastor and the Mellom priest shake hands warmly, promise to write, hope to see each other soon. “Thanks for coming. Sorry the news wasn’t better. Best to Margit. Best to Mona,” they say. He’s put his things on board, his person as well, the whole priest and his effects on their way home.
Kalle and I have our hands full navigating our way out through the tight passage in the dark of night, but once we’re out in more open water, he comes into the wheelhouse and says hello. “You were right about the headache,” he says. “I barely managed to get through the day. How in God’s … how in the world could you know that?”
“Not so hard. I had a headache myself when I went to meet the Governor of Åland.”
“You mean bigwigs give us a headache? Well of course. But you were right about stones on my path, too. There was a real boulder.”
“In human form, I’ll wager.”
“Yes indeed. The case falls within my vow of silence, but how could you know?”
“I couldn’t know. Only imagine.”
“Like when you’re out on the ice. You can see how it’s going to be.”
“You shouldn’t take me so seriously. I just talk the way we do when we get older and know that things seldom work out the way we’d expected. If you’re prepared for that, you somehow get through it. And you did. You passed.”
“Yes, thank heaven. Now I can apply for the incumbency here and settle down in earnest. Oh my goodness, how good it will be to get home after this ordeal.”
It is autumn and so still dark when we get across the bay, and in darkness we tie up at the steamship pier. The church is still there, and the parsonage, and the pastor’s rowing boat is pulled up on the granite. The verger has rowed it over for him, and now the pastor transfers his things to it and pushes off. He vanishes in the darkness and all you can hear of him are his oars creaking in the oarlocks and the oar blades dipping into the water. His wife has been lying awake and heard us pass, for I see a lantern moving swiftly down to the church dock. The water in the church inlet is bright, and I see him gliding in towards the lantern like a black shadow drawn to the light.
“Welcome home!” she calls and he calls back “Thank you” and “How I’ve been waiting.” Quickly he hands his luggage ashore and steps asho
re himself, pulling the boat up after him with one hand, the other already embracing Mona. It feels almost the way he had imagined this homecoming before he left, with his pastoral exam completed and much to tell. His distress is nearly gone, maybe he can get through this as well!
They don’t know where to start, if they should go in the house or sit down here on the dock and talk. “The wedding,” Mona says. “How did it go?” “Like clockwork!” he says. “I bring greetings from absolutely everyone. They all asked about you and the girls! And they all wanted to see the pictures! They’re excellent and went from hand to hand.”
While they’re talking, they’ve started walking as well, since she imagines he’d like some breakfast after his long trip. She carries his briefcase—“Like a stone! How can you walk around with this thing?”—and he his suitcase and the box full of the things he bought in Helsingfors. “I think I got everything,” he brags. “Wait till you see!” He’s looking forward to showing and telling. About Hilda, too, but not yet, and it’s a deliverance that there’s so much else to talk about—the wedding, her relatives, his purchases, the trip, all sort of things, while they reacquaint themselves and recapture each other’s trust.
Once inside the parsonage, Sanna wakes up and is joyous, more than Mona, who is suspicious and on edge, and while they’re eating, Lillus wakes up, and eventually Mama has to go out to the cows, who have picked up his scent and know that he’s home. As long as Sanna is around, it’s enough to talk about the wedding and give the silver brooch to Mona, who thinks it an extravagance, and the little things he’s bought for Sanna and that the Helléns have sent to her, but when Sanna quietly takes her nap and they sit down together in the kitchen, he can no longer put it off.
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