Wild Duck revisited

by John Fajo

  Chapter 5: Fifth Reaction

  “I’m leaving,” he said. “I’m going away for good.”

  “You can’t just go away. You have your life here,” Gina pleaded with him.

  There was a suitcase set ajar on the bed; he had already thrown some underwear in it. He knew they weren’t well folded; the whole case would fill up quickly. He didn’t want to leave. There was nowhere he could go to. He simply wanted to see Gina crawling and asking for mercy.

  “But I’m going,” he said defiantly. He put a couple of other things into the suitcase, then realising that he couldn’t have looked all that convincing added: “I’m only taking the absolutely necessary things. I’m coming back for the rest later… when I’ve found a place to stay. Then I’m going to take dad with me, and you, Werle types, can do whatever you want.”

  “We are Ekdals,” Gina resisted.

  He stared at her. He thought the situation would have been comical if his life wasn’t on the line. He looked around and pondered. Maybe he did behave childishly. After all what really mattered? Hedvig wasn’t his daughter from a genetic point of view, but he had raised her. He remembered the way she had twisted his nose with her tiny fingers as a baby, her first steps and the first word she uttered: “Dad”. How could he forget? He reminded himself of the funny things they had done together. Shouldn’t all these years weigh more than anything? His social part claimed that it should be more important, but the abyss disagreed. The latter pointed to Hedvig’s new behaviour pattern, the party animal that resembled the Werles so much. She wasn’t an Ekdal, and she would never be one. His kind was deemed to extinction in this world, his resources had been used and he was discarded. Why should he participate in his own disappearance? Why should he contribute to the proliferation of the Werle types? And why was it wrong to reject duped happiness for having a daughter that wasn’t his?

  But how could he just leave them? It would be like when his mother had deserted them. She had wanted her freedom, wanted to travel in the world. They had been a hindrance to her in fulfilling her dreams. Even though he had been older than Hedvig at the time, he was still vulnerable and scared. He shouldn’t commit the same injustice. But he had to keep the illusion he was going away until he had figured out what to do.

  He took his suitcase downstairs leaving Gina crying in their bedroom. He seated himself in front of his computer. He waited for her to come. But instead of her, his father appeared unexpectedly. It was too early in the afternoon for him to have come home.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” old Ekdal answered. “Have been given the afternoon off. Compliments of chief Werle.”

  He hummed surprised. That was unusual, he thought. He watched his father vanish upstairs. Old Ekdal moved slower than his age or physical condition would have permitted. All these years he had never really sat down with him to talk, he thought his father was satisfied as things were. Now, though, he realised how much old Ekdal must have been alone seeking shelter in the virtual forest of the computer. He looked with hate at the machines that he once had believed to bring humanity some form of salvation; they had brought him nothing but humiliation. There was just one thing in which he differed from his father, he thought, and it was his capability of seeing what was real and what wasn’t. Or perhaps it was rather a misfortune for him. With bitter enlightenment, his clean up of the computers commenced. He deleted all his files. He couldn’t imagine having any use for them ever again. He did all this contrary to his common sense that would have dictated him to keep them until he made up his mind what to do with his life.

  He was almost finished with the arduous job of deleting years of presentation material, the manuscripts of a fake dream and his mail, when Hedvig arrived from school. She had a coquettish smile on her face.

  “Hi, dad,” she said.

  He stared at her with eyes maddened with hate he felt for chief Werle. She stopped smiling, and ran upstairs shortly thereafter to descend together with her mother.

  “You tell her,” Gina was furious. “You tell her!”

  “What do you mean I’m not your daughter?” Hedvig asked frightened. “Daddy?!”

  He took a deep breath. He tried not to look in her eyes, because it made him weak and he would have been sobbing, he loved her so much. But he was what he was. He had to tell her, she deserved to know; in fact, she had to know. “The truth is that I found out only recently that we are not blood-relatives,” he said. “It was a terrible surprise.”

  “And you don’t love me any more?”

  One part of his soul wanted to embrace her and tell her that he would never leave her, the other said that she was already an independent woman, and would eventually leave him. She could take it. But he couldn’t take it that every time he would look at her, he would be reminded of failure and the dominance of chief Werle.

  “Of course, I love you,” he answered cold as ice.

  Hedvig started crying. “And who is my natural father?” she asked.

  “It’s...” He looked at Gina with despise. “It’s your turn.”

  “It’s Mr. Werle,” she chuckled. “I’m so sorry for all this, honey,” she hugged her.

  Hedvig sunk her head and blinked at him. She cried out: “I don’t care. You are still my daddy.” She made some frightened steps towards him, then observing his loathing facial expression declined. She stood between him and Gina for a while. Then her attitude changed completely. “Fine, if that’s what you want. The Werles are much funnier than the Ekdals anyway. And rich… I’m sure they will have nothing against me in their family.” There followed a deep and sorrowful silence.

  Then suddenly a thundering sound petrified them; it seemed to him to echo in the house for almost a lifetime. When the reverberation ended, they all started running up the stairs. They knew too well the sound of the revolver from the virtual world of computers; old Ekdal had often enjoyed listening to the sounds of the weapons possessed by him. They could even tell which one it must have been. As they reached the top of the stairs they could hear a low tumbling sound. It sounded like a heavy object dropping to the ground. He hurried to his father’s room. The door was closed and no one responded to his vehement knocking. After a couple of seconds, he pushed his way in. He found what he had anticipated. Old Ekdal sat in his favourite armchair, his head thrown back, some blood dropping to the ground covering the revolver he had loaded the other day. He checked even though he knew his father was dead. Gina and Hedvig embraced each other and were sobbing in the door opening.

  “What happened?” his wife asked. “Is he…?”

  He nodded. “At least he’s now in the eternal hunting grounds.”

  “How can you say something so stupid?” Gina paused for a moment. “It must have been an accident.”

  He looked at them. He knew it was no accident. He had forgotten to unload the revolver, that’s true, but old Ekdal had always been very particular about safety. His father had always checked the guns, could tell by their weight if they were loaded or not. Old Ekdal must have overheard their conversation. All these years his father humbled himself. The pain he must have endured. Pain that even alcohol couldn’t ease.

  “There is a note on the desk,” Gina said.

  He noticed it only now. He took it and read it. It was very short. It read: “I’m so sorry, son.”

  “What does it say?” Gina inquired. “Let me see.”

  He handed her the paper. She perused it, and said: “I don’t understand.”

  “I do,” he told her, and went to take care of matters concerning his father’s death.

  He needed to get out of the house. He went to his father’s favourite pub, ordered a strong drink. He looked around.

  The man with dark complexion was there, and although his world and thoughts were entirely different from his, he sat beside him. He was greeted open-heartedly. “Hello, family man. Last time we met, you impressed me. Leaving with two hot mammas, quite something.” He looked at the man, h
is eyes showing grief. “Wife found out?”

  “My father is dead. Shot himself. Said to have been an accident.”

  The man with dark complexion was moved. “That’s sad. I’m really sorry. What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing,” he said and swallowed his drink in one.

  “Life sucks.” His mood changed from mirth to one of condolence. “My father is still alive. But who knows for how long? He has been conscripted at the age of 70. Can you believe it?”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because of the imminent war. Haven’t you heard?” the man sounded a bit irritated for a moment. “Of course, you must have had other matters to think about. I may soon be an orphan as well. I tried to get my family out of the country, but I failed. I let them down. I don’t know if I will ever see the only woman I loved.”

  “The war is because of the dictator, right?” he inquired completely unaware of recent events in the world.

  “Like hell it is,” the man with dark complexion said bitterly. “I wish I could say so, for he is the reason I had to leave. But I’m afraid it has nothing to do with it.”

  “Is it about natural resources then?”

  “No, not really.” The man paused for a while, sipped his beer. “I think it’s the way the northern countries let their steam out. This is how they compensate their own anger and social despairs. But it’s hard for me to understand why you have to attack us for not being able to find a lifestyle you can accept or for not being able to control your women.”

  “That’s an interesting theory.”

  “It’s the truth. You go abroad destroying other peoples’ lives, because your lives are empty. In your big freedom you lost your standards, your cultural heritage and religion.” The man with dark complexion patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t take it personally. I have nothing against you. You’re a nice guy.”

  “I don’t like being a nice guy.”

  “There is nothing wrong with being a nice guy. There is nothing wrong with wanting to live with one woman for all your life, and requiring the same in return.”

  “How do you know that I didn’t… with the two women?”

  “I didn’t know. But now I do. Although I could have guessed.”

  He wondered. He was a nice guy even to this foreigner. Possibly he was predestined to emanate a nice guy aura that would stick to him forever. He wished he was everything but that. But, obviously, his desires were meant to be unfulfilled in this world. Perhaps it was all a brilliantly devised computer game, where his parameters were set, and he could not exceed them no matter how hard he tried. These parameters doomed him to failure; they would have made him a winner in the Viking times, but not in the modern age of Werles.

  The man with dark complexion changed the topic. They talked about sports although none of them really cared; he knew they were both like ducks having been shot and now sinking to the bottom of the sea, where they would bite the sea-grass and would never again emerge. For sometimes death was the best available solution.

  Relling looked at him with inquisitive eyes. He almost felt devoured by those eyes.

  “You know, I wasn’t born here. I lived in the south before I moved because of political reasons. Or so I said.” He shook his head, he didn’t know, and he couldn’t guess. Of course, the dentist’s skin had a slight dark complexion, but it wasn’t all that unusual. “More correctly put, I came here, because I was different. Society there couldn’t accept this, my kind have been stigmatised there. But you see I couldn’t deny who I have always been. And you cannot deny who you are. If you try, you will only make your life miserable.” Relling stopped for a moment taking a deep breath. “Once I had a wife. I didn’t want to get married, but I didn’t want to upset my family, especially my mother; I gave in to pressure. I thought that I could change, but I couldn’t. I left hoping to find a new life, to find out who I was. I took an entirely new identity, a new name, and started a new life.”

  He nodded. There was nothing unacceptable in what Relling had to say. Everyone in the north knew what went on in the south, the anti-democratic oppression of people and their civil liberties. He had sipped in this knowledge in childhood as everyone else; it became a part of his cultural identity.

  “I left because I was abnormal in that society. I had to agree with that, I still do. Here, on the other hand, I almost feel normal. Strange, isn’t it? I look at you, and I see a man who has not accepted his destiny, who has not accepted who he is.”

  “I have not?” he tried to sound funny. “I thought so.”

  “No, you have not. You seem like me back then. Trying real hard to be something you’re not. You don’t belong here. You are a Viking, and all the Vikings have left. You are forcing yourself to live the life of a pussy. Look in the mirror.” Relling made him face a mirror. He saw a handsome, tall man with eyes that reflected suffering.

  “Thanks,” he said, and felt his energy was vanishing. He thought he was a pussy too. Did it really show so much? He didn’t like it when others could find his weak spots, because when they had, they usually hammered at it. And so he had to keep his emotions hidden deep inside.

  “I was upset last night because of Molvik and young Werle. I know Gregers is only playing with Molvik. He doesn’t want to believe me. It hurts. I have been living with Molvik for years.”

  “You too?” he asked, but wasn’t really surprised. He wasn’t really surprised of anything any more. Perhaps only his eyes were blindfolded to see the truth. “I don’t mind,” he said ascertaining that he liked bald-head anyway, whether he was gay or not.

  “I’m homosexual. But Gregers, I don’t think he could decide just yet what he is.” Relling stared at him, his face showing affection for him. “I wish I could help you. I wish. But I cannot. Only you can resolve the matter. Only you. No one can help.” The dentist stopped for a second. “I often think about life. I have a lot of time to think. I try to be as objective as possible. And abstract. And what I see is that history does repeat itself. There are some differences, but from an abstract point of view, they are irrelevant. Today we are living the times of the Roman Empire at its height before its sudden collapse. These are the times when the normal becomes abnormal, and the abnormal becomes normal. The cornerstone of any society, the family is disappearing. Instead, I see families breaking apart, if forming at all. I see a lot of people who cannot stand the other because they are so damned independent, and yet they feel desperately and incurably lonely. They are all searching for the perfect love, the perfect life. They deny that they age. Forty-year-olds act as teenagers. And when they see a man as normal as you are, they will do everything to make you feel abnormal. You cannot accept our lifestyle.” Relling’s last sentence was more like a command than a statement.

  “You are right,” he said. “I don’t feel I belong to the Big Brother world.”

  “Then go,” Relling embraced him. “Go away from here. You still can.”

  “Go where?”

  “There are still places you could call home in the south. Where normal is normal, and abnormal is abnormal. But hurry. These places are disappearing.”

  He nodded. Some strange energy emanated his body, surged from within and filled him with warmth. “I will,” he uttered.

  “You are normal, and we are abnormal,” the dentist held his hand. “Don’t ever let us tell you otherwise. Don’t listen to the voices of shame. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Do not be ashamed for being normal. Fulfil your dreams. Fulfil your destiny.”

  It was getting dark, the weak sun of the north setting early. He looked out of the window, at the deserted streets that would be animated with life later when the nightlife would begin. The wind was blowing some leaves on the tidy streets; everything was clean and cold. How many times had he looked out of this window and how many times had he gone for the same walks, he pondered. He would go up to the mountain-side of the city, look at the harbour below, the fish market and the Skansen. He would think about his bright future, mak
e optimistic plans and dream about the discoveries he would make in computer science. He had made himself believe in them. All these ideas occurred to him alien now. He realised they were necessary though, for otherwise he would hardly have survived. They had allowed him to continue with a life completely lacking excitement, feeding him with benevolent lies. Reality had been simple and boring: he had been a not-too-recognised employee of a big firm, very much dependent on the ambience of a charismatic syndicator, who had systematically turned down all his innovations and blocked all his attempts of becoming independent. The market had been in chief Werle’s hands. He had had no life of his own. He had tried to disconnect himself from his surroundings, build an oasis. He had his workshop, his duck, and his family. But the oasis had been swept away by the surroundings, and there remained nothing. His whole previous life seemed to him as a strange dream revolving around computers and knowledge and technology. He had been so convinced they could make his life happier. Well, they hadn’t.

  He had packed a suitcase. He looked at it, still hesitant. But he knew that the next day he would have to get on the airplane. He would have to go the south. He had to try to live a normal life.

  He had made all the arrangements. He had collected the life insurance money after his father, divided it into two, half of it went to Gina, the other half to him. It wasn’t much, but it had to do. It would be just enough for him to start a new life in the land he was going to. He would leave the house to Gina and the girl; they would manage fine.

  He rummaged in his pocket and found a shabby note. It said Lene and there was a phone number. He peered at it, then with one sudden move threw it in the waste basket. Lene looked like a woman of the finest grade, but she was no woman to him. Just a whore. He had no desire for her kind.

  The doorbell rang and he went downstairs. Gregers stormed in.

  “I heard you want to go away.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I am going away.”

  “Maybe you should reconsider,” Gregers told him energetically.

  “There is no way I would.” He shook his head. Everything and everyone seemed so much different to him now than before. Like a classical and a modern painting would about the same subject. Even Gregers looked different. Whether his novel view was modern or classical he couldn’t decide.

  “I have here a contract with Microbots,” Gregers waved a paper, “worth millions. It’s your duck.”

  “I have no duck, remember? I destroyed it.”

  “The details were in the company’s archives.”

  “Your father would never let those out of his hands.”

  Gregers smiled vaguely. “He has retired. He couldn’t face his bad conscience for firing your dad the day he died.” Gregers stopped for a sigh. “I am company chief now, and I managed to convince the board to make this deal. You’re the main beneficiary.”

  He was reluctant to believe that chief Werle would let go so easily. In any case, Gregers sounded sincere. This was the break he had been waiting for in his whole life. The dream came true. But it wasn’t his dream any more. It came too late. Because there were things in life that had merits only at a certain time, not before and not after. He tried to imagine his life rich in the north. He would buy a house on the mountain side of the city, a red sports car and anything else he wanted. The house would be empty though; he would sit inside it all alone or rave in town searching for real love that the red sports car would make sure he would never attain. For if he so obviously was rich, how could he trust anyone?

  “I’m so sorry for the past. But maybe we could work out the family details,” Gregers said to which he laughed. He found his friend amusing.

  “I don’t want to be unfriendly, but it would be better if you left.”

  “Think about it, Hjalmar. Tomorrow you may see things differently,” Gregers said on his way out.

  He closed the door behind him. The next day he would be far away. He knew he would never return. He would rather die. He could never again face defeat and humble himself for Werle types. He could never again face his family that cheated him.

  For a lion wouldn’t eat grass for long, he thought. Lions were meant to be lions, and nothing could change that. And he was meant to be a man.

  It was time for him to be a man.

  ###The End###