by Annika Thor
“Three kronor?”
She would never have dreamed it was so expensive. Her fingers clutch the coins in her pocket. If only she had seen it before she bought all the other presents, she could have been more economical with some of them.
“Don’t you have any money?”
“Yes, but not enough.”
As he’s about to replace the opener on the blue satin, she says, “I have two seventy-five. Could you sell it to me for two seventy-five?”
“Aren’t you the nervy one?” the man asks. “You come after closing time and then try to bargain me down.” He doesn’t look angry, though, and seems to be teasing. “Who’s the opener for?”
“Sven,” she says.
“And who’s Sven? Your brother?”
“No, my … friend. He needs it to separate the pages of his books.”
The man nods thoughtfully.
“He needs it, you say? Well, I guess he’d better have it, then. We’ll say two seventy-five.”
He wraps the opener for her in holiday wrapping covered with brown paper and a red ribbon. While Stephie is putting her coins on the counter, the man asks her, “Where are you from?”
“Vienna.”
“I’m from Vilnius,” the man tells her, “Lithuania. God bless you.”
The twenty-five öre she has left is just enough for a little basket of red Christmas tulips for Mrs. Söderberg.
When Sven stops in at her room later in the evening, she has all her presents stacked up on the desk.
“Quite a pile,” he comments.
“Isn’t it?”
“I’m not celebrating Christmas this year. I’ve told Mamma and Papa I’m not going to Värmland with them.”
“Goodness, why not?”
“Don’t you see? How can people celebrate a holiday about peace on earth when the world is in flames? It’s so hypocritical. I’m going to donate the money I would have spent on Christmas presents to the refugee aid fund.”
A long silence. Sven twirls a pen he picked up from the desk distractedly. She’s got to say something; otherwise he’ll just go back into his own room.
“So what are you going to do during the vacation?” she asks. “Since you’re not going along to Värmland.”
“Nothing special. Stay home. Study, which I need to do. Read. Take care of Putte so he doesn’t have to go with them. He hates train travel.”
“Won’t it be boring for you to be all alone for so long? Everybody else will be celebrating Christmas with their families.”
Sven gazes at her. A little twitch at the corner of his mouth makes him look amused, as if he knows she’s worrying about him.
“I don’t mind at all,” he says. “I’ll have Putte to keep me company.”
The next day the whole school assembles in the auditorium. The school chorus sings and the principal addresses the girls. One of the older pupils reads a poem. Then everyone goes to their classrooms to get their report cards.
Hedvig Björk calls them up to her desk one by one, in alphabetical order. Stephie is fourth to last on the class list. When it’s finally her turn, she immediately looks at her grades. Top marks in math, biology, and art. Nearly the highest grade in most of her other subjects, but in German she only gets a pass.
Hedvig Björk thanks the class for a good semester and wishes them all happy holidays and a pleasant vacation.
In the hall the girls exchange Christmas cards and presents and compare their grades.
“What did you get in math?” Alice asks Stephie, clearly trying to sound nonchalant.
“An A.”
“Me too. What about German?”
“Just a C. And you?”
“An A,” Alice announces.
It’s not as if Stephie begrudges Alice her grade. She wouldn’t have been envious if Alice had done better than she had in math, or in any other subject, for that matter. But in German! Stephie knows that’s not fair. Miss Krantz just doesn’t like her, and no matter how well Stephie does, her teacher will always find something to criticize.
Stephie gives May her Christmas present, and May gives her a little package in return.
“Have a merry Christmas,” says May. “See you in the new year.”
The first week in January, May is coming to visit Stephie on the island. She’ll stay for three days.
“It’s going to be so much fun,” Stephie says. “I’ll show you everything. And you’ll get to know Vera and Nellie.”
They walk partway together, as usual. When they get to May’s tram stop, Stephie is thinking about how much she’s going to miss her, even though they’ll see each other in only two weeks.
When Stephie gets to the Söderbergs’ apartment, she goes up to her room to change. Her suitcase is packed, and the boat is leaving in an hour. Sven isn’t home. The long, thin package with his letter opener is still on her desk. She takes a piece of paper and writes.
For Sven
This isn’t because it’s Christmas, but just because …
She stops. What should she write … because I love you? No, she doesn’t dare. Instead, she concludes:
… you need it for your books.
She tapes the note to the present and hangs it on his door handle by the ribbon as she leaves.
island is shrouded in ice and snow. Even though Aunt Märta and Stephie feed the wood-burning furnace in the basement until it’s full at bedtime, there are still frost roses on the windows when they wake up in the mornings.
“If this goes on,” Aunt Märta says, “this winter is likely to be even more bitterly cold than the last one.”
And the colder it gets, the more Aunt Märta’s knees ache. She can just barely climb up on the footstool, and there is no way she can get down on her knees. It therefore falls to Stephie to scrub the floors and hang up the newly ironed Christmas curtains. The house smells lovely, of detergent and fresh bread.
Preparing for Christmas is a time-consuming business, and in the evenings Stephie and Vera go sledding on the hill by the school. When she gets home, cheeks rosy and coat snowy, she is so tired she drops right into bed and is asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow. She barely has time to think about Mamma and Papa’s travels. But once Christmas is over, the presents opened and most of the Christmas food consumed, she starts to worry again. Have they left? Where are they? Why haven’t they written?
In the end she asks Aunt Märta if she can phone the Söderbergs’ apartment and ask if there is a letter waiting for her.
Elna answers.
Stephie asks to speak with Sven. If a letter has arrived, she’ll ask him to open it and read it to her over the phone.
“Sven?” asks Elna. “He’s not here. I think he went to the country place of a classmate. And he took the dog along. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
Strange, Stephie thinks. Sven told her he was going to be staying home with Putte. He must have been bored after all.
“Are there any letters for me?”
“If you’ll wait, I’ll look.”
In a couple of minutes, Elna returns to the telephone.
“Nothing but a postcard with Christmas greetings from a Hedvig Björk.”
“Elna,” says Stephie, “if I get a letter while I’m still away, would you mind forwarding it here? It’s very important.”
“Well, I suppose,” Elna replies.
Stephie gives her Aunt Märta and Uncle Evert’s address, thanks her, and hangs up.
It was nice of Hedvig Björk to send her a card, anyway. Stephie wonders if she sent one to every girl in the class, or just to her.
After Christmas, the temperature falls, and the sea begins to freeze over. First the shallow coves turn to ice, and then the ice spreads. Soon there are just a few strips of open water where the currents are strongest.
They spend New Year’s Eve at Auntie Alma and Uncle Sigurd’s, but there is no real celebration. It is as if the war is keeping them all from being hopeful about the future. The only ones who are excite
d are Elsa and John, Auntie Alma’s little ones, but they have to go to bed at nine.
Stephie and Nellie are allowed to stay up and hear the ringing in of the new year on the radio. They sleep over; it’s too cold and dark to make the long walk home so late. Aunt Märta and Uncle Evert get the guest room, while Stephie and Nellie sleep head to foot in Nellie’s bed.
“Ow, stop kicking!”
“I’m not. And you’re tickling me.”
“Hold on,” Nellie says, diving under the blanket. A moment later she appears at Stephie’s end of the bed, warm and disheveled.
“This is better,” she says, settling in next to her sister.
Stephie sits up, stretches for Nellie’s pillow, and gives it to her.
“Stephie?”
“What?”
“Do you think Mamma and Papa celebrated New Year’s Eve tonight, too?”
“I’m sure they did.”
“Do you think they thought about us?”
“Oh, yes,” says Stephie. “Wherever they are and whatever they are doing, I know they’re thinking about us.”
But when Nellie has fallen asleep, curled up against her, Stephie lies awake wondering why, why, why no letter has arrived.
On New Year’s Day, she phones again. Maybe the letter came and Elna forgot to forward it.
She’d also like to wish Sven a happy new year. But although she lets the phone ring and ring, no one answers.
The snow is squeaky under the soles of her boots when she goes to the boat to meet May. Aunt Märta has tied a heavy shawl over Stephie’s coat. Stephie protested, but once she was out in the cold, she was glad to have it on.
It’s a strange feeling, being at the boat to meet a visitor, when she’s accustomed to being the one who is met.
She can see the trail of white smoke long before the steamboat itself is visible. Eventually it rounds the point of the nearest island and heads for the harbor. Stephie stands on the dock in the wind, shivering with cold.
Even before the gangway has been put out, May is on the foredeck waving, and she’s the first passenger to disembark. Not that many people come out to the island at this time of year, but there are some islanders aboard who appear to be returning from new year’s celebrations elsewhere.
“Oh, it’s beautiful here,” says May. “I feel like I’m in a fairy tale.”
Stephie looks around. The snow is gleaming, glaringly white in the sun, and shades of blue where there are shadows. Transparent icicles are hanging from the shingles of the boathouses. The wind is singing in the rigging of the boats. She’s pleased the island is at its prettiest for May’s arrival.
“I’m so glad you’re here!” she says. “Let me take your suitcase.”
But May only has a rucksack, and she doesn’t want to take it off her back.
“It’s keeping me warm.”
They walk through the village. Stephie points things out, keeping up a running commentary.
“That’s where Uncle Evert’s boat is docked when they’re in port. She’s the Diana. Over there are the school and the shop. And there’s the Pentecostal church.” That reminds Stephie about something. “May,” she adds, “I want you to promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Please don’t tell Aunt Märta you don’t believe in God. If you do, she might not think you are a suitable friend for me.”
May laughs. “What do you think I’m like, anyway? Do you think I tell everybody I meet absolutely everything about myself? I won’t say an improper word to your aunt Märta. I promise.”
The sledding hill is full of children. Stephie sees Vera’s red hair as she pulls her sled up. Stephie waves, but Vera doesn’t seem to see her.
“This is where my little sister lives,” Stephie says when they pass Auntie Alma’s yellow house.
“Why don’t you live together? I mean, here on the island?”
“There wasn’t a family who could take both of us in.”
“I don’t understand that,” says May. “Every family has a house of their own out here; you’d think they had plenty of space.”
When they reach the crest of the hill, Stephie stops, as she always does. May gasps.
“I never imagined it was so enormous—the sea, I mean.”
In front of their eyes the sea is endless—green ice near the shore, dark blue water farther out, and with the clear blue sky arching over it all. Snow-covered skerries rise out of the water like the backs of enormous whales.
“You know,” says May, “when I see all this, I can actually almost understand why some people can believe in God.”
spite of May’s promise not to say anything to Aunt Märta about God, Stephie is still uneasy about what their first meeting will be like. She’s worried that Aunt Märta will consider May pushy and disrespectful of her elders, and that May will see Aunt Märta as rigid and strict.
But although they’re different, Stephie thinks as she and May walk down the hill, May and Aunt Märta have much in common: they are equally honest, courageous, and dependable. Both of them know what they want, and neither cares what others might think or say.
Stephie wishes she were more like them. She’d like to be spared her insecurity and her doubts. She’d like not to spend so much time brooding, and not to be always trying to adapt to others. She’d like not to be afraid.
“Come in,” she says, opening the front door for May.
Things go better than she dared to hope. May introduces herself in a well-mannered way and thanks Aunt Märta for inviting her. She wipes her shoes carefully before stepping on Aunt Märta’s newly washed hall floor. She eats a hearty meal, but not greedily, and she answers Aunt Märta’s questions politely.
Aunt Märta listens with interest to May’s chatter about her younger brothers and sisters, about school and their teachers and the boat trip out. May’s stories make her smile.
After dinner, May offers to wash the dishes. Aunt Märta declines, saying, “Of course not. You are a guest in our house.” So they compromise: Stephie will wash and May will dry.
By the time they’re done, dark has fallen. Stephie and May decide to spend the evening inside. They get a mattress from the attic and make a bed for May on the floor of Stephie’s room.
“What a sweet teddy,” says May. “Have you had him ever since you were little?”
“That’s right.”
“I had a teddy, too,” May tells her. “But I had to hand him down to Britten, who handed him down to Kurre and Olle. They poked his eyes out, and took off his arms and legs playing doctor. They even operated on his stomach, so all the sawdust ran out.”
Stephie imagines the mutilated teddy bear, and the thought gives her goose bumps even though they’re only talking about a stuffed animal.
“Isn’t it awful?” May laughs.
They’re sitting in Stephie’s bed in their nightgowns. May picks up Stephie’s old teddy.
“You stay away from naughty boys,” she warns him. “Watch out or there will be nothing left of you but your fur!”
Stephie laughs, too, now.
“Well, he doesn’t have all that much fur left, either. I wore it all off hugging him when I was little.”
“By the way, I bumped into Sven the other day,” May says.
“You did? Where?”
“On Kaptensgatan. He came walking along early one morning, and he had the dog with him. Strange place to take a dog for a walk.”
For a moment, Stephie considers telling May about having seen Sven in Mayhill before. She might be able to figure out what he’s doing there all the time. But May has already continued.
“I told him I was coming out to visit you, and he asked me to say hello and to thank you for the non-Christmas present. What was that all about?”
Stephie tells her the whole story about the letter opener, and about Sven’s not wanting to celebrate Christmas. Afterward it doesn’t feel right to start talking again about what Sven was doing on Kaptensgatan, as if she would be making to
o much of the matter if she brought it back up.
Still, she can’t get Sven off her mind.
“May?” Stephie whispers when they’ve turned out the light and May has moved down to her mattress.
“Mmmhmm?”
“What do you think of Sven?”
“He’s all right, I guess.”
All right! How could anyone have such cool feelings about someone like Sven? Stephie feels a little annoyed with May and doesn’t say any more.
After a while, May speaks up. “Why did you ask me that?”
“No special reason.”
“Are you angry?”
“No.”
“Want to talk some more, or should we go to sleep?”
“Let’s sleep. Good night.”
“Good night.”
May falls asleep almost instantly. When Stephie hears her tranquil breathing, she has second thoughts. Oh, how she would love to talk to someone about her feelings for Sven. She feels as if she could explode from keeping them inside.
May is her best school friend and the person she ought to talk to. If only she hadn’t gotten herself entangled in a web of lies!
After some time, she falls asleep and dreams she’s looking for Sven in a house with hundreds of rooms.
The next day is bright and sunny. They take Stephie’s red sled with them to the big hill by the school. Nellie’s there, and she and May hit it off right away.
“May, May,” shouts Nellie. “Look, I’m going down the steep part!”
There’s no sign of Vera. Then, just when Stephie and May are on their way down the very steepest side, another sled approaches from behind at high speed. Stephie is steering and can’t possibly turn around. The other sled swerves closer, only a foot or so away. Stephie has to turn out of its path, and she and May end up in a snowdrift. Lying there, they watch Vera continue down the hill, her red hair flying.
“Who was that?” May asks. “What did she do that for?”
“Vera,” says Stephie.
“Your friend?”
“That’s her.”
By the time they’ve gotten to their feet, brushed all the snow off themselves, and made their way down to the bottom of the hill, Vera is halfway up again. By the time they get up, she’s already on her way down.