Visitors coming!
Oho--indeed!
The cat is sitting on the threshold, licking her paws.
But Olof sits deep in thought, whittling at the handle of a spade. A
stillness as in church--no sound but the rasp of the knife blade on
the wood, and the slow ticking of a clock.
Olof works away. The wood he cuts is clean and white, his shirt is
clean and white--Kyllikki had washed it. Kyllikki has gone out.
The cat is making careful toilet, as for a great occasion.
Visitors coming!
Already steps are heard outside.
The door creaks, the cat springs into the middle of the room in a
fright; Olof looks up from his work.
Enters a young woman, elegantly dressed, her hair town-fashion up on
her head, under a coquettish summer hat--a scornful smile plays about
the corners of her mouth.
She stands hesitating a moment, as if uncertain what to say.
"Good-day," she says at last, with assumed familiarity, and taking a
hasty step forward, offers her hand.
Olof scans her in silence from head to foot--surely he should know
her?--and yet, who can she be...? He _will_ not recognise her.
"Aha! You look surprised! Don't know me--don't you? Your own
darling!'" She laughs harshly, contemptuously.
"Or perhaps you have seen so many others since--rowans and berries and
flowers--that you can't, remember one from another?"
Olof's hand trembles, and his face turns white as the sleeves of his
shirt.
The woman laughs again boldly, and flings herself on the sofa in a
careless pose.
"Well, here we are again--staring at each other--what? Didn't use to
stare that way, did we? What do you say?"
Olof has fallen into a seat; he looks at her, but makes no answer.
"And your princess--is she at home, may I ask?"
"No!" Olof answers with an angry ring in his voice.
The woman marks it, and draws herself up, as if in answer to a
challenge.
"Good! I've no business with her. But I've something to say to you.
And maybe it's best for her she's away. She'd not be over pleased to
see me, I fancy." The words shot like venom from her tongue--a sting
from laughing lips.
Her callousness seems to freeze him--while his blood boils at the
insult to Kyllikki. He is about to speak: "Say what you will, but not
an evil word of her!"--when the woman goes on:
"Well, it's no good sitting here solemn as an owl! I just thought I'd
look you up--it's a long time since we met, isn't it? Let's have a
little talk together--talk of love, for instance. I've learned a deal
about that myself since the old days."
Olof was all ice now--the bold, scornful look in her eyes, and her
short, bitter laugh froze every kindlier feeling in him.
Then suddenly the scornful smile vanishes from her face.
"Curse you all!" she cries wildly. "Oh, I know what men are now!" She
stamps her foot violently. "Beasts--beasts, every one of you--only
that some wear horns and others not, and it makes but little
difference after all....
"Ay, you may stare! You're one of them yourself--though maybe just so
much above the ruck of them that I'm willing to waste words on you.
Listen to me!" She springs to her feet and moves towards him. "I hate
you and despise you every one. Oh, I could tear the eyes out of every
man on this earth--and yours first of all!"
A wild hatred flames in her big brown eyes, her face is contorted with
passion; she is more like a fury than a human being.
"And as for your love ..." she went on, flinging herself down on the
sofa once more. "Ay, you can twitter about it all so prettily, can't
you?--till you've tempted us so near that the beast in you can grab
us with its claws! Love--who is it you love? Shall I tell you? 'Tis
_yourselves_! You beasts! We're just pretty dolls, and sweet little
pets to be played with, aren't we? Until you fall on us with your
wolfish lust ... 'tis all you think or care for--just that!"
She spoke with such intensity of feeling that Olof never thought
of saying a word in defence--he felt as if he were being lashed and
beaten--violently, yet no worse than he deserved.
"Well, why don't you say something? Aren't you going to stand up for
your sex? Why don't you turn me out, eh? Fool--like the rest of you!
What is it you offer us, tell me that? Your bodies! And what else?
Your bodies again--ugh! And sweet words enough as long as you want us;
but as soon as you've had your fill--you turn over on the other side
and only want to sleep in peace...."
She gave him one long scornful glance, and sat silent for a moment, as
if waiting for him to speak.
"Well--what are you sitting there writhing about for like a sick cat?
What's the matter now? Oh, you're married, aren't you?--living in
the state of holy matrimony ... take a wife and cleave to her ... one
flesh, and all the rest of it ... flesh! Ugh! Holy matrimony indeed!
As if that could hide the filth and misery of it all! No! Beasts
glaring over the fence at what you want--and when it pleases you to
break it down, why not? And your wives--shall I tell you what they are
to you--what they know they are? The same as we others, no more ...
your...."
A dark flush rose to Olof's cheeks, and he broke in violently:
"You ... you...."
"Oh yes, I'm coarse and vulgar and all the rest of it, yes, I know.
But what about you men? You're worse than all! Marriage--it's all very
well for the children. And even that.... Wasn't it the men that wanted
the State to take over all children, what? A pretty thought--leave
your young behind you where you please--and the State to look after
them. Make love free and beautiful. Oh yes. And we're to have all the
pain and trouble--and the State to pay--noble and generous, aren't
you? What other beast gave you that grand idea, I wonder? The dogs
that run in the streets...?"
Olof sat motionless, watching her passionate outburst as if
fascinated. And beneath the ghastly mask he seemed to see the face of
a young, innocent girl, with childish, trusting eyes, and....
"No, it's no good your trying that," the woman broke in. "I know
what you're thinking of now. You hate me, loathe me, as I am now. And
you're asking yourself if it really can be the same little bit of a
child that used to sit on your knee and look up to you as if you were
God Himself! No--I'm not--there's nothing left but bitterness. Can't
you understand? Oh, we're coarse and sour and harsh and all the
rest--all that you've made us. But I'll tell you what we are
besides--ourselves, _ourselves_, for all that!"
She rose up from the sofa, and crossing the room, sat down on a chair
close to where Olof was seated. Then, lowering her voice a little, she
went on, as if striving with words and look to penetrate his soul:
"We are women--do you know what that means? And we long for love--all
of us, good or bad--or, no, there is neither good nor bad among us,
we are alike. We long for you, and for love. But how? Ah, you should
know! Answer me, as you would to God Himself: _of all the women you
have known, has any one of them ever craved your body_? Answer, and
speak the truth!"
"No--no ... it is true!" stammered Olof confusedly.
"Good that you can be honest at least. And that is just what makes the
gulf between us. For you, the body is all and everything, but not for
us. We _can_ feel the same desire, perhaps--after you have taught us.
But the thing we long for in our innermost heart--you never give
us. You give us moments of intoxication, no more. And we are foolish
enough to trust you. We are cheated of our due, but we hope on; we
come to you and beg and pray for it, until at last we realise that
you _can_ give us nothing but what in itself, by itself, only fills us
with loathing...."
Olof breathed hard, as in a moment's respite at the stake, with the
lash still threatening above his head.
"Yes, that is your way. You take us--but why will you never take us
wholly? You give us money, or fine clothes, a wedding ring even--but
never yourselves, never the thing we longed for in you from the first.
You look on love as a pastime only; for us, it is life itself. But you
never understand, only wash your hands of it all, and go your own ways
self-satisfied as ever."
Olof was ashy pale and his eyelids quivered nervously.
The woman's face had lost its scornful look, the hardness of her
features had relaxed. She was silent a moment, and when she spoke
again, seemed altogether changed. She spoke softly and gently, with a
tremor in her voice.
"Even you, Olof, even you do not understand. I know what you are
thinking now. You ask, what right have I to reproach you, seeing that
I was never yours as--as the others were? It is true, but for all that
you were more closely bound to me, with a deeper tie, than with the
others. What do I care for them? They do not matter--it is nothing to
me if they ever existed or not. But you and I--we were united, though
perhaps you cannot understand.... Olof! When I sat close to you, in
your arms, I felt that my blood belonged to you, and that feeling I
have never altogether lost. It is you I have been seeking through all
these years--you, and something to still the longing you set to grow
in my soul. Men fondled me with coarse hands, and had their will of
me--and I thought of _your_ caresses; it was with you, with you I
sinned!"
The sweat stood out in beads on Olof's brow--the torture was almost
more than he could bear. "I know, I know!" he would have said. "Say no
more--I know it all!" But he could not frame a single word.
She moved nearer, watching him closely.
And slipping to the floor beside him, she clasped his knees.
"Olof--don't look like that!" she cried. "Don't you see, it is not you
alone I mean. Tear out your eyes--no, no, I didn't mean it, Olof! Oh,
I am mad--we are all mad, we have sinned.... Do not hate me, do not
send me away. I am worthless now, I know, but it was you I loved,
Olof, you and no other."
Olof writhed in horror, as if all his past had come upon him suddenly
like a monster, a serpent that was crushing him in its toils.
"No, let me stay a little yet, do not send me away. Only a moment,
Olof, and I will go. No, I will not reproach you--you did not know me
then. And I knew nothing--how should we have known?"
She was silent for a moment, watching his face. Then she went on:
"Tell me one thing--those others--have any of them come to you--since?
Ah, I can see it in your eyes. None who have known you could ever
forget. If only you had been like all the rest--we do not long for
them when they are gone. But you were--you. And a woman must ever come
back to the man that won her _heart_. We may think we hate him, but
it is not true. And when life has had its way with us, and left us
crushed and soiled--then we come back to him, as--how shall I say
it?--as to holy church--no, as pilgrims, penitents, to a shrine ...
come back to look for a moment on all that was pure and good ... to
weep over all that died so soon...."
Her voice broke. She thrust aside the piece of wood he had been
holding all the time, and sent it clattering to the floor; then
grasping his hands, she pressed them to her eyes, and hid her head in
his lap.
Olof felt the room darkening round him. He sat leaning forward, with
his chin on his breast; heavy tears dropped from his eyes like the
dripping of thawed snow from the eaves in spring.
For a long while they sat thus. At last the woman raised her head, and
looked with tear-stained eyes into his.
"Olof, do not be harsh with me. I had to come--had to ease my heart of
all that has weighed it down these years past. I have suffered so.
And when I see you now, I understand you must have your own sorrows
to bear. Forgive me all the cruel things I said. I had to say it all,
that too, or I could not have told you anything; I wanted to cry the
moment I saw you. Your wife--did I say anything? Oh, I do not hate
her, you must not think I hate her. I can't remember what I said. But
I am happier now, easier now that I have seen you."
Her glance strayed from his face, and wandered vaguely into distance,
as if she had been sitting alone in the twilight, dreaming.
"Olof," she said after a while, turning to him with a new light in her
eyes, "do you know, a pilgrimage brings healing. It is always so in
books--the pilgrims are filled with hope, and go back with rejoicing
to their home.... Home...!" She started, as if wakening at the word.
"Should I go home, I wonder? What do you say, Olof? Father and
mother--they would be waiting for me. I know they would gladly take me
back again, in spite of all. Do you know, Olof, I have not been home
for two years now. I have been.... Oh no, I cannot, bear to think....
Yes, I will go home. Only let me sit here just a little while, and
look into your eyes--as we used to do. I will be stronger after that."
And she sat looking at him. But Olof stared blankly before him, as at
some train of shadowy visions passing before his eyes.
"You have changed, Olof, since I saw you last," murmured the woman at
his feet. "Have you suffered?..."
Olof did not answer. He pressed his lips together, and great tears
gathered anew in his eyes.
"Oh, life is cruel!" she broke out suddenly, and hid her face in his
lap once more.
For a moment she lay thus; deep, heavy silence seemed to fill the
room. At last she looked up.
"I am going now," she said. "But, Olof, are we...?" She looked at him,
hoping he would understand.
He took both her hands in his. "Are you going--home?" he asked
earnestly.
"Yes, yes. But tell me--are we...?"
"Yes, yes." He uttered the words in a sigh, as if to himself. Then,
pressing her hand, he rose to his feet.
Staggering like a drunken man, he followed her to the door, and stood
looking out after her as she went. Then the night mist seemed to rise
all about him, swallowing up everything in its clammy gloom.