#boat sinking burial

[yushox]

They're both young, basically immortal and best friends. Ofcourse they would do dumb shit.

Kristin is barely containing her laughter as Phil signs the certificate after Techno.

Wilbur looks upset, looking up at his adoptive mom "You're not leaving us right?"

Kristin kisses the teens chocolate hair "Never my little chick."

"But, dadza is marrying Techno... doesn't that mean you have to leave?" The young boy asks innocently.

"No baby, I will never leave you, not for anything. I do have to leave for work, but I'm sure you understand that. But for something like this, no, I love Phil too much to ever consider leaving. Plus, he's happy with Techno, and Techno is our closest friend, I have no reason not to trust him with Phil."

Hearing that whispered to him calms Wilbur considerably.

Years pass, and Wilbur takes another shot "So Dad.. how is your marriage with Techno going? Any intriguing fights or..?"

Phil blushes slightly as he smiles sadly and takes a shot "Just one "fight" that happened a little while ago, he was visiting Dream, gave me a will just in case the worst happened and we both knew the chances of the worst happening. I thought he meant to hit the stasis chamber three months after the visit, but instead he wrote three days. He proceeded to call me all kinds of words synonymous to "old" and "blind" and he even brought me glasses knowing perfectly well that the only thing I have difficulty seeing is glass and transparent objects. They didn't help jack shit and I couldn't even see the lenses in the first place."

Wilbur, drunk out of his mind, bless him, is in tears from laughter at this point.

After his laughter dies down though he asks the one question Phil dreaded this whole evening "Say, where is he? You said he was up and about, surely he would have come by to drink with us by now."

Phil silently takes a shot before speaking shakily, his heart still hurts, even after getting so used to this part of life "...Hes actually.." another shot "..he went to conquer the kingdom of Gods Will."

"Wait, what do you...?" Willbur asks confusedly.

"Wilbur, he only had one life left. And over the years, over the eons, he only told me and Kristin, that he was Ill. And that there was nothing we could do about it except give him more and more minutes," another shot "but eventually, Will, eventually even he would succumb to such illness."

Will stares at his dad "no..."

Phil looks at his son "During his last few days awake he called you, Tommy, Tubbo, and even Ran, his sons, albeit he was more like Ranboos mentor than father." Phil sobers himself up, a benefit of being an angel "He died peacefully last week. I was the one who drifted his boat into the sea. He asked for noone, but me to watch him drift and sink."

The younger man also sobers up quite quickly, tears springing out of his eyes.

After those sobering news both men decide to settle down for the night. The silence cutting the air like a knife.

Philza ends up unable to sleep because of his sons sobs downstairs.

[mediocretosubpar-soup]

when wei wuxian and wen ning rescue jiang cheng from lotus pier the boat capsizes. somewhere else jiang cheng thinks to himself i've done it, jin ling is secure, yunmeng jiang is safe, wei wuxian is happy and promptly qi deviates midflight and falls into the river.

-

wei wuxian manages to turn the boat, throw wen ning onto the deck and then dives for jiang cheng.

jiang cheng is found.

-

the clumsy start of sect leader jiang's side of the story:

Jiang Cheng doesn't deviate when his sister dies.

He doesn't deviate when Wei Wuxian loses control for the last time in the Burial Mounds.

Not even when he learns about the Golden Core, does Jiang Cheng qui deviate.

No. Jiang Cheng has his deviation on a mellow summer evening when he's travelling back from Lanling Jin. It's a simple thought that does it.

“Everything is ok, now.”

In the next moment, everything is very much not ok. Jiang Cheng's entire body cramps and he plummets towards the misty lakes.

Jiang Cheng hits the water back first. He was up high enough that the water is like solid rock. Something in his spine gives on impact. Jiang Cheng sinks like a stone. He knows not to breath, even while his body tries its best to kill him his mouth doesn't open. He sinks down into the muggier spheres where no light dwells. His qi spikes, burst through his meridians like spring floods through dams. Lotus roots tangle in his splayed limbs. Not he can move any of them. On the bottom of the lake, Jiang Cheng jerks around like a fish on land as his qi runs amok through his body. Until, it finally exhausts itself. Jiang Cheng lies still. His last thought is, at least, I have accomplished it all. Jin Ling is a great sect leader now, he's got a family of his own. Yunmeng Jiang is thriving. Even Wei Wuxian is...happy.

-

-

An icy hand grasps onto his, Jiang Cheng grips back. He is pulled somewhere.

.

“...”

“...se.”

“...please.”

“A-cheng, please.”

Jiang Cheng guffaws, twists to the side and vomits water onto someone's shoes. His bleary eyes blink upwards into the pale face of Wen Ning. He squints.

“You look lively.”

Jiang Cheng has no chance to further ponder this paradox because in the next moment, he's been turned and crushed against a chest.

“A-cheng.” someone wails. Jiang Cheng can't breathe. The kraken who's latched onto him, tightens his arms. Jiang Cheng turns his head, his nose drags threw wet hair, a hairband slaps against his face. It's red.

“Wei Wuxian, let go.”

[theophagie-remade]

English translation of Questo mondo non mi renderà cattivo/This world can't tear me down's opening song:

Seafarers who go

Wherever they want, but not here¹

To steal my job in this jungle

And crushing my dream, which was to

open a bangla²

A bangla

It's fine if you remain here

But come on, stop talking to me about dignity

We bury waste where flowers grow³

(You're paid) €1.50 an hour and then you die⁴

But (do it) outside

Go die out there, 'cause here you're

You're in a wonderful country

This is a wonderful country

Wonderful

Wonderful

Seafarers who go

Wherever they want, but not here

To steal my job in this jungle

And crushing my dream of opening a bangla

A bangla

It's fine if you remain here

If you're running from a war, sure, but it must be a truly major one⁵

Nobody gives a damn about your shitty degree

It's just that your skin tone's a little too dark⁶

Dark for this place, for you're

You're in a wonderful country

This is a wonderful country

Wonderful

Bridges collapse⁷, ships sink⁸

But come on, it's all wonderful, as long as it doesn't happen to you

Students die, ministers speak⁹

This flavour of evil, can't you taste it too?¹⁰

This flavour of evil, can't you taste it too?

Factories explode¹¹, houses collapse¹²

But come on, it's all wonderful, as long as it doesn't happen to you

Rights die, ministers applaud¹³

This flavour of evil, can't you taste it too?

This flavour of evil, can't you taste it too?

Can't you taste it too?

1: Reference to Umberto Tozzi and Raf's 1987 song Gente di Mare ("Seafarers"). Most "illegal" immigrants reach Italy by sea through boats or rafts

2: Slang term for a mini-market owned by south asian immigrants. Also, "they steal our jobs", opposition to immigration 101 all across the board

3: Illegal waste burial is a really common practice in Italy

4: Exploitation of immigrants and their labour

5: Although anti-refugees sentiment is still strong, undeniably ukrainian refugees are more easily "accepted" than others due to both racism and to how close the russo-ukranian war is to Italy itself

6: Although this happened too recently for it to have been the inspiration for this line (which nevertheless expresses a commonly held belief), it should be known that just last May three ghanaian collaborators of Lesley Lokko who were supposed to be with her for the Venice Biennale cultural exhibition were denied entry into Itay. While details weren't made public, Lokko was allegedly accused of trying to bring "non-essential young men" into the country

7: Reference to the collapse of the Morandi Bridge in 2018. 43 people lost their lives

8: Reference to the Costa Concordia disaster of 2012. 33 people lost their lives

9: Suicides are becoming ever more common for a number of reasons, especially among university students. Giuseppe Valditara, the current Minister of Education, maintains that humiliation is a "factor for growth"

10: Likely a reference to Gino Paoli's 1956 song Sapore di sale ("Flavour of salt / Salty flavour")

11: Possibly a reference to the explosion of the Thyssenkrupp steel mill in Turin, 2007. It may be a broader allusion to workplace accidents and death. 2022 alone saw 1090 victims

12: Illegal construction is extremely common. Just last November 12 people died in Ischia due to a landslide. Hydrogeological instability is overall high in all of Italy

13: Amongst its objectives, the draft bill Ddl Zan aimed to criminalise hate crimes specifically motivated by homotransphobia, misogyny, and ableism. The Senate "killed" it on 27/10/2021, with the cheering and clapping of its detractors

[tangledspice075]

Stab, duck out of range, repeat.

It's alarming how easy it is to fall back on the old tactics. Of course, Polites thought 10 years of war would do that to a person. 

Following Odysseus's orders, he struck the heels and moved out of range, circling until the cyclops let down his guard again.

He doesn't like fighting. He doesn't think he ever would. But someone has to fight the war for the people who can't. Besides, he reassured himself he struck first. Even so, he mourns the life that must be shed.

The cyclops roared in pain, so loud that Polites heard it over the shouts of the men, and for one flitting moment, Polites feared the ceiling would fall. Suddenly the cyclops had its club in its hands. And it was coming straight. for. him.

Dimly he thinks he should run. Do something. Move! But his muscles wouldn't give.

He thinks he sees someone running towards him from the corner of his eye, but all he can do is stare at the club as it sinks closer and closer towards him.

Right as it was right on top of him, he felt someone push him out of the way. Skidding away from the club and on the floor, with a CRACK, the club fell. 

Suddenly he was a child, wide-eyed and staring as a boar charged closer and closer. And just like now, he was pushed out of the way. Polities saw Odysseus push him out of harms way as the boar's tusk grazed Odysseus's leg. 

Swiftly like a bolt of lightning, he had a feeling who pushed him out of the way.

No.

He scrambled up to his feet and ran over to the body.

NonononononoNO

“Captain…?”

There on the ground was the broken body of Odysseus. 

His captain.

His friend.

Dead.

He dropped to his knees, fumbling for a pulse, checking his breathing, anything.

Nothing.

He doesn't know what happened in the next few minutes, staring at Odysseus's body in shock.

He was only roused when Eurylochus moved towards him, shaking his shoulder firmly but gently.

"Is the captain...?"

"Dead."

His voice rang hollow to his ears, and Eurylochus gave him a look of solemn sorrow.

Not wanting to look him in the face, he looked around the cavern and wished he hadn't.

Odysseus was not the only casualty brought on by the cyclops. From a glance around the cavern, he saw at least a dozen men not moving, lying in a puddle of blood. 

The cyclops was lying flat on the floor, not dead, as his first glance told him, his chest rising and falling.

Polities stumbled to stand, and Eurylochus offered him his arm to stabilize. Not wanting to fall, he leaned on his arm.

Limping over to the cyclops, he and Eurylochus joined the still-standing men.

"We don't know what happened. he was standing one second and the next…" a man said, Polities not recognizing his face.

He stepped forward and took a quick inspection. The cyclops looks asleep, his breaths slow and deep. But something is off. It looks familiar... 

"Captain… must have put lotus in the wine."

Where is the captain?” A voice from the crowd asked.

There was a pause of silence. It said the answer far better than words could.

Polities saw the shock and confusion ripple through the crowd and the despair that soon followed.

Knowing he had to change the subject, he asked, “How are we going to escape? We can’t kill the cyclops, or we will be trapped inside.”

“And what shall we do with our fallen friends?” Asked another voice from the crowds.

Eurylochus, whilst ordering everyone to scout around the cave, replied, “we shall have to leave them here.”

Polites spun around in shock. 

“Leave our friends here!? The least we can do is give them a proper burial!”

“Carrying the bodies will slow us down,”

“So we leave them here to rot!?”

“We will likely have to retreat onto the boats and set sail as fast as possible. There is no room on the boats for bodies and no time for us to bury them.”

Knowing he is correct yet still refusing to leave them, polities stomped off.

Eurylochus watched as he lugged the bodies together and whisked around looking for something. Soon he had long sticks stacked in a cone shape. Swiftly he knew what he was making. A funeral pyre.

Looking around the cavern, he decided he could spare a few men.

Just as Polites was trying to light the pyre, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Jumping in shock, he turned around he saw a trio of men standing behind him.

"Eurylochus sent us to help." said the one who put his hand on his shoulder.

Polites looked over at where Eurylochus was. He was standing with his back firmly towards Polites, ordering the men to sharpen the cyclops' club.

Even during all of this, he smiled. Not as big as his other ones, just a small, fond one. But a smile nonetheless.

. . .

Looking at the pyre burning with the smoke drifting to the top of the ceiling, he felt a pang of sadness. Odysseus is dead. Ithica has lost its king, Penelope has lost her husband, Telemachus has lost his dad, who he didn't even get to know or meet. He had lost his friend. And the world doesn't even know of his death.

He looked down at the sword in his hands. Odysseus sword. He grips it tightly, and then, right there, he makes a promise. He would not let Odysseus go to the underworld with regrets. He would make it back home and tell Telemachus of his dad, so many stories that he would feel like he has known him all his life. He would make it back and tell Penelope the terrible news and offer the comfort he knows she will need. He would make it back home.

Behind him, Eurylochus walked up to him till they were side to side. They stood there for a moment, watching the pyre flicker and burn.

Then in unison, they turned and walked back to the crowd of men with the club now sharpened into a spear.

They would remember them.

And behind them, the flames of those who've gone burned.

[thewolvesof1998]

Water Burial (Original Poem)

Trigger warnings:  -Mentions of Suicide, Death, and Blood. 

This is something I wrote after one of my many intrusive thoughts, at least they’re poetic sometimes. 

Ps. I’m doing okay at the moment no need to worry. 

Tagging some people who might be interested (Not 9-1-1 related so totally fine if you want to ignore this): @wikiangela @wildlife4life @alyxmastershipper @prince-buck-diaz @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33 @heartbeatdiaz @bekkachaos @buddierights @forthewolves @911-on-abc @hippolotamus @hannah-ruth-990 @malewife-buck @i-ghostgirl @mrevanbuckley​ @sammy-souffle​ @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese​ @your-catfish-friend​ @eddiediaztho​ @exhuastedpigeon​ @911onabc​ @shitouttabuck​

Water Burial- Original Poem by Me

Slit my wrists and lie me down on the ocean floor to die At least then my blood will only stain the sea red for a few moments Until a strong current comes to wash away the guilt

And I’ll just lay there, underneath tonnes of salt water Flesh melting away until my skeleton is revealed Let the fishes come and make a home of my bones Unlike I was able to.

Maybe I’ll become like those sunken boats Born of tragedy But finding a second life rusting away on the ocean floor Let something good come of my death

But if the fishes decided, like me, that my body is toxic Let it sink into the sediment and be covered by time No need to dig me up Nothing new here,  Just another sad person from the 2020s.

If you need help please reach out. 

[nihilizzzm]

I have something I desperately need to share. This is one of my favourite poems ever, originally written in polish, this translation I found by Michal J. Mikos (or I hope I checked it right at least). I always get emotional when I read it, but I somehow thought about Boromir now while doing it and I just had to show it to you.

Juliusz Słowacki

Testament mój (My testament)

I have lived with you, suffered and shed tears with you.

No noble person have I ever passed aside.

Today I leave you, ghosts in shadows to pursue,

And if happiness were here – in sorrow I stride.

I have not left behind me a single offspring

Either to play my lute or to carry my name;

My name has passed away like a flash of lightning,

And will last for generations like an empty strain.

But you that have known me, pass to all in legend

That I wore out my youth for the land of my fathers;

When the ship struggled – I stood at the mast to the end,

And when she was sinking – I too drowned in deep waters...

Yet some day, pondering about the destined lot

Of my poor homeland, any noble man will consent

That my spirit’s cloak was not by begging begot,

But as my ancestors’ glories shines resplendent.

Let my faithful friends at night gather together

And burn up my poor heart in die leaves of aloe,

Return it to die one who gave it to me later:

So the world pays mothers – giving them ashes to stow...

Let my friends sit down, each one holding a goblet,

And drown in wine my burial – and their own despair...

If I am a spirit, I’ll appear to them yet,

If God frees me from torment, I will not come there...

But I beg you – let the living not lose hope ever

And bear the torch of learning before their compatriots;

And when called, go to their death one after another,

Like the stones tossed by die Lord onto the ramparts...

As for me – I am leaving a small group of friends,

Those who were able to love my haughty spirit;

One can see I have fulfilled God’s hard assignments

And assented to have here – an unwept casket...

Who else would go on without the world’s accolades,

Such indifference to the world as I display?

To be the helmsman of a boat that’s filled with shades,

And fly off as quietly as the shade flies away?

And yet I leave behind me this fateful power,

Useless while I live... it just graces my temples;

But when I die, it will, unseen, press you ever,

Till it remakes you, bread eaters – into angels.

There is also a great song made out of it in polish, I leave this for you and encourage you to check more of Słowacki’s poetry if you like to experience this kind of despair and tragedy while reading.

[deathblossomed]

❀࿐ Shinigami Biology 101

Shinigami are one of the races of spirits that exist within Reikai. They are the personification of Death, spirits born of the Sanzu River and designated guides to the afterlife for residents of Ningenkai and Makai. Among the spirits, they alone (along with divine spirits; Koenma and Enma, ordained by their rulership of Reikai) are granted the innate power to cross the Sanzu River, to interact with souls of the dead, and traverse the boundaries between Life and Death. They are also characterized as different from both demons, humans, and other spirit types by a few select reasons.

Shinigami are long lived species, capable of living for a thousand years. While they can be killed, it's incredibly difficult to do so. They have a high healing factor and regenerative abilities, heightened by their proximity to the Sanzu River as their source of power. They reproduce sexually with a gestation period of around six months. Shinigami have always been referred to as beings 'born of the River', and in a way they are. There's a calm spot in the Sanzu River and built along it's shore are maternity houses. Before giving birth, the mother will stay here so she can be close to the River and will have a water birth in the shallows. She'll be instinctively drawn the water the way animals return to the same grounds they were born on. It's believed that this is how the River comes to recognize a new shinigami and grant them their powers. They'll usually stay close until both mother and baby are stable enough to travel home. There is usually a midwife stationed there to help.

Because of this, Shinigami are connected to the Sanzu from birth. The River is a power in and of itself, the barrier between Life and Death and the source of it all. You cannot cross the waters without a Shinigami and trying to do so will likely result in your becoming trapped beneath the waves, your soul suspended in a sort of Limbo, never able to move on and your body sinking to the bottom. This is what makes Shinigami the only beings capable of becoming ferrymen. All other beings must be escorted across the river by boat.

When a Shinigami dies, their body is returned to the River and given a water burial. Their soul becomes one with the water, completing the cycle and further empowering the River.

Like all conscious beings, Shinigami have a well of Reiki within them from which their spiritual powers are born. Power levels differ for each individual and can be improved with proper training. A certain threshold must be met in order to become a ferryman in order to reliably travel through worlds and protect oneself. While Botan isn't particularly powerful in comparison to others in the series, her power shows in different capacities other than raw strength and she's decently powerful in terms of Spirits. For Shinigami, this aura is usually shown as a pale, watery blue.

We know that Demons, unlike humans, do not consider the heart organ to be the source of life. Yusuke's heart stopped following the awakening of his Mazoku genes and all 'lifeblood' was transferred to his Demon's core instead. Spirits have a similar organ, a Spirit Core, from which their power originates. Shinigami's cores are often described as running water, trapped in a glass orb. To destroy this core would result in the death of the Shinigami and an incredible outpouring of energy, like a broken damn, as the Reiki tries to return to the Sanzu. But it's a difficult task.

What truly sets Shinigami apart from other beings is that they lack Life Energy. They're the embodiment of Death, after all. Because of this, expending their Reiki beyond it's limits can have severe consequences and they lack any sort of 'reserve' from which to draw from in dire situations. A Shinigami pushed too far may start to physically break down and must return to the Sanzu to recover. In this instance, their core may act to protect the Shinigami on the River's behalf, drawing energy from outside sources, sometimes siphoning life energy from nearby organic sources such as plants and animals. This is strictly a last resort tactic.

Shinigami have a special vision subset that allows them to view the power cores and life energy of other beings. Life energy begins to naturally deplete at time of death, sped up by cause of death. Viewing this allows the Shinigami to know exactly when the physical body will die and the soul will disembark. It's like metaphysical x-ray.

Because of their connection to it, Shinigami are at their most powerful when close to the Sanzu River and things like their healing factor and recovery abilities are heightened when near the water. A gravely injured Shinigami may sit in the shallows to recover quicker. Plants grown on the River banks are often used in Shinigami medicine. If this medicine were to be used by other species, it would have an adverse, nearly corrosive effect.

Shinigami have a subset of innate abilities ( some of which are further explained here )

- Utilization of Reiki ( Spirit gun is an example of this ) - Defensive skills ( Healing, both self and others, purification, and barrier creation ) - Calming Aura - Intangibility ( unseen to all except the soul their retrieving ) - Telepathy - Flight - Mastery of the Sanzu River - Interactions with the souls of the deceased and the Afterlife - Water attunement ( not elemental control but rather scrying, mediumship, and communication )

[scotianostra]

On April 30th 1940 The Free French Destroyer, Maillr Breze exploded and sank off Greenock.

Maillr Breze was one of four French vessels mentioned in dispatches for the brave and skilful performance of her crew in attempting to prevent the fall of Norway eight months into the war. However, after surviving hostile waters, the Maille Breeze met a violent end in the friendly and peaceful waters of the Clyde.

Anchored just off Albert Harbour in Greenock for maintenance, the destroyer was rocked by an explosion after a torpedo being worked on by a sailor was fired inwards and downwards through the ship.

Despite efforts to save those below deck, the fire from the initial explosion took hold of the vessel, with 21 sailors trapped below lost. A further seven died in the explosion.

Local rumours flew of potential spies scuttling the ship. Others believe it could have been a cynical destruction of a vessel on the assumption the ship would have joined the Vichy fleet, which adopted a policy of collaboration with the Nazis.

Following the sinking, the remaining munitions were removed, including a number of depth charges, but the stricken vessel remained in the Clyde for the rest of the war.

A total of 21 members of crew were removed when the boat was taken ashore in August 1954, with full Naval Honours and Requiem Mass being held in Greenock, before all the remains were returned to France for burial.

There is a common misconception in the town the memorial that sits looking down from Greenock’s Lyle Hill is to those that perished in the Maillie Breeze, but there is no mention of the destroyer on the monument.

The monument is, in fact, to those in the Free French Navy, established shortly after the sinking of the Maille Breeze.

Explaining the reason for the memorial not commemorating the Maille Breze, historian Vincent Gillen said: “The cross was put up to memorialise the corvettes that were lost and the submarine Surcouf that was lost early in the war.

“It’s a deeply French thing or a political statement that it was Free French only they were going to commemorate, even though the Maille Breze was two months before they arrived in town. It just wasn’t considered part of their cause.”

Explaining why, despite never being for those lost in the Maille Breze, the ship is still associated by locals with the memorial, Mr Gillen said: “It’s in the popular culture of the town. People have memories of this ship blowing up off the Clyde. People thought the Maille Breze was a Free French ship, but it was actually a French navy ship.

“There is an incredible pride in the Free French.

“They have a supreme pride in what they did and what they did against Hitler, so I think they’re unwilling to associate the Maille Breze with it because the crew were interned and then had the choice of going home, or staying, and many of the Maille Breze crew may have gone home and lived in occupied France.”

Despite this, townsfolk still remember those aboard the Maille Breze who sacrificed everything in the fight for freedom when they look at the Free French monument, ensuring that 82 years on, those who perished on April 30, 1940 are not forgotten.

[laurieroar]

It’s Lore For A Reason (Chapter 1)

SUMMARY Neteyam's soul is acting erratically. He's suffering, and Jake isn't going to let that continue. At first he thinks Neteyam has been buried in the wrong place ... but really, Neteyam shouldn't have been buried at all.

CH 1: Neteyam is drowning

Jake was covered in woodsprites again.

It hadn't happened in years, not since he'd first met Neytiri. But now, suddenly, he was once again feeling their tiny tendrils all over his arms, his chest, his head. He remembered how, back then, they'd tickled his skin and made him feel a sense of peace. Tonight, they still tickled his skin. But peace was impossible for him right now.

A day ago, he'd pulled a boat with his son's corpse into the Awa'atlu burial ground and watched him sink into the ocean. As long as that image was in his head, he would never find peace. And now Kiri was missing.

They'd spent the day together as a family, trying to work as normal, each one of them breaking down in tears at some point while the rest tried to hold it together. In the evening, Jake and Neytiri had somehow managed to comfort their remaining children enough to fall asleep. And after hours of sobbing into each other's arms, Jake and Neytiri had went to bed, too. Not for long, though. Jake had startled awake with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and sure enough, Kiri was gone.

He'd been careful not to wake the other kids up, but while he was outside loudly whispering Kiri's name, Neytiri had joined him. Lo'ak, Spider, and Tuk all stayed fast asleep. They were all exhausted from crying.

The woodsprites appeared while they were wandering aimlessly around the village, both getting more and more concerned. Kiri wasn't allowed to be on her own since the seizure, and she knew that, but all of the kids were acting up. Jake wasn't going to be hard on them, either. They'd just lost their big brother.

And now he was covered in woodsprites again. He watched them settle on his body in confusion, as did Neytiri, who's surprise was barely recognizable through her exhaustion and worry and grief.

The woodsprites settled on Jake's body, then lifted up all at once. He expected them to disperse like last time, but this time, they began lining up single file behind him, extending off into the distance, as if creating a path for him to follow.

"That must be Kiri." He said to Neytiri.

"Ma Jake, you must follow them."

He nodded and followed the line, his pace quickening, Neytiri close behind him. He was nervous. He felt nervous every time he thought of Kiri. What if she'd had another seizure?

They were bringing him away from the village, down a path he wasn't ready to follow. The path to the Awa'atlu burial ground. He almost turned around when the reached the cave. He wasn't ready to be this close to his son again - the funeral was too recent, and the images this place brought to his mind were too difficult for him to face.

As if reading his thoughts, Neytiri nudged him. "For Kiri," she said. And he kept walking.

The cave was full of woodsprites, many more than normal. They illuminated the water and the walls, and the Spirit Trees shone bright from around and inside the lake. On the rocks, with her feet hanging over the edge into the water, was Kiri. She was leaning back on her arms with her eyes closed and her head up, brows furrowed, breathing shaky.

Jake ran to her and put his arms on her shoulders, shaking her out of her trance. She opened her eyes and looked at him in confusion.

"Dad?"

"Hey, baby girl. You okay?"

She nodded, then watched a woodsprite land on her hand. "There's so many! Did I do this?"

"I think you probably did."

Neytiri kneeled down beside Kiri, a stern look on her face. "What are you doing here out of bed?"

She looked nervous, ashamed, then sad. "I was ... scared. I had a dream." She looked out into the water. "About Neteyam."

She wrapped her arms around herself, and her face tensed like she was holding back tears. "Can I just stay with him a little while longer?"

"Yes, of course, Kiri." Neytiri said instantly. Jake nodded, though he was having trouble looking out at the water himself. He didn't want to be here. It was too hard.

But he knew he should say something, so he forced the words out. "He's okay, Kiri. He's was Eywa."

"I dreamt ..." She trailed off, shaking her head like it was too painful to continue. Her eyes filled with tears.

"What did you dream?" Neytiri asked, rubbing her shoulder.

Kiri took a shaky breath. "I saw him." She gestured at the water. "But he was little. He was at a stream back home, fishing with his bow. Just like he used to. Remember?"

Jake and Neytiri both nodded. They remembered. It was what Eywa had shown them through tsaheylu. Kiri must have seen him there often when they were young. But he wouldn't be surprised if Eywa had shown her the same scene in her dream, even without her connecting to a Spirit Tree. It was Kiri, after all.

"He was very happy there," Neytiri smiled. She looked genuine, but Jake could see in her eyes that she was holding back tears. She'd probably break down the moment they'd put Kiri back to bed.

Kiri smiled back. "He looked happy."

"Is that why you wanted to see him? Did your dream make you miss him?" She asked gently.

The smile left Kiri's face. Suddenly she looked scared, and her expression made Neytiri change, too, back to worried. Kiri shook her head.

"Did something else happen?"

Kiri's eyes filled with tears. "He was picking up a fish he'd caught. And then he was looking around the forest, like he was looking for someone."

Jake knew this part in the memory. He was probably looking around for his dad. And Jake could just see his son's proud little face as he held up his fish, waiting for praise, for reassurance that he was doing well.

"But no one was there." Kiri continued. "And he looked ... confused. I thought it was because he was looking for someone, but then ... he started looking around like he didn't know where he was. Then suddenly ... he was grown up. He looked just like he did right before he ..."

That had happened when Jake saw him, too. He'd asked him why he was crying.

"Then he looked ... scared." A tear snuck down Kiri's cheek and she quickly wiped it away, like she didn't want her parents to see it.

Neytiri glanced at Jake with a sad look. "It is just a dream, Kiri. Your brother is safe with Eywa."

"There's more," Kiri said, but she forced it out, like she didn't want to admit it.

"Go on then," Jake encouraged gently, though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.

"He ... saw me. He said my name, like he was surprised I was there. And he asked me ... where you were, dad." She looked at Jake. "I told him you were sleeping. And he ... he said ..."

Tears were sliding down her cheeks now. Jake wiped them away with his thumbs. "It's okay, it's just a dream."

"He said ..."

Neytiri ran her fingers through Kiri's hair, shushing her. Her face kept changing from heartbroken to afraid and back again.

"Go on. If you say it, it won't feel so scary." Jake said, though he wasn't sure it was true. "Breathe. It's alright."

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, calming herself. Then she opened her eyes and spoke to Jake directly. "He said ... Wake him up, Kiri. I'm drowning."

Jake wanted to cry but he kept his face strong while Kiri was watching him. He nodded, pausing while he breathed, making sure when he spoke his voice wouldn't crack. "He asked you to wake me up because he was ... drowning?"

Kiri nodded and started to cry again. "Like he knew his body was underwater. Like he could feel it." She looked out at the ocean again, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Now Jake was too close to breaking down sobbing. He could tell Neytiri felt the same way. They both just kept repeating the same things - it was just a dream, it's not real, her brother is at peace.

"Dad ... Lo'ak told me the last thing Neteyam said ... was that he wanted to go home."

And Jake would have to smack Lo'ak on the back of the head for telling his sister that.

Kiri looked up at him with searching eyes. "What if he's not supposed to be in there? What is his soul feels like it's drowning?"

Jake hesitated. He wasn't sure if that was possible, if souls could feel anything at all. But he shook his head. "No, Kiri. It was just a dream. Neteyam can't feel his body anymore. He's at peace with Eywa."

"Yes, Eywa is taking care of him." Neytiri added.

And Kiri fell into Neytiri's arms, sobbing.

Eventually, Jake carried her to bed. She curled up in Neytiri's arms and fell asleep again. The other kids hadn't moved an inch since they left, and they didn't still when Jake laid down beside his mate and daughter. When he was sure Kiri was fast asleep, he closed his eyes, too. But after a few minutes, he knew it was hopeless. He was wide awake. And laying there with his eyes closed wasn't going to change that.

He opened his eyes again. Kiri was still fast asleep, thank Eywa. But his wife was wide awake, too. She looked worried, deep in thought.

He caught her eye. "What's wrong?" He mouthed.

She thought for a minute, then whispered back as quietly as she could, "What if ..."

She trailed off, but Jake knew exactly was she was going to say. What if Kiri's vision was real? What if their son really wasn't at peace? Kiri was incredibly in tune to these things. He knew it was a possibility that her vision was more than a dream. But he also didn't want to believe that Eywa would let Neteyam suffer like that.

He voiced this to his wife, as quietly as possible. "Eywa wouldn't let him suffer."

Neytiri nodded. "You're right ... but maybe that is why she is talking to Kiri in her dream?"

"Kiri is just grieving her big brother," Jake said, probably more to himself than his mate. Neytiri still looked worried.

And Jake was worried, too, no matter how much he tried to deny it. The thought kept swimming in his head: What if?

And since he knew he wasn't going to sleep tonight anyway (nor his mate, by the looks of it), he sighed and slowly started to sit up.

"I'll check on him. Through tsaheylu."

Neytiri looked relieved. "Thank you," she whispered.

He carefully got up, wincing when Kiri started to stir, but she just cuddled closer to her mother and went right back to sleep. He tiptoed out of their home, catching Neytiri's grateful smile right before he disappeared around the corner.

And he made his way back to the Spirit Tree. His mind kept bouncing back and forth between that annoying "What if?" and the more logical part of his brain calling him paranoid and crazy from his grief.

He followed the path once again, the one he still wasn't ready to revisit. As he got closer to the cave, he was surprised to see that it was still glowing. The woodsprites were still gathering there. Fewer of them, but still plenty more than usual. They were probably just taking some time to disperse, but it still elevated his concern. He started leaning more toward "What if?" than “paranoid."

As he walked back into the burial ground for the second time that night, he forced himself to think about Neteyam. He had to before he connected to the Spirit Tree, so the Eywa would show him his son. It reminded of yesterday after the funeral. Eywa had shown him his son as a child, practising with his bow in the stream, and in the moment it had felt relieving. Healing. But then he'd disconnected from the Spirit Tree, and he'd almost wished he hadn't seen his son at all. Having him right there in front of him, touching him, holding him, and then having him torn away from him all over again. It was too much.

He stood before the Spirit Tree, and forced the image of Neteyam's face into his mind. His smiling face that looked so much like his mother's. And he queued up with Eywa.

He was instantly brought to the stream. Neteyam was there, a little boy, pointing his arrow at a fish and shooting. Jake watched as he jumped into the water and pulled the fish up by the arrow pierced through it. His son saw him and smiled.

"By the rocks, just like you said."

Jake sat down beside the stream, watching him. His emotions were mixed. The sight of his son filled him with the same happiness and relief as the day of the funeral. But underneath that was so much grief. Neteyam looked so happy and proud of the fish he'd just caught. He walked closer to his dad and lifted it up, showing it off, and waited for Jake to say something.

But Jake couldn't bring himself to talk. He just smiled sadly, tears filling his eyes.

Neteyam gestured to the fish. "It's a big one, right, dad?"

Jake took a shaky breath in and out. It was like they were in a play, and Neteyam was trying to help him remember his lines. He just nodded.

Neteyam smiled, and then giggled. The sound of his beautiful laugh sparked a slideshow of memories in Jake's mind. Neteyam was so cute at this age. Small enough that Jake could still pick him up with one arm. Shy and timid and unbelievably well behaved, but determined to learn and prove himself to his father, to show him that he could do even more than Jake expected of him. He was an angel Jake had done nothing to deserve, the exact opposite of Lo'ak, who was pretty much an exact replica of Jake himself. Neteyam had done everything Jake had ever asked of him.

His son was prying his arrow out of the fish and holding it up to see its size, looking over at Jake with pride. Neteyam always looked at him with such admiration, but above all else, with trust. Jake knew how safe he made his son feel. When he was this age, if he'd ever been upset or afraid, all Jake had to do was scoop him up in his arms and rub his back, and he'd instantly be fine again. Jake had that affect on him until the moment he'd died. When he was bleeding out, gasping for breathe, saying he wanted to go home, Jake had just brushed his thumb on his cheek and told him it was okay. Neteyam had believed him. He'd let out a relieved exhale. And then he'd stopped breathing.

"Dad?"

Jake was pulled out of his thoughts. Neteyam was grown up again, just like yesterday. The moment Jake looked sad, he grew up. His son's face was concerned.

"Why are you crying?"

He really was in a play. But Jake couldn't maintain the act this time. He couldn't hold back his tears and tell his boy he was just happy to see him. He wasn't happy to see him. Not like this. He wanted to see his real child in real life. He wanted to watch him grow bigger, learn new things, become an adult. He didn't want to hold his boy's memory inside Eywa just to have him ripped out of his arms when he was forced to back to reality.

Jake's face fell into his hands as he sobbed.

"Dad?" Neteyam sounded so confused. Jake just kept crying. It wasn't his real son anyway. It was just a projection, a fantasy. A memory. And he didn't want to play pretend with that - thing.

"Dad, help me."

Jake took a deep breath. His son sounded afraid, and that made him angry. How dare Eywa make him afraid? How cruel could she be?

He shook his head, trying to find it in his heart to trust Eywa, to not let him take his grief out on her. But he knew she was cruel. She allowed children to die without ever getting to experience life.

Fifteen years old was not long enough to live. All Neteyam got to do with his life was learn how to be a warrior. He didn't even get to finish growing up. He'd been good all his short life, and now Eywa had the nerve to make him afraid just so that Jake would continue playing along with this little fantasy. He'd open his eyes and his son would ask for help aiming his bow and the same memory would keep replaying until Jake had to leave, without his son.

"Dad, please."

Eywa was cruel for making him beg like this. She was cruel to Neteyam and she was cruel to Jake for making him sound so afraid.

He didn't want to, but he had to. So Jake opened his eyes and faced his boy.

Neteyam was standing in the stream. He was still fifteen, looking exactly like he had a few days ago before he'd been killed. He was holding his arrow with the limp fish impaled on it. But he didn't look right. His eyes were wide, his brows furrowed. He looked terrified. And the sight made Jake's stomach drop. This wasn't what tsaheylu with spirits was supposed to look like.

"What's wrong, boy?"

"Dad ..." Neteyam looked down at his father, his voice shaking. "I'm drowning.”

(Full fic is here.)

[gaycey-sketchit]

I've had Warrior Cats on the brain lately, so I present to y'all my Crowfeather playlist. While I normally try to keep relationship-focused songs on character playlists to a minimum, Crowfeather is a character who is largely defined by his relationships and how they often end in tragedy, and that's reflected here. Tentatively arranged, likely to make tweaks and additions later.

World's Smallest Violin - AJR

"my grandpa fought in World War II and he was such a noble dude / man I feel like such a fool / I got so much left to prove"

How to Save a Life - The Fray

"I would have stayed up with you all night / had I known how to save a life"

Vanilla Twilight - Owl City

"I'll find repose in new ways / though I haven't slept in two days / 'cause cold nostalgia chills me to the bone / but drenched in vanilla twilight / I'll sit on the front porch all night / waist-deep in thought because when I think of you / I don't feel so alone"

Let Me Down Slowly - Alec Benjamin

"don't cut me down, throw me out leave me here to waste / I once was a man with dignity and grace / now I'm slipping through the cracks of your cold embrace / so please, please / could you find a way to let me down slowly?"

Trying - Cavetown

"please let me know if you change your mind / 'cause inside I'm falling and I / need you to pull me out of this decline / I realize how hard on you this must seem / but trust me when I say / it's far, far worse for me"

Never Love an Anchor - The Crane Wives

"I am selfish, I am broken, I am cruel / I am all the things they might've said to you / do you ever think of me and my two hands and wonder why / they never soothed your fevers / and wonder why they never tied your shoes / and wonder why they never held you gently / and wonder why they never had the chance to lose you?"

Good for You - Dear Evan Hansen cast

"all I need is some time to think / but the boat is about to sink / can't erase what I wrote in ink / tell me, how can I change the story?"

I'm not a good person - Pat The Bunny

"I'm not a good person / no matter what I do / my exhaustion will consume me and / I'm too tired for the truth / I'm not a good person / I'm sure you're not surprised / it must be pouring out my sweat glands / it must be someplace in my eyes"

No Children - The Mountain Goats

"I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow / I hope it bleeds all day long / they say it's darkest before the sun rises / we're pretty sure they're all wrong"

Jumper - Third Eye Blind

"the angry boy, a bit too insane / icing over a secret pain / you know you don't belong / you're the first to fight, you're way too loud / you're the flash of light on a burial shroud / I know something's wrong"

It's Alright - Mother Mother

"it's alright, it's okay / it's alright, it's okay / you're not a demon, there's a reason / you behaved in that way / it's alright, it's okay / it's alright, it's okay / and I believe, yes I believe / that you will see a better day"

[i-am-still-bb]

Whumptober 2022 - No. 31 - “You can rest now.”

DarkHawk, T

The Terror AU (Tumblr / Ao3)

Warnings: referenced amputation, major character death, suicide

--

Ross carefully cleaned the instruments with the melted snow water.

Dr. Goodsir looked over his shoulder. “I really wish we had been able to hold back a bottle of the rum to clean these,” he said with a sigh.

“Would that really help?” Ross asked.

“It is unlikely,” Dr. Goodsir replied.

They both looked over the cots filled with men in the hospital tent. They had performed two amputations today, and there would be another tomorrow morning. The frostbite was getting worse with the warmer weather and longer days. The men would pull their shirts off while pulling the sledges, sweat, and when the sun dipped low in the sky again they were too warm to notice that their skin was dying. So many of the remaining seamen had frostbite and sunburn. The tents were full of groaning and tossing and turning.

At least the hospital tent was quiet, but that was horrible in its own way.

“It is likely that Johnson and Andrews will not live to see the first light.”

“Better than being killed by the creature,” Ross said darkly.

The both were recalling what they had seen a few weeks earlier.

There had been a lead. Captain Crozier had sent a single boat down it with instructions to row for two hours and then turn back.

In the meantime the remaining men had packed up the camp and prepared the whale boats and cutters for travelling by water.

They had waited for 8 hours, but the other boat did not return.

Some of the men thought that those in the first boat had seen open water and had just gone for it. But Ross had a sinking feeling in his chest. They were navy men. And the captain had given an order. And the mutinous Hickey and Manson had stayed with the bulk of the men. Captain of the Foredeck Hoffman would not have willingly disobeyed an order from the captain.

Jim had volunteered for that duty.

—

“Take these,” Jim said, holding out his leather journal with wavy pages and ivory comb.

Ross closed his hand over Jim’s. “No. You’re coming back.”

“Just in case.” Jim pressed the journal and comb into Ross’ hands.

They were sitting in the bottom of the boat that had been emptied in preparation to follow that open lead in the morning.

“No.” But Ross took the book. “I’ll give them back when I see you again.”

Jim smiled, then it faded. “If I don’t come back I want you to make sure my mother knows what happened to me.”

“Tell her yourself.”

“I will. If I can.”

Ross sighed heavily before tucking the journal beneath his layers. “Why did you volunteer?” he asked quietly.

“We both know that I’m a better sailor than you,” Jim teased.

“That explains why you instead of me, but not why you volunteered.”

Jim did not answer right away. He tipped his head back to look at the brutally clear sky and the icy stars that twinkled at them mockingly. “I want out of here. I want to make it home and I could not just sit here waiting while other people followed the lead.”

“And I don’t want out?”

“We both do, but you’re a lot more patient than I am.” A fond expression softened Jim’s face when he looked at Ross. “When it comes to some things. Remember that first time?”

Ross ducked his head. “I remember,” he said with a smile.

—

After nearly two hours following the lead they came upon a lake in the ice. It was so large that they could not easily see the otherside. There was a large berg, big enough that they could tether boats to it and climb to the top, in the centre.

But none of them saw that at first.

That dark blue, almost black water that they had been praying to see for weeks was red. There were places on the edges of the lake where people had tried to climb from the icy water, leaving blood streaks on the ice.

Of the fifteen men from that first boat they only found one full body, a leg, and Hoffman’s head. They had sewn the remains into a bit of sailcloth and weighted it with empty ration cans and given them a proper burial, well, as proper as they could under the circumstances.

That was the last attempted burial they had made on the ice.

Ross had slept that night with Jim’s journal and comb clutched close to his chest.

—

“Do you need anything else?” Ross asked as he put the cruel looking instruments away in their wooden case.

Dr. Goodsir looked around the hospital tent, “That should be it.”

“I haven’t told you, but I appreciate you letting me help. It feels good to be… useful.”

“I needed the help and I am glad that you offered. You have been a great help.”

Ross nodded.

“Get yourself some dinner and some rest.”

“You, too.”

But Ross did not head to the tent that they used as a mess. He had two ships biscuits in his pockets. Supper would not be much more than that.

He walked out onto the ice. He walked until he could not make out the off-white tents from the ice. And then he walked more. Eventually he came upon a cluster of seracs that would protect him from that harshest winds, but it was still cold, it had not gotten above freezing in days, and it would only get colder once darkness descended.

Ross sat down and leaned against one of the ice pillars. He faced the setting sun. He pulled out Jim’s journal and comb and set them beside him. Then he pulled out the biscuits and ate them slowly, quietly.

Then he picked up Jim’s journal. He smiled at the misspellings. Jim could read any book he picked up, but when it came to spelling he was atrocious. The journal covered the preparations for the journey back in England, and the past two years on the ice. The entries became sparse once they abandoned Erebus and Terror to haul sledges south in search of the mouth of the Back River. And then Jim’s spelling became worse, and his sentences were disjointed. Ross had mentioned it to Goodsir and was assured that those were common with scurvy, which all the men were suffering from to various degrees.

He touched the letters on the page and closed his eyes. He imagined Jim saying aloud what he had written down.

The sun was touching the horizon now. Ross tucked the journal and the comb that was warm from his hands into his layers once again. He lay down on the ice, the chill seeping through his layers and into his body. Jim’s journal and comb were between him and the ice, to project it as much as he could.

Ross was asleep before the sun fully set.

He did not wake in the morning.

[tillerman1]

TO JOY

by Ingmar Bergman translated unimpeded by Google and SYSTRAN

The concert hall. The rehearsal of Beethoven's 9th symphony has just finished. Sönderby descends from the conductor's desk. The orchestra breaks up. Someone approaches Stig and says he has a phone. He goes out to the kiosk and answers, shouts hello several times, but only hears someone breathing heavily.

STIG: Hello. Hello.

Then he is gripped by worry, hangs up the phone, grabs his coat, hat and violin case and runs down the stairs. He walks very fast through the streets. It is a Scanian pre-spring day with heat in the sun and cold in the shade. A freight train makes its way cautiously and breathlessly across from the ferry to Central Station. A boat honks in the harbor. There are white geese out in the Sound. When Stig comes through the door at home, a tall old woman is sitting and waiting for him. She gets up –

GRANDMA: I'm Martha's grandmother. I called you at the Concert Hall but I couldn't speak. Now I have sat here and calmed down a bit.

Stig gets sick, can't say anything.

The old woman looks at him for a long time. She is very calm. Her voice betrays no emotion—

GRANDMA (after a pause): Your wife and your daughter Lisa are dead.

Stig claps his hands over his face and staggers, then he stands as if paralyzed -

GRANDMA: I wasn't inside when it happened. The distillery exploded. We heard the bang and came running. Martha sat on the floor with Lisa in her arms. She was conscious although she was badly burned. The little girl was already dead. Martha didn't want to let go of the baby despite that. I prayed to God to let Martha die too and He had mercy on her and took away her suffering. She died in the car to the hospital. Lasse knows nothing. He was with uncle Axel and was eating.

Stig doesn't answer, is still motionless –

GRANDMA: The Lord has struck you. You should humble your heart and seek peace with him. No one but him can help you now in your great distress.

STIG (low): Stop that.

GRANDMA (calmly): As you wish. Nevertheless, I have come to you to reason about burial and other practical details.

STIG (screaming cuttingly): Not now. Let me be alone. Go your way. Go so I don't have to see you!

The old obeys and approaches the door. There she turns, has a hint of contempt in her voice –

GRANDMOTHER: Tomorrow we must have a conversation anyway. Otherwise, I will be forced to act at my own discretion. I promise I will not talk to you any more about the divine things, as you seem to be tormented by it. I meant what I just said.

She walks away, leaving Stig alone. First he walks around for a while, then his knees buckle and he sinks to the floor but doesn't cry. The day grows silent and waning around him. It will be dark and still. The mist comes rolling in from the sea, and far away, as if through a dream, he hears the muffled cry of the mistlepers—

STIG: Now I can't live anymore. Now you can't live anymore. Martha … Martha Martha martha martha … Loved … loved …

He sees the doll with the long yellow hair. She lies where Lisa left her the day before. He can hear Lisa's laugh—

LISA: You can't go with grandma. You are to lie here and sleep under the sofa until I come back. Then you will be so happy. Now you should sleep.

Right next to his ear, next to the pounding of his heart, he senses her voice, questions, laughter. Over there sits the bear that lost its head but Martha sewed it back on. Now he always has his head on the side, poor thing. It's no longer the fogeys. It is a great harp tuning its strings. Time slips away... the room... Martha... The concert hall. Autumn's first rehearsal. The orchestra sits and tunes. It's a hell of a noise. Most people think it will be nice to start a new season, if nothing else for the sake of the more regular income. It is true that there is one or two sour pots who mostly look forward to retirement, but he disappears in the general friendly crowd. Then comes Sönderby, the conductor, the orchestra's director and leader. A very old man, rather small. (He is an immutable if somewhat dry interpreter of the great masters, burning with a not very strong but pure flame. Sometimes he blazes. Then he acquires dimensions. This orchestra is entirely his creation. He has many enemies and few friends. It is Sönderby, gnarled and scratched like a rune stone, an anti-romantic gentleman.) He steps up to the desk, blows his nose and opens the score.

SÖNDERBY: Today we start a new season. For my own part, I think it's nice. I don't know what you think. I have to welcome two new members to Hälsingborg's Orchestra Association. It's Stig Eriksson. After Sunken who died last summer. God rejoiced the soul.

Stig Eriksson looks down, turns a sheet of music and looks at the next page. (He is a shy person, looks like 23 but is 25, seems like a baby's butt.)

SÖNDERBY: Then we've got a female teacher in the orchestra. It's a little ridiculous and completely against nature, but she is helplessly gifted. Sitting over there, if you haven't seen them already. Her name is Martha.

He points with the baton towards the other violins, where Martha is sitting. Everyone is watching. However, Martha is less shy than Stig Eriksson. She looks back and looks very wise –

SÖNDERBY: You are welcome. The town is called the Pearl of the Sound. You'll probably find out how much of a gem it is in winter, when the foggers roam like a herd of cows trapped in a cargo pocket. It can get on your nerves. - Then we start -César Franck's First Symphony.

Sönderby raises his arms - silence - concentration. After six bars, he puts down the baton, takes off his glasses, cleans his nose. The orchestra stops playing and a gloomy mood spreads in the congregation -

SÖNDERBY: But gentlemen!He says this in a tone and expression that is unmistakable—

SÖNDERBY: Do I get the blows from the beginning.

The blowers play their part, stop.

SÖNDERBY: Now I get the strings. The strings play.

SÖNDERBY: Now we'll take it all - all of them!It sounds different. He sings along to himself, looking neither happy nor sad, but his face is still and pure like a craftsman bent over the toil of his hands. Rehearsal is over –

SÖNDERBY: It sounded silly today, but it's completely natural. Good dinner gentlemen and … the lady. On Thursday, Cortot will arrive. It will be music.Stig Eriksson packs up and heads out to the musicians' foyer -

MARTHA: Hi Stig. Good day. Imagine if we were to come here. How have you been this summer? Have you met anything with Postis? I have been abroad with my brother and heard a lot of music.

STIG (looking at his nose): Yeah.

MARTHA: You yourself then?

STIG: Summer Orchestra.

MARTHA: Poor thing!

STIG: It worked, except that Gold and Silver had not been composed.

MARTHA: Did you do any work then?

STIG: Yes, I have. I have worked in Mendelssohn you and then I have…

MARTHA: Why do you sound so angry?

STIG: … a couple of new nice things. Why would I sound angry? Got a place to live, huh?

MARTHA: Yes, by all means. And you?

STIG: Pure horror. But it's cheap.

MARTHA: It's my birthday. There will be a little celebration tonight, will you come?

STIG: Don't feel like it. Which ones will it be?

MARTHA: Let's see if you come.

STIG (embarrassed): Can you lend me a ten? It's so damn embarrassing to go and take an advance on the first day and I don't know anyone here on the construction site, so could you borrow[lend] it from[to] me, that would be great.

MARTHA: If you come tonight then.

STIG: It's blackmail. But if I can borrow twenty bucks, I promise to come.

MARTHA: Are you cut, too?

STIG: Shall I get a haircut too, what's the matter!

MARTHA: Then you're going to buy me a present for no more than one-fifty and then you're going to try to be happy and friendly and not yell and judge and behave like you always did before.

After these orders of conduct, Martha gives Stig Eriksson twenty kroner and leaves. Stig comes out of the barber, looking like a licked cat. He stands for a long time in front of a street mirror, staring at his revelation which he finds extraordinarily ludicrous and discordant. Now Marcel appears behind his back –

MARCEL (cheerfully): As for the matter?

STIG: I curse my fate.

MARCEL: You look unbelievably comical when you're freshly cut and water combed. Is it Martha who tricked you into that?

STIG: So you know her?

MARCEL: Of course. I've had it together with her almost all summer. And you?

STIG: Not at all. Only from Ackis.

MARCEL: She has an outstanding character, but she is colossally frivolous. Hot on love if you know what I mean.

STIG (disapproving): I didn't ask for any analysis.

MARCEL: She broke up with me in such a way that I almost fell in love with her and proposed to her.

STIG: Well?

MARCEL: I stopped myself at the last moment, but it was as close as only that one.

STIG: Yes. I'm not interested.

MARCEL: So you're not going to the party tonight?

STIG: Don't have time and don't want to.

MARCEL: You're coming Bergis. Take the violin with you and I'll take the violoncello and we'll make some music before we get drunk.

STIG: Hello.

MARCEL: Hello. They separate and Stig walks up towards Prästgatan. On the way there is a toy store. He stops and looks in the window, there is a toy train, an electric one that whizzes around and stops, signals light up and another train starts. He enters the store, looks around. A person comes and asks what he wishes –

STIG: I want something for one and fifty. A small yellow bear sits on a shelf. It has a melancholy expression on its face. Stig points to it –

PERSON: That one costs 4.80.

STIG: I'll take it anyway.

PERSON: Shall I wrap it?

STIG: No, I take him as he is.

The person takes the bear down from the shelf and places it in Stig's hand.

STIG: He looks nice and weird, I think.

PERSON (impersonal): Well, these little bears are really popular.

Stig gives the person a look and walks out of the toy store. Martha's apartment. When Stig arrives at the birthday party, he is already quite drunk. The celebration has reached far and everyone is loud. A gramophone plays unnoticed. Martha comes and opens and Stig fumbles with the coat –

STIG: I didn't intend to come, and really I can't understand why I have to sit here among a bunch of idiots. But you bought me, so now it must have happened.

MARTHA: Too bad you didn't come sooner, because now all the food is already eaten. Marcel ate your portion too, although I tried to stop him.

STIG: I can well imagine that.

The room is small and the cigarette smoke impenetrable. The lighting dimmed. Anker takes out his flute and starts playing. Everyone shuts up and listens. Anker sits on a table edge. His eyes are glistening, his face is sweaty. The music is interrupted by terrible signals on the doorbell and a large alarm breaks loose in the hall. A horde of people vaults in and fills the tambourine [hall] –

MIKAEL: It's just me. But before I had time to remove my make-up and change and get away from the theater, there were a few of us.

MARTHA: It was fun, but there's not much left.

MIKAEL (two liters): We have.

Everyone now walks in and greets a little here and there as it happens.

BERTIL: Stop with that damned nonsense.

HANS: And then he slammed his fist into the metal ramp and said: Stop with that damned nonsense!

All the actors laugh so that they squirm, but the others who are not initiated sit like question marks. Anker is also gloomy because he didn't get to finish playing. Mikael Bro approaches Stig –

MIKAEL: It's a story, you see. It's actually quite funny. I will tell it to you sometime when we have more time.

Someone spends a living for the birthday child. Stig gets a glass of brandy and everyone cheers, after which they drink. In pure confusion, Stig overturns everything and is hit as if by a club blow. He sees a woman's body and a rectangle of light. It's the kitchen and Martha is in the kitchen. He staggers towards the bright rectangle, grabs the girl, tries to kiss her—

MARTHA: Leave it to me now and don't be stupid.

She makes herself free without unkindness. He turns and sees Marcel, who is standing right next to him, grinning with a cello in his fist -

STIG: What are you grinning at?

MARCEL: At you, of course.

STIG: You can get hell for that. But since you're drunk, I don't want to hurt you.

He starts waving his arms, everyone talks to each other, the gramophone starts. Marcel and Martha dance. Stig ends up on a sofa, where the actor Bertil sits –

BERTIL: I'm huge when I'm on stage. It is RADIATION.

Stig stares at him. He is huge. The music is pounding –

BERTIL: When I get caught, you see, I'm like a tank. I play so they can weld me off the stage floor after the show.

Then the evil one led Satan into Stig. He steps up and makes a long speech—

STIG (in a booming voice): It could happen. But have you heard me play the violin then? I can tell you that all world famous violin masters are charlatans and they live on routine and variety tricks. But I see through their tricks and arts. Because you see the secret of real art is that it is created when you are unhappy and you see I prefer to be unhappy and the gods know that I probably find myself in that predicament most of the time. And I'll show all the bastards what it means to play the violin.

Here he breaks off - his voice breaks - and he slams his fist on the table so that glasses and bottles jump and stares at the assembled with red-rimmed eyes. And when he notices that by using his enormous vocal resources he has created silence and foreboding, he takes the opportunity to add an extra coal -

STIG: Now you all sit there and have a bad conscience - I know what you're thinking, me: Are we artists who only think about supa[booze] and women's hours and pension. I'm drunk myself, I know that. I admit that, because it is a slip. And if I wasn't drunk, I wouldn't dare say a single smack. But now I can say that I have at least seen through both you and myself for that matter. And I say: Just remove it, remove it! Because it is nothing to have. But I'm going to fucking die and get up again and then I'm going to let you hear violin playing. Because humility is what it comes down to, remember, you ghastly slashers, who sit there whizzing in the ball and drool and belch with stained ties.

Here he hits the table again, but the table is too small or maybe it has moved, so the hand hits the open air, whereupon Stig Eriksson ends up on the floor. There he begins to cry, partly from the pain, partly because the floor is rocking and partly from pure self-pity -

MIKAEL (leaning over him): Have a cigarette. Here you have fire. Say yes, now smoke calmly and stop crying. This is the first press. Hang on kid, it gets a lot worse, but I won't scare you.

MARTHA: How are you?

STIG: Oh, you can hear it going all the way into the evening song, huh!

MARTHA: Shame on you! By the way, where have you been to get your hair cut? You look like a scalded pig.

STIG: It's your fault.

Then she laughs and disappears in the now denser tobacco smoke. Stig sits up and holds his hands over his head, then he feels bad and staggers up. Someone takes him to the bathroom, turns on the light and closes the door. Relieved, he opens it and stares out into the room. The piano plays jazz, people sing. He hears a girl laughing incessantly and glimpses dancing couples. A table lamp has been placed on the floor, it will be full of shadows on the ceiling and on the walls. They caress each other out of order. Stig becomes so despondent and alone in despair at the sight of all this and at his own drunkenness that he bangs his head on the doorpost so that it rattles. The tears are flowing, but now he is crying out of real terror and loneliness –

STIG: I can't understand who I am and why I can't be like a decent human being even though I'm talented - because I am. I am very talented, although I am drunk.Then he feels dizzy and finds himself forced to curl up in the tub with his hands over his eyes. The last thing he sees before he loses consciousness is Mikael Bro's sweaty face leaning over him and breathing on him –

MIKAEL: Have you met my wife Nelly? I assure you it is an acquaintance to make. A funny little animal with a mouth like a red flower. I want to take you home and leave you as a gift to her. She would appreciate that.But then Stig has already definitely collapsed. He wakes up in the middle of the blackness and screams into the sky, trying to protect himself with his arms. However, it is too late, the ceiling falls soundlessly on him and crushes him.

He feels someone grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Then he really wakes up and finds partly that he is lying on a sofa in a strange room and partly that he is terribly ill. It's Martha sitting there shaking him—

MARTHA: Why are you screaming?

STIG: Well, the roof fell down. But now I see that it was just the white curtain. I have to sit up. I am definitely terribly sick.

MARTHA: You took it a little fiercely.

STIG: What time is it and where am I?

MARTHA: It's five o'clock and you're at my house.

STIG: Why then?

MARTHA: You couldn't be transported.

She pats his hand and smiles. Her eyes and teeth shine. Stig discovers that she is only wearing a nightgown and despite being very tired he tries to embrace and kiss her –

MARTHA: No, but please Stig, don't argue now.

STIG: It's probably you who's causing trouble.

MARTHA: If you don't keep calm, you'll have to go to the corner of your eye.Then Stig reveals his seduction attempts -

STIG (with deep self-pity): I'm terribly ridiculous.

MARTHA: You are.

STIG: People like me shouldn't be allowed to live.

MARTHA: By all means. You don't do any for when. But you probably could have bought me a birthday present, when I asked you so beautifully.

STIG (triumphant): I have!

MARTHA: Have you? But of course you forgot it at home.

STIG: No. No no. Wait. Where is my coat somewhere?He gets up and staggers around the room, finds the jacket, digs in all the pockets. Martha looks on and looks very incredulous—

STIG (screaming): Here it is! You might think it's silly, but it was the only thing I could come up with.But Martha is really caught. She gets so caught up that she can't bring herself to say anything at all. She just takes the bear and places it on the arm of the couch and looks at it. Stig sits down next to her and she has her head turned away and he will look at her neck. It's a girl's neck and the neck is fluffy smooth. She turns her face to his and looks at him seriously—

MARTHA: Thank you, Stig. It was a very nice birthday present. But now you should lie down and sleep because we have a rehearsal at nine o'clock.Stig obeys. Martha paws away to her bed, yawns a little. They lie silent and look out into the rising dawn light. The white curtain bulges in the open window. The bear's eyes look unfathomable, he sits there and looks at Stig.

STIG: It may happen that you behave crazy and ridiculous, but the main thing is that you WANT to become a real person and artist.

MARTHA: Good night now.

STIG: Yes, but you agree with that, right?

MARTHA: Yes, I do. Good night.

STIG: Good night.

It has seriously become autumn. But this is a Sunday with sun that is still warm, but it is windy and in the shade it is bitterly cold. Martha and Stig are sitting by the sea. Stig occasionally throws a stone into the water –

STIG: Sönderby is a nice guy, you know that now, after working with him for over a month.

MARTHA: He's a little dry.

STIG: It doesn't matter.

MARTHA: Would you like to be like him then?

STIG: He has done a lot of good and I would like that too.

MARTHA: You have time.

STIG: I'm 25 and when you're that old you should have become something - something with responsibility.

MARTHA: Think I'm satisfied.

STIG: Would like to start a string quartet, one that is really nice and exclusive and that tours all over the world. We would be the best.

MARTHA (smiling): It's clear.

STIG: You have a particular way of grinning that I don't like.

MARTHA: I feel friendly only, it's the whole five.

STIG: You then? What kind of one are you? What do you want then?

MARTHA: Nothing.

Martha shrugs and darkens a little. She begins to dig a pit among the pebbles –

MARTHA: I'd like to bury myself deep down, so nothing came to me.

STIG (doubtful): You're not unhappy, are you?

MARTHA: Some have an unnaturally happy outlook.

STIG: When I think about it, we only talked about me when we met. I don't know a thing about you.

MARTHA: It's more fun for both you and me.

STIG: Don't talk grease now.

MARTHA: Do you care one bit about me?All of a sudden her eyes are completely black. Stig looks at her and gets a little confused -

STIG: What do you mean?

MARTHA: You've wanted to go to bed with me now for a month and you haven't had it. But if you were allowed to sleep with me, would you care the least bit about me? Answer honestly! You don't have to be afraid of hurting me. - There you see! You can't answer!

STIG (a little grumpy): I guess I'll have to think about it first. It is clear that one has pondered why you have been so troublesome and made so much trouble. But we actually had quite a bit of fun anyway.

MARTHA: You're not answering my question.

STIG: I understand exactly, even if you think I'm an idiot. You want insurance that I love you, as they say in the movies, otherwise you'll have moral convulsions and that's the worst thing a woman knows.

MARTHA: Damn you stupid!

STIG (heated): Yes, then speak so that people understand!

MARTHA: I want us to stay together.

She says this in a completely naked way and her eyes are wide open and Stig can for a moment (despite the fact that he is only a child's butt) see straight into her heart and he understands a little bit of another person's loneliness and leads. He is both surprised and caught -

STIG: Forgive me. You talk so much here and there and you almost never think that it is a human being you are talking to.

MARTHA: There's been so much misery, you see. So much laxity and indifference both with body and soul. In the end, you don't care about anything. You think it should be that way, that it's the whole point.

STIG: There doesn't need to be any meaning, does it?

MARTHA (passionately): Well, it must. And if there isn't one, you have to invent one, otherwise you can't live.

She turns her head away and repeatedly hits the ground with a rock. She is very upset and serious. Stig becomes completely silent –

MARTHA: I've been married. Yes, you know that. But it was just cheating. I've cheated at my job too, been a little bit gifted like that. Practically everything I've done has been cheating. All my life.

STIG (slightly dull): I don't believe that.

MARTHA: That's easy to say. But now I don't want this between you and me to turn into cheating too. It can be either or. - Did you get scared now?

STIG: You can take things too seriously too.

Then Martha turns around and laughs. Her laugh is very loud and it sounds quite happy –

MARTHA: For you, this will be just a play on words.

STIG: It's clear that I want to stick with you, you've noticed that. You can't keep talking about love and marriage at every turn, either.

MARTHA: I promise I'll be as kind as I can to you.

STIG: We're not going to make any promises.

MARTHA: We can promise each other to be honest. I think it is absolutely necessary.

STIG: And then we won't bark.

MARTHA: No. And if you get tired or I get tired, we say and don't go and are considerate.

STIG: You will be the one who gets tired.

MARTHA (laughing): You don't believe it yourself. We must have no illusions. It will be difficult many times. More difficult than what you can sit and calculate like this on a sober caliber.

STIG (laughing): Now we stop.

MARTHA: Do you know what we do. Now we go home and move your things home to me. It will be more practical and cheaper too.

STIG: That's nice. I hate my room. And I was going to get rheumatism there this winter. But from next month we will share the rent.

Martha smiles at him and narrows her eyes. Stig thinks he has made a nice deal and right now Martha is cute. He strokes her cheek and neck with the wrong side of his hand. Then they will start kissing and it will be very hot, something they note with satisfaction –

MARTHA: I promise you won't have to lie on that uncomfortable couch, unless you really want to, of course.

The concert hall. Now hell is loose in the orchestra. Sonderby too. Hair standing like brush, glasses on forehead, sweaty, furious, stomping. Two broken batons. The Overture to the Bride Purchase –

SÖNDERBY: What did you have for yourself during Christmas? Oh this sacrament-damaged city where it is only eaten and eaten! Hay bags! Did you hear what I said?

MARCEL: Yes, but this is difficult, among the most difficult there is.

SÖNDERBY: There is nothing that is difficult for someone who is talented. But there are lath dogs and wooden skulls. Take over from B! Everyone! Stop!

Sönderby throws the baton right into the orchestra so it stands like a springboard -

SÖNDERBY: It's one of the other violins playing out of tune. Get to hear Persson! Persson alone from B as in Bertil. Go ahead, tell me!

Persson plays with death in his heart, quits. There will be a terrible silence. Sönderby takes off his glasses –

SÖNDERBY (tired): Persson plays with an untuned C string.

PERSSON: If it's going to be so damn thorough, I can stop.

Then Sönderby looks at Persson, who with pitiful rubbing and twisting begins to unscrew his C-string. Martha sits next to Persson. She looks sick and miserable—

SÖNDERBY: I can't bear to hear this horrible cat whining. We take a ten minute break, during which time Persson should think about his life and ask himself if he hasn't messed it up. Pause.

Martha and Stig get up at the same time, Martha, however, a little wobbly. They exchange a look. Sönderby heads straight up to the conductor's room. Martha and Stig follow and knock on the door. They have an extremely important matter. Sönderby growls something that can represent everything between Stig in and Drag to Hell –

STIG: We have to ask for time off.

SÖNDERBY: Aren't you really smart?

STIG: You promised last week that we would be allowed to go before one and now she is half past two.

SÖNDERBY: Yes, but then I didn't know you were so untalented.

STIG: Yes, in any case, we have to go.

SÖNDERBY: Yes.Sönderby lights a large cigar to calm himself down. He is extremely unmerciful—

MARTHA: We're getting married at half past three.Then Sönderby drops the cigar. He even slaps his forehead –

SÖNDERBY: Jeez, I forgot that! I think I should retire and quit. Looks like it's about time. I would…

STIG: You were supposed to be a witness, yes.

SÖNDERBY: Yes, it was magnificent! Now I see no other advice than to call the mayor and postpone the wedding.

STIG: Then you are not wise! Do you think people shoot at a wedding without valid reasons!

SÖNDERBY: Do you think a rehearsal is interrupted without valid reasons?

STIG: Wedding was a valid reason even during the war.

SÖNDERBY: This is not a military unit.

STIG: Sometimes it seems like a concentration camp, I think.

SÖNDERBY: If you're rude, we'll rehearse all day!

STIG: Not with me and Martha anyway.

SÖNDERBY: In that case, it will be the end of the lordship, at least in my orchestra.

STIG: We make an art in your orchestra!

SÖNDERBY: You didn't get enough lubrication in your childhood.

STIG: And you start to be a child again.

SÖNDERBY (screaming): Go to hell!

STIG: I don't want to be in the same place as you.

SÖNDERBY: You know I can't get this angry. You are ruthless and ungrateful and I could have a heart attack and die.

STIG: That would be quite nice, at least you don't prevent honest people from getting married.

SÖNDERBY: There you can see the consequences of bringing women's hours into the orchestra!

Then Martha faints. Sönderby gets a little startled and looks around rather anxiously –

SÖNDERBY: No, but what happened to her now?

MARTHA: Nothing at all. I'm just very tired. She sits down in a chair and looks like she's going to pass out again.

SÖNDERBY: You only play theater. All women roar to get their way. They already did that in my time. Nevertheless, he goes to the desk and orders a taxi –

STIG: Will you come yourself then? Don't forget it's half past three.

SÖNDERBY: I am defeated by unfair methods. But I will note it.

When they get home, it becomes a trap. Stig is under the bed looking for a collar button. Martha goes into the kitchen and sets the table for a full machine, because there will be a small party afterwards -

MARTHA: Have you looked in the toolbox?

STIG: Yes, I have and in your jewel box and headache bag.

MARTHA: Then run out and buy one.

STIG: Yes, but it's the fact that a thing just disappears like that without further ado. Are you sure you haven't seen it anywhere?

MARTHA: What did you say? I don't have time now honey.

STIG: Where are you?

MARTHA: I'll come now. Here I am.

She comes over to him and sits down next to him. For a moment the panic passes –

MARTHA (sighing): Oh, we're in such a hurry.

STIG (inconsolable): This getting married is both a time-consuming and enervating procedure, admit it.

MARTHA: Do you regret it?

STIG: If I'm being honest, I can say that I'm terribly sorry right now.

MARTHA: Me too. Such ideas you get sometimes.

STIG: We're calling rebids.

MARTHA: Now? When we have made such a huge life to get away! What do you think Sönderby would say then?

STIG (approvingly): At least you treated him well.

MARTHA: What do you mean, darling?

STIG: I mean the fainting thing. It definitely broke him.

MARTHA (a little gloomily): It must have been genuine.

STIG (laughing): Don't try me. It was pure amateur theatre. Martha gets up after taking off her stockings—

MARTHA: Well, you'll see.

STIG: Did you really feel fat?

MARTHA: Think I did. Now she stands on her head in the sock box -

STIG: Why then?

MARTHA: It's not so strange, is it? I'm with children, you understand. Stig becomes completely silent. Martha patterns a pair of socks and finds that they do. She sits down on a chair to put them on—

MARTHA: You don't seem very enthusiastic, I think. By all means, you don't need to either.

STIG: But how the hell did it happen?

MARTHA: I suppose quite in the usual way.

STIG: Don't be funny, because you're not.

MARTHA: That was a stupid answer to a stupid question.

STIG: Have you known this for a long time?

MARTHA (belligerent): Yes, I have. Almost three months now. Dress me if you feel like it.

STIG: But why in the name of peace haven't you said anything?

MARTHA: Because this kid I want, you understand.

STIG: You get kids whether you want them or not.

MARTHA: You really are naive.

STIG: Do you mean that…

MARTHA: Yes, think so, I mean.

STIG: You never said that.

MARTHA: Would it have made a difference?

STIG: If you have had an abortion before, you can do it again.

MARTHA: No you.

STIG: I think the whole thing is disgusting.

MARTHA (screaming): What's so disgusting? Now she suddenly becomes absolutely furious in her eyes -

STIG: That you've actually been carrying a kid behind my back for three months. How the hell am I supposed to know it's my kid, huh?

Then he gets an ear file –

STIG (angrily): By the way, we can't afford to have any children. And no place either. In this small room. Diapers and pee smell and breastfeeding and childcare centers and baby baskets and babysitters and hell and your grandma. And think of all the shouting and noise and where am I going to practice anywhere? No thanks, I thank you for that fatherly joy. And how did you actually intend to arrange the whole thing? At some point you would have had to tell me about it, right? Or had you perhaps intended to come home and say one day: Go ahead little daddy, here I have made a kid for you.

It gets quiet – awfully quiet. Martha just sits there, stroking her thighs. She looks very pissed off –

STIG: Well?

MARTHA: Maybe I should apologize?

STIG: You certainly don't understand this. I don't want any kid. I loathe children. And by the way, do you think this is some wider world to spawn in? I prefer to die out myself.It's quiet again -

STIG (somewhat conciliatory): Why don't you say anything?

MARTHA (decisively): I'm listening to you and I can see that you have no idea what you're talking about, but are talking about pure slush. (pause) As usual.

STIG: What do you want me to do? Shall I hold you in my arms and start talking about the guy becoming prime minister.

MARTHA: I wish you would just once speak and act like a man.

STIG (ironically): A man of steel perhaps?

MARTHA: A simple and natural fellow.

STIG: Now she accuses me of not being a man.Thus he appeals to an invisible auditorium -

MARTHA: I knew you were a child, and that you were neurotic and selfish, too. But I didn't know that you are cruel and raw.

STIG: It was the worst.

MARTHA (sadly): But it was well I discovered that thing before we were married, for now there shall be no marriage.

STIG (horrified): No way, we can't call back NOW!

MARTHA (smiling): Think they say women are so conventional!

STIG (shaken): Yes, but what will THEN become of everything?

MARTHA: Now I'll go down to the tobacco shop and call. I mean because you don't dare. Then you can stay here as long as you like. Still, I have never considered you anything other than a compliance.

STIG: You're crazy—absolutely crazy!

She has been busy with her bag. Now she goes out into the tambourine and puts on her hat and coat. She wipes herself and rubs her hand over her eyes. Stig discovers that she is crying. Martha is crying! He goes out into the tambour and puts his hand over the door lock –

STIG: Why are you crying? I've never seen you cry. Are you sad?

MARTHA: No, but I'm tired. On you.She bends her head down and runs her hand over her eyes once more –

STIG (low): Have I ruined everything now?

MARTHA: Uh, what's that talk!

STIG: Then why are you crying? You know what I'm like.

MARTHA: I'm howling because I'm pissed off that I'm howling. If I wasn't so withered, I wouldn't howl.

STIG: Maybe you thought I'd be happy?

MARTHA: Deep down, I knew it would be just like this. But it is clear that I imagined a lot of things. I don't know, maybe it belongs.

STIG: Did you do it last time too?

MARTHA: Then everything was wrong. There was no room for imagination then.

STIG: But you mean that now…

MARTHA (lowly): I still thought this with us was something else. Although I should have understood that nothing changes. Everything is always the same, even the words you say it with.

STIG: Damn, I love you.

He says this completely without thinking and much more sincerely than directly romantically. But he would never have said that, because now all the dams in Martha are loosening and she is crying so hard that it pours over her. Thereupon, an angel descends from heaven and hands the confused Stig a series of inspired sentences, which he takes care to wedge into suitable places between Martha's bursts of crying -

STIG: You see, I've never liked SURPRISES. I remember that even when I was very small I only got scared and angry when people surprised me - even if it was something fun. I think it was the same this time. I must say you could have chosen a more appropriate time. And then when I think about it, you get some child support now. It's fine as pork it. We can let the kid support us almost! And you (triumphant tone) they can't jock you out of the orchestra because you're in the thick of it. It doesn't work nowadays. You know Putte's sister, who sits in the Konsertföreningen, she is on the beat practically all the time and she sits there and fiddles with her stomach in the air - I've seen it like that myself - and then when she can't get the violin to her chin anymore because her stomach is stuck away, I remember that she gets half pay. And it is clear that you can change floors if that is the case.

Here the inspiration runs, but now Martha's tears have dried up and practical sense is starting to work its way out of the black bag of despair -

MARTHA (kindly and anxiously): How much you talk!

STIG: This thing about surprises is true in any case, and it's also psychologically believable.

MARTHA: Think what I look like. And my nose which always doubles in size when I've licked.

She takes off her hat and lets it fall to the floor. She sits on a chair opposite the mirror in the hall and examines her bloated face. Stig rises from the floor –

STIG: Say what you will, this will be a wedding that both you and I will remember. Martha stands up and embraces him fiercely. They stand for so long and hold each other. Both close their eyes and are quite solemn –

STIG: And actually a Liljeholmens has dawned on me. I mean before, I used to think that you should absolutely just love yourself, but oh my god you get older and you mature and learn things.

Since it's raining, they don't get a car, so they hold hands and run as fast as the cloth will hold, but still arrive five minutes late. The ceremony itself is nevertheless beautiful and perhaps it is the joy in general or the condition that makes Martha's eyes grow very large despite the crying an hour before and the skin seems so transparent and the lips so soft. Or maybe it's just something that Stig thinks. In the evening after dinner, Anker and Sönderby stay and the four of them play Mozart together in such a way that Sönderby plays his old viola and Anker has borrowed a cello. They light candles at the music stands and it has stopped raining and that night there is a full moon. The white glow almost dominates the lights, but then the moon also stands right in the middle of the window, shining on the Sound and the city, and everything suddenly becomes a dream and magic. They are alone now. Martha and Stig sit for a long time by the window with their faces pressed against the pane. They don't say very much but they kiss each other from time to time and like two amazed children they discover how the ice flowers break out on the window glass -

STIG: He might become prime minister. At least if he turns out to be like you.

There is something in the window, glimmering mysteriously, almost like a diamond. It's the collar button –

MARTHA: We'll save it. As a memory.The conductor's room.

Sönderby walks back and forth on the floor and smokes. Stig sits on the edge of a table and dangles his legs, arms crossed –

SÖNDERBY: So we have 14 dates and have gone through the concert twice, you and I. As far as I understand, you should be able to handle the matter helpfully.

STIG: Sure.

SÖNDERBY (sternly): You say yes, but I know what you're thinking. What does your wife say?

STIG: Nothing.

SÖNDERBY: It was worrying.

STIG: What you're both trying to do is knock me down in the shoes and you might succeed in that with one tu three.

SÖNDERBY: To be honest, I would have preferred to avoid this gamble. But what to do when a visiting violin virtuoso suddenly dies and messes up the whole master plan.

STIG: You consider the matter settled. What are you staring at anyway?

SÖNDERBY: I'll tell you that. I stand and stare at the little bastard of ambition, who sits and waves in your eyes.

STIG: Even then! Is it so strange?

SÖNDERBY: No, it's not the least bit strange. But you have been in my orchestra for half a year and you have not discovered that music is an end and not a means.

Then he pats him on the cheek and with that the conversation is over and they go down to the rehearsal. Martha is waiting on the stairs. Söndery leaves husband and wife alone to ponder the situation together. Martha is in her sixth month and has quite a big belly. She no longer plays in the orchestra -

MARTHA: Well, what did he say?

STIG: It worked out.

They start going down the stairs together. Stig is so happy that his whole body trembles. They stop at a staircase window and stand looking down on the street, hanging out over the banister.

STIG: Now I have my chance. Now I'm going to show them how to play the violin. Then anything can happen here, you understand, my little Chubby. You might get to come to Stockholm. You practically never know what might happen. Think, it's a fantastic feeling to have everything spread out in front of you! Not knowing any limits!He gently rubs his cheek against hers, and discovers that Martha hasn't said anything the entire time. He gets a little shocked but hides it and pokes her –

STIG: Why don't you say anything? You're happy, aren't you? This applies to you as much as to me.

MARTHA: Of course I'm happy.

STIG: You just think it's going to hell.

MARTHA: I think it's so terrible that you charge everything in advance, as it were.

STIG: That's good. No one believes me. But I'll show you all—you, too.

MARTHA: I know you're very talented. That's what everyone says. They even say it a little too fondly. Now I go home and make lunch. You'll be home for lunch, right?

STIG: I'll be home for lunch. Hope I get black pudding with jam.

Stig kisses her on the mouth, rushes down the stairs. Martha begins to descend heavily and carefully. She hears the first bars of the violin concerto. She doesn't look very happy. The audience gives a friendly welcome applause when Stig enters together with Sönderby. Sönderby steps onto the desk and strokes his face. He waits until Stig has tuned and fine-tuned together with the first concertmaster. Then he waits out the rustling, coughing and whispering. Martha has positioned herself to the side of the podium up in the scrub, where the radio guys usually stay. From that place she has a nice view of the orchestra and Stig's activities up there at the conductor's desk. The movement ends with a cadenza. Suddenly the G-string starts to drop. In a few moments it has dropped almost half a ton. Stig loses his composure, first tries to play on, then takes a wild gamble and transposes. Sönderby is completely powerless. Martha bites her fingers. Finally, Stig interrupts himself and starts tuning the violin. He tunes the G string and stands for a moment, testing it next to his ear. In the hall it is soundlessly quiet. Sönderby's arms hang tiredly along the sides. So Stig takes over the solo cadenza from the beginning. As if in a nightmare and purely mechanically, he makes it through. The orchestra immediately continues with the andante and by then he is drenched in sweat and looks almost passed out. Martha can't sit still any longer. She wanders back and forth in the little scrub, whispering to herself. Sweep. The applause after the concert is friendly but not overwhelming. When Stig comes out of the stage, Martha sees a new and different face, an embittered, clenched, almost old one, full of sadness and suppressed rage. The applause continues. Sonderby comes out. He is also quite pale but perfectly in control -

SÖNDERBY: Come!

STIG (furiously): I'm not going back in. I'm not going in! I'm not going in! I'm not a jerk!

SÖNDERBY: You go in! You go in, even if it's the last thing you do! It's not about you now, remember that!

He says this with such a commanding calm that Stig automatically obeys him. A caretaker arrives with flowers. It is from the board, from the peers and from Martha. It's the bitter brew at the bottom. When Stig finally comes out, he furiously throws the flowers against the wall and begins to put on his hat and coat. Martha packs the violin. Nobody says anything.

SÖNDERBY: The rehearsal is not until 10 tomorrow, yes you know that.

With that he takes his hat and leaves. Stig sits down on a chair and claps his hands together. He is pale and dull but furious—

STIG: Damn scoundrel! Such a bloody scoundrel! Now he is happy, of course!

MARTHA: Come on, we'll go home and have a drink. We may both need that.

STIG: Uh!

MARTHA: Well, come on. In any case, we can't sit here.

STIG: He's a bloody scoundrel! A mean potty! A damn mean potty!

Martha doesn't answer but just stands next to her husband and waits. Marcel comes forward and pats Stig on the back –

MARCEL: That went beyond all expectations.

He laughs, thumps Stig in the back once more just in case. Stig does not respond, does not move -

MARTHA: Hear you go as far as the road goes, eh!

Marcel loses his face slightly, shrugs his shoulders and walks away without another word.

That night they sit in bed together playing cards, smoking and drinking gin. When the newspaper rattles in the mailbox just at dawn, Stig goes out and picks it up and hands it to Martha. Then he sits a little apart in the rocking chair -

STIG: You read! You better read!

Martha looks for a long time in the newspaper, flips back and forth. Finally she finds the review and reads silently –

STIG: Read aloud.

MARTHA: There's not much written there.

STIG: Read what it says.

MARTHA (reading): Stig Eriksson was too early in Mendelssohn's violin concerto. It is surprising that a wise old conductor like Sönderby did not put an end to this rather unnecessary suicide. It is possible that Eriksson is talented, after all, according to what is stated in the program notice, he has the most solid school.

STIG: More then?

MARTHA: It says nothing more.

STIG: Doesn't it say anything else?

MARTHA: No.

STIG: Was it SO bad!

Martha does not answer this. Stig presses his palms together so that they crack, he chews his lips to keep from crying, the tears are stuck in his eyelashes and he feels that he is being bent by a huge pressure. He looks at a spot straight in front of him –

STIG: I'm sure you're happy now.

Martha doesn't answer—

STIG: Both you and Sönderby.

Martha turns her head away—

STIG: Think how everyone will laugh.

Martha gets out of bed heavily –

STIG: Where are you going?

MARTHA: I was going to make some coffee.

STIG: I don't want anything.

MARTHA: No, but I do.

STIG (loudly): Of course you think this is the same shit.

Martha still doesn't answer. She rattles the coffee pot in the kitchen. Stig remains. He just squeezes his hands together over and over. Martha comes back in, pulls up the blind and opens the window –

STIG: Close the window. I'm freezing.

MARTHA: I feel a little fat. Just going to take a breath of air.

STIG: Why don't you say anything?

MARTHA: But Stig, what do you want me to say? Should I say that the concert went well, that it is a lie in the paper, that everyone is wrong but you are right? Shall I comfort you, do you want it? Should I say that next time will be better?

STIG: There won't be one next time - you know that as well as I do.

Martha closes the window and goes into the kitchen to get the coffee pot –

MARTHA: If I were like you, I'd still be happy about one thing.

STIG: So what if I may ask?

MARTHA: Well, that I would be allowed to go to the rehearsal today at ten o'clock and sit as usual in my usual place and do my job.

STIG (contemptuously): That shows how little you understand! Now I'm going out for a walk anyway. Alone.

Then Martha quickly walks up to him and pulls him down on the edge of the bed, takes his head and presses it against her stomach -

MARTHA: May I go with you? Please Stig, may I join. But he hardens and pulls away.

STIG: I said I wanted to go alone. I don't want to go and pull a whole freight train.Martha swallows, decides to pretend she hadn't heard, and touches his shoulder—

MARTHA: At least you're going to the rehearsal.

STIG: I can see that and it doesn't concern you.

MARTHA (gravely): You wouldn't run me off like this.

STIG (viciously): There's so much I wouldn't say.

MARTHA: It's better if there are two of you about it. I am sure of that.

STIG: There are never two of you. Deep down you are always alone. What you say is just talk and a hell of a lot of sentimentality. No, I'm alone. Just like I've always been. And there is nothing more to it. Hello Hello. Martha can't bear to answer. She is just as dry and dead inside, sitting there heavy and a little rumpled with her hair around her face, pale from the night's vigil, her feet are bare and a little swollen -

MARTHA: Why are you so afraid of me?

STIG: Scared? It was comical! I want to be left alone, that's the whole point.

And with that he goes, leaving his wife to her thoughts and general concerns about the future.

He walks and sits and walks again and the sun comes up and shines on the Core. For a long time he stands outside the Concert Hall and watches and really hates -

STIG (in a loud voice): Such a disgusting ugly house! A municipal shithouse! A warehouse, you could say. Some sort of pig breeding facility! Warehouse for the package!

He speaks loudly and gestures. Then he walks again and as he walks and sits and stands, he bumps into Mikael Bro, the old actor -

MIKAEL: Well, you're out and about.

STIG: You yourself then? You don't look too happy either.

MIKAEL: Sleepless.

STIG (a little mischievously): Maybe there's a role in the making? An act of creation.

MIKAEL: Not at all. I heard Mendelssohn yesterday and it was so nasty I didn't dare sleep on top of it.

STIG: It was nice of you to take it that way. You get it.

MIKAEL (laughter): You know yourself - the great silence.

STIG: Why are you laughing? Everyone laughs. Am I being comical in some way or is it a pure coincidence?

MIKAEL: Of course you're comical, because you're a failure. But come now, we'll go to my house and have a cup of coffee.

Mikael Bro's home. Nelly comes out of the dark bedroom and greets Stig.

MIKAEL: You know STIG, about whom I spoke so much. A very talented boy. He has had a great setback and now you and I must be kind to him.

NELLY: He's blushing.

MIKAEL: You're not going to embarrass our friend, but now you're going to sit here and talk to each other while I go in and put on my slippers.

Mikael takes Nelly around the waist, looks at Stig –

MIKAEL: Isn't she cute? By the way, cute is not the right word. She's… (laughs) But she's not nice, even though she's weird. But that's another story.

He releases her and goes into the bedchamber. Nelly sits down at the table, takes a cigarette, invites Stig to sit. Nelly looks at him for a long time –

NELLY: Mikael is like that, so I'm used to it, believe me. Sometimes he comes home with the most outlandish types. But it does not matter. I like people. Likes to talk. Mikael is so quiet by himself. Reads mostly and I like him for that. But it can be fun for me to have someone to talk to. Geez, this looks messy and trashy. Yes, you can't clean every day either.

MIKAEL: You never clean my heart.

Mikael has taken off his shoes and jacket and paws around the room, disappears into the kitchen –

NELLY: We pull down the blinds so you don't have to see the misery. Imagine once we were so untidy here that the Health Board came here and said we would have to move if we didn't improve.

MIKAEL (walking through the door): We had a boy at the time, you see, but he died later.

NELLY: He had puppies. And then he died.

MIKAEL: Probably in pure surprise.

Mikael sighs and lies down on one of the beds in the bedroom. Stig looks at Nelly. She starts biting her nails, kneels on a chair opposite Stig and leans over the table –

NELLY: Why are you so sad?

STIG: I had kind of hoped to be able to catch the moon.

MIKAEL: In a net.

NELLY: And it didn't want to?

STIG: No, just as I was about to pick it up, it wedged out and disappeared deep beneath me.

NELLY: Like a fish?

STIG: No, not like a fish. Like a lot of money.

NELLY: Oh, now I understand exactly. You are that kind of treasure hunter, who lies out on the great oceans and fishes for sunken planets.

STIG: Yes, you see, I had planned to buy a bomb for the moon and blow up a certain warehouse - including the package.

MIKAEL (laughing): Distemper, boy! Word diarrhea! Blow up and crash, slam your fist on the table and fucking embrace at every turn! Then it always ends with a pension and a medal for faithful service. It's the same thing all the time.

STIG: Shut up. I'm talking to your wife.

NELLY: Yes, can you believe I'm his wife.

MIKAEL: Touching, huh!

NELLY: It's not worth being married to an old pig like you.

They both laugh, but Stig gets up and is very tired in his arms, legs, head, hair, stomach, toes and all other members and limbs -

STIG: Now I have to go because I have a rehearsal at ten o'clock.

MIKAEL: Good morning my friend. Remember that you are always welcome here, no matter what state you are in.

Nelly has followed Stig into the hall and stands right next to him. Stig looks at her breasts and gets an irresistable urge to squeeze them, starts stroking her shoulders –

NELLY: Come back soon.

STIG: Never in my life.

NELLY: Then why not?

STIG: Because I dislike you.

NELLY: It doesn't seem that way.

STIG: Also, this is a shithole in more ways than one.

NELLY: Know shame!

STIG: The fact is that you have a nice body, but that's the end of it.

NELLY: It's not that small.

STIG: By the way, you seem completely nuts and if you think I'm sharing you with that old dirty lobster in there, you're wrong. It's not that bad and you're not at the bottom yet.

NELLY: Welcome back anyway. We can always talk. I mean about the moon and stuff.

STIG: Would be then.He opens the door. She rises on tiptoe and kisses his ear.

STIG: No, give a fuck about that.

When he comes down the street, he sees Martha. She stays far away as if she didn't want to scare him. He also stops but realizes the ridiculousness of running away. They meet about halfway.

MARTHA: I also took a walk. But really, I was probably mostly hoping that I would get hold of you. But now we can go our separate ways if you want.

STIG: Been at Mikael Bro's house for a while.

MARTHA: Yes.

She sticks her arm under Stig's and they start walking home side by side –

STIG: Do we need to talk more about this?

MARTHA: No, no. We shall never speak of it again.

STIG: Well, once further on. When you've gotten a little older, maybe and everything doesn't hurt so much.

MARTHA: Have you hurt yourself?

STIG: Have I?

He rubs his ear and looks at his fingers—

STIG: It's just lipstick, you see.

MARTHA: Well, in that way.

STIG: It was that strange bean that insisted she wanted to kiss me.

Martha looks a little surprised at her husband but says nothing and then they leave. There is a nightingale sitting in the big book outside Stig and Martha's window and it is singing so that it is about to break. It is a night in early June. From time to time the Town Hall clock strikes full and quarter strikes. The whole town is bathed in moonlight and nightingales. So sits a nightingale in the big book outside Stigs and Martha's window cum the singing so that it holds on to go asunder. It is a night in early June. In and then beats The Council House Bell full- and quarter-stroke. All the city bathed in moonlight and nightingale song. Martha paces back and forth in the room. Stig sleeps with his mouth open and small discreet snores. A car thunders past on the street. The night wind rustles in the trees, but all the while the nightingale sings unceasingly, persistently, triumphantly. When the pains kick in and she feels like she's going to explode, she goes into the bathroom and bites a large towel. Then she starts her walk again. Stig wakes up like a shot. He sits up in bed and turns on the lamp –

STIG: How is it?

MARTHA: Well, at least it's going to end now.

At the same moment, she disappears into the bathroom. Stig comes up and is after her –

STIG: Can I help you?

Martha shakes her head and bites the towel. Then it becomes calmer and she wipes the sweat from her forehead, sits down for a moment. Stig also feels shaky in his legs –

MARTHA (smiling): Are you scared?

STIG: Yes, I am. Are you?

MARTHA: Actually, I haven't had any further desire to feel. But somehow it's nice that it's finally over. Stig pats her on the cheek and smiles palely –

STIG: I'm glad I'm not the one to go.

MARTHA: I'm with you. Stig grows even paler –

STIG: I actually feel terribly bad. Aren't we better off now?

He goes in and lies straight on the bed, speaks in a weak voice and sighs deeply, Martha begins to trudge about again—

MARTHA: Not quite yet. The stupidest thing I could think of would be for them to send me home again. It would definitely go my credit for when.

Stig sighs even more deeply –

MARTHA: Poor thing. Shall I make you some tea and prepare a sandwich?

STIG: Yes, thank you. I can't understand what is wrong with me. I must have eaten something crazy.

MARTHA: Among some natives, it is so wisely arranged that when the woman is about to give birth, it is the man who goes to bed and screams and carries himself away. But then he accepts the congratulations as well and that is only right. Isn't that right, Little Stig?They enter a small white stepped square room with benches fixed to the wall, a table in the middle of the floor, where there are a number of old newspapers, a geranium stands and sloki. A sister comes and disappears and this seems terrifying to Stig. Two little black women sit and whisper in a corner. Then a door opens, bright light pours in from the corridor. A new sister appears, takes Martha's coat from Stig -

THE NURSE: Does Mrs. Eriksson want to come along this way? Maybe Mr. Eriksson will be kind and wait outside?

Stig embraces Martha and wants to kiss her, but she is already far away elsewhere and nods slightly absently –

MARTHA: Take good care of you, honey.

Then she immediately goes after the nurse who closes the door. Stig sinks down on a bench. The little old ladies titter and titter. Far away, something is heard that will freeze the blood in Stig's veins. There are dull growls, unconscious howls, rhythmic ebb and flow, gone for a while, recurring, rising and falling. The little old ladies titter and titter.

THE OLD WOMAN MÄRTA: I have received a new recipe for cucumber. You should let it sit much longer, but there should also be more sugar, says Anna.

THE OLD WOMAN ANNA: Yes, that was in Husmod, so you know that. But can Märta imagine that I was at Emma's the day before yesterday and she had brewed wine all by herself. We tasted it and I was actually really hooked.

The little old ladies giggled delightedly. The dull distant howls echo. Stig tries to cover his ears, but this looks so strange that he immediately removes his hands again. The big nurse re-enters –

THE NURSE: Mr. Johansson is going home. Your name was Johansson, right? Yes, in any case, you should go home.

STIG: How is it?

NURSE (surprised): How is it? Well, let's hope.

With that, she evaporates. Stig goes home. When he enters the apartment, he hears the nightingale chirping and singing, but the room seems terribly large and empty and lonely. He sits down at the table. There is Martha's sewing basket and his half-stuffed socks. On the bed is her nightgown. He pulls it to him and presses it to his face. Then he sits for a long time. All the while the nightingale sings. The concert hall. The next morning is the last rehearsal of the season. They play Beethoven's Symphony No. I in C major. During the last movement, one of the radio guys comes out of his scrubs and waves to Stig, who disappears quietly and quietly. The orchestra continues to play. The music flows around them like blue sunlit water in the summer sea out there. When Sönderby catches sight of Stig when he comes back in, he taps off in the middle of a beat, puts down the beat stick –

SÖNDERBY: And then we wait for a statement.

Stig has just sat down, gets up, at first he can't say anything but stands and swallows for a long time -

STIG (whispering): There were twins.

There is a violent racket going on. Some of the orchestra gives touche, others cheer like an international. Stig's neighbors hit him in the back so he loses his breath. It'll be like a big laugh in the whole room. In the evening, Stig visits his wife in the hospital room. She doesn't look very good. The skin is full of plitor, hair clumpy, lips wounded and broken, eyes fevered. Stig sits on the chair by the bed, lays his head next to Martha's on the pillow so that his mouth comes to her cheek. They do not bother to talk, but it is not necessary. THAT'S FOUR YEARS. It's August now. Martha and Stigs summer house up the coast from Hälsingborg counted. Sönderby is visiting, lying in the shade under a large apple tree and pretending to sleep. A little bit away, Lasse is dreaming on a blanket. The other twin - it's Lisa - plays with Stig on the stairs. In fact, she is very busy scrubbing the threshold. Stig sits mostly watching. In the middle of the pitch, Martha is engaged in a remarkable doll that she has knitted and that is now fitted with long yellow hair of woolen yarn. The bees are buzzing in the cress and there is a gentle breeze from the sea. Sönderby lies there looking at all the glory and now and then he turns his gaze towards the crown of the apple tree and the woolly cloud tops that hang at the top -

SÖNDERBY (thinking): It's nice not to be a writer. Now, for example, if I were to imagine myself portraying Stig and Martha from the first day they met four years ago, imagine what a mess I would make and what an untruthful, incomplete picture I would give. Of course I could describe certain specific episodes. I could tell you about how they met, married, had children, important reasoning they may have had, but if I told you about ten of the threads that bind these people together, what will become of the other hundred thousand?

Now pictures follow, accompanying Sönderby's speech -

SÖNDERBY (thinking): For example, I would certainly forget that episode last winter, when I came up to leave a score for STIG (perhaps also to talk a little. You get old and talkative. You have to be careful so carefully). The doorbell was broken so I just stepped on it. I stood in the tambour where it was dark and looked into the living room which was lit up. They sat on the floor and held each other. Neither of them said anything, yet the whole room was saturated with their togetherness. How could I describe the way they held each other, so boundlessly tender but also deeply erotically conscious. It was like music by Schubert, one of his Lieder, but this very thing amazed me too: I mean the joy AND the sadness. Why was there so much loneliness and childlike terror in their stillness. It was like a restrained sadness in the midst of this great joy. I had to go out again and then I knocked on the door. When Martha came and opened it, she still had everything in her eyes. I felt like a robber. Stig had already closed in on himself. But Martha shared for me. Yes, she is a strange little woman. Or how would I describe their way of talking about each other like now at dinner. Martha had a thousand things to attend to, but suddenly she says »Stig is so neat when he eats«. She said it as a joke, but who am I to write down all the shades of motherhood and tomfoolery that Martha brought to life in that very moment. Or the day they had argued. I noticed it very clearly. It was there in the air. Martha was a little quiet. She sat curled up on the sofa and sucked on a piece of sugar and looked at Stig. He talked to me all the time, but it was forced talk. He got up to go get the brandy but on the way to the cupboard he passed Martha, then he crawled up on the sofa, they looked at each other and Stig suddenly said: Hello, little one. This must have been a spell, for the oppressed mood, this indefinable air that had been deposited over the room, lightened and vanished like a gust of wind from the open sea. I don't understand it and can't tell you about it. Think of filling page after page of a book with these daily and momentary events, of determining the value of these thousand tones, of trying to decipher this complicated secret language which two lovers educate and speak freely for the protection of their most secret and finest sensations.

Sönderby turns on his side, puts the handkerchief correctly over his head and ends his musings -

SÖNDERBY: To truthfully depict a single day of their lives would fill many shelf meters of thick folios. Thank God this is not my job. I am not in the unpleasant situation of having to simplify, choose, reject, perhaps even invent and lie, I only need to reproduce what the Great Uncles created in spirit and truth. It is also my pleasure that no one can take away from me.

Meanwhile, Martha approaches Stig and Lisa with the doll. It has both got hair and a dress. Stig lets it walk a little here and there, then Lisa takes care of it. Stig lies down on his stomach in the grass. Martha sits down next to him. Stig tickles her with a blade of grass on her nose –

MARTHA: I think I've gotten so lucky.

STIG: Have you become wealthy. You haven't told me about that.

MARTHA: I have you and the kids and old Sonderby lying over there snoring and it's summer and the sun is shining and we have no worries.

STIG (irony): And we are all healthy and fit. Me who thought you won the lottery.

MARTHA: To ME, this is more than I ever thought a human being could have.

STIG: Yes. You are a woman. For you it is in a different way.

MARTHA: You think so? I can probably be worried too and think: Is it going to be like this for the rest of my life: little chores, little joys, little sorrows, nothing at all, nothing that drags you away. But that is a really terrible thought that should be beaten, don't you think?

STIG: I think it honors you.

MARTHA: Not at all.

STIG: It is not written anywhere that man should be satisfied, it does not even say that he should be happy.

Then Sonderby comes and interrupts –

SÖNDERBY: I think we have to leave now if we are to make it to the concert in reasonable time. Bye Martha and thanks for dinner.

For a long while, Sönderby and Stig walk silently by each other's side. Suddenly the old man breaks the silence –

SÖNDERBY: You are working on Beethoven's violin concerto, how is it going?

STIG: Not at all. Why are you asking that?

SÖNDERBY: But you continue to work?

STIG: Until then?

SÖNDERBY: I mean that you should let go of the idea of ​​becoming a soloist. You are a good orchestral musician. Be content with that.

STIG: I haven't asked you for any advice.

SÖNDERBY: By all means.

STIG: You don't have enough time. That's the whole thing. But now I'm going to take a leave of absence from your cursed orchestra and then I'm going to take proper lessons for Professor Sabaska. I have already written to him.

SÖNDERBY: It is arrogance and nothing else.

STIG (icy): Just because you happen to be old and unsuccessful, I don't have to be.

SÖNDERBY: We averages may also be needed. Without worker bees, no hives.

STIG: It's terrible to hear you talk. Like hearing someone who is already dead.

Then Sönderby laughs, but he doesn't say why he laughs. In addition, the bus arrives in town at the exact same moment. When Stig comes out after the concert, Nelly is waiting for him. She has a white robe –

STIG: Have you been waiting long?

NELLY: I just arrived. They walk for a while in silence, then Nelly stops and looks at Stig. Her face is small and white in the dark, her eyes are very large and completely black—

NELLY: Why are you trembling? Are you cold?

STIG: He is your husband after all, Mikael.

NELLY: I told him I love you.

STIG: What did he say then?

NELLY: He was very understanding.

STIG: It was hell.

NELLY: You shouldn't say that, because it might be a pity for him.

STIG: But not about me?

NELLY: No, not at all, because you are self-righteous and proud.

STIG: That's what Sönderby said too.

NELLY: Yes, but he doesn't love you and I do. Mikael Bro is sitting at the table reading a book and drinking coffee when they come in -

MIKAEL: Listen here. (reads:) In general, everything that is called spiritual science, whether it refers to the self, society, the state, morality or religion, is only an intellectual game with expressions, which are used as if they denoted something real.Mikael hits the open book with his hand and his eyes burn like coal in his head -

MIKAEL: He's a bather, that Hägerström, and he has my full sympathy.

STIG: He has mine too, but I ignore him.

NELLY: Stig is tired and sad. I don't think he wants to talk anymore tonight.Nelly becomes the jerk, but a key is put in the front door and someone comes in and pokes around for a while in the tambour -

NELLY: Our submission. It's terribly sad, but we have to for the economy.The usher steps into the room wearing a hat and coat. It's Marcel.

MARCEL (nervously): Good evening good evening. Well, you're still up. I went to the Grand and got into a bit of trouble.

STIG: Servant. I didn't know you lived here.

MARCEL (smiling): Neither did I. Before. But now I live here. From last night.

He goes out into the tambourine and takes off his coat and hat –

MARCEL: Well, you hang out in these circles. I really didn't think so.

Stig doesn't answer this, and Marcel probably doesn't wait for an answer either, but lights a cigarette and sits down by the radio, leans back in his chair, looks at the ceiling, takes a match, starts picking his teeth. Stig puts his hands down on the table and sits looking at them without moving a moment. Nelly takes off her wedding ring and lets it spin around, around, around. Mikael Bro sits there with his book and a thick red crayon and from time to time he underlines a suitable sentence. The radio insistently plays a nocturnal romance. After a while, Nelly switches from playing with the ring to biting her nails, Marcel takes a newspaper and with great rustle he folds the pages here and there. Still reading, Mikael Bro moves from the chair to the rocking chair where he starts rocking. Stig sits motionless and still has his hands on the table. Then Marcel leans over the radio and starts looking for another and more suitable music. Thereby, a long-lasting beeping, whining, sizzling and crackling sound occurs in the radio. Nelly reaches for the nail polish, in which she immerses herself. Marcel does not find any music, cuts off the radio and reclaims his viewing on the ceiling. Nelly is seized by playfulness and suddenly gets the idea that she should paint a nail on Stig because his hands are spread out and close at hand. Marcel turns around in his chair and he also holds out his hand and wants to be painted on a nail. He smiles kindly but Nelly pushes his hand away and dedicates herself to Stig. But Marcel persists. Stig begins to look at him and Marcel fixes his smiling gaze on Stig's. For the second time, Nelly pushes his hand away and is about to return to Stig, when the latter, still staring at Marcel, makes a violent movement with his arm to stop Nelly. Instead, he hits the bottle with nail polish, it falls over and a large patch spreads over the white tablecloth.

At dawn, a taxi stops outside Stig's and Martha's summer house. Stig wavers out and pays. He has one hand wrapped with a handkerchief that is very bloody. The car drives away with a quiet, spinning sound. Spotlights are no longer on the morning light, which is rising at great speed. Out at sea, the gulls scream. Stig wavers onto the sandy aisle and sinks into Martha's resting chair. There he sits and hangs for a few moments. His face is very pale and his mouth is compressed like holding back a scream of pain and rage. Eventually, he gets up, climbs up the stairs and begins to look for the key (can only use one hand) starting to pound on the door. It won't be long before Martha comes and opens. Stig doesn't go in, just holding out his hand with the bloody stirred handkerchief and the painted nail. Martha pulls him in to get him in, but he doesn't want to, and instead sits on the stairs, gets a hopeless back. Martha looks at that back, goes in and fetches bandages, sits beside her husband and begins to loosen the bloody handkerchief. At the same time, the sun begins to rise out of the sea.

STIG: I have to ask you something. Can't we move into town right now? As soon as possible.The apartment. Martha sits in the kitchen and gives Lisa supper. She kinks and doesn't want to eat properly. Stig comes out, stands in the door -

STIG: Was it necessary that you and the kids moved into town? You had such a good time in the country. Why don't you answer?

Martha drops Lisa on the floor, wipes her mouth with the bib and walks up to the sink, turning her back and neck to -

MARTHA: Lisa, get dressed now.Lisa disappears silently. Stig begins measuring the floor, stops just behind Martha, takes her around her arms and turns her around. She lets it happen but extremely unwilling -

STIG: Why are you treating me like a criminal?Martha looks far at him but still says nothing. A black fury begins to rise up in Stig -

STIG: Can you understand that Sabaska hasn't written and replied to my letter?

MARTHA: Let me go. You're hurting me.Martha tries to get free but Stig keeps her in a tight grip and it darkens more and more in him -

STIG: Sönderby or you might have written too.He begins to shake her, but not very much—

MARTHA: You're crazy. Let me go.

She breaks free. A fight is about to break out, but just at that moment Lasse comes in with the old and now slightly shaggy teddy bear -

LASSE: Look what Lisa has done.Lisa's startled nose looms in the doorway. The poor animal's head has come off.

MARTHA: It does not matter. I'll stitch him up tomorrow. It goes on a bit of a kick.

LASSE: Yes, but Lisa took the bear even though she knows she can't. She's cheeky, Lisa.

MARTHA: We can talk about it. Off to bed now.Lasse obeys but looks hurt and gloomy at his father. The door closes.

MARTHA (low): We don't cause any trouble here with the kids around us, remember that, Stig. Whatever happens, no trouble as the kids see.Stig walks out of the kitchen. Martha walks into the dining nook that has been converted into a nursery. The kids have gone to bed. They have books and toys in the beds. She tucks them in, turns out the light—

LISA: Now you tell a story.

MARTHA: I can't tonight.

LISA: Why is that?

MARTHA: I am so tired and sleepy.

LISA: You can sit here for a while in the dark anyway. It is very healthy.Martha sits down on a stool over by the door. She clasps her hands on her knees. It gets quiet. She hears them breathing and moving a little in the beds. She doesn't really know how long she's been sitting, but when she enters the other room, Stig is already getting undressed -

MARTHA: How much time is it?

STIG: 12:30.He starts turning on his wristwatch. Martha walks up to the window and opens it. She stands there for a moment and looks out -

MARTHA: It's turning into a terrible fog tonight.

STIG: I'll talk to you.

From the sea honk the mistphones. It sounds ghostly and desolate with these distant, recurring roars. Martha pulls down the blind -

MARTHA: Remember what Sönderby said: It's like a bunch of cows trapped in a tree trunk.Stig won't answer. He has put on his pajamas, crawls up in bed and waits for Martha to be finished. When she strips off, he looks at her, calmly and scrutinizing. Martha sees his gaze and attracts the robe.

STIG (a little mockery): What's the matter now?MARTHA: I don't like it when you look at me that way. It's like you were lying there comparing.

STIG (smile): Maybe I am.

Martha sits down and starts washing her face with face water and cotton but stops and puts the cotton ball away and just sits -

MARTHA: Can't we be nice to each other again? Why can't we even talk to each other about a single thing now?

STIG: It pays so little.

Martha sighs, does not answer but finishes her toilet, puts on the nightgown in the cover of the dressing gown and crawls into bed. Stig turns off the light. They're both lying quiet, listening to their own breathing and the mistphones honking out there at sea. It's a kid's cry. Martha paws up and into the nursery. Lisa sits in bed crying alone but restrained -

MARTHA: What is Lisa?

LISA: It was a big black man.

MARTHA: Maybe it was a chimney sweep.

LISA: This was a dangerous black man, you see.

MARTHA: Now you're going to get a piece of sugar and then you're going to lie down and dream something funny instead.

LISA: I wasn't dreaming at all.

MARTHA (low): There are no big black men here.

LISA: He came into the kitchen and looked at me and he looked very dangerous.

Martha goes into the kitchen and turns on the lamp –

MARTHA: You see, there is no one here.

Lisa gets a piece of sugar and peace is restored. Martha paws back into the other room. Stig has fallen asleep, but his face is not calm and relaxed. It shrugs his eyelids and he has a wrinkle between his eyebrows. The mouth looks bitter. Martha lies and looks at him for a very long time and the fear and loneliness grows greater and greater in her heart. Then he suddenly wakes up, strokes his face with both hands. Then he drags her next to him and kisses her vehemently on the mouth and starts stroking her over her shoulders and breasts. She gets tears in her eyes but lets him be held. He kisses her several times but her face is dead -

MARTHA (sudden): Leave me alone! I think it's disgusting! I can't help it, but I think it's disgusting - disgusting!

He releases her in a flash and she slides over to her bed where she burrows into the pillow and cries silently. Stig bites his knuckles with resentment.

STIG: Don't cry! No one hears it anyway.

Finally he freezes and has to get out of bed, puts on an old bathrobe, goes to the kitchen, gets a pilsner from the fridge. Time and time again, he has to cross his face. Martha's crying is silent. The bed light is lit inside the room and she sits in the bed forward-leaning -

MARTHA: We cannot go on like this.

STIG: You'll have to decide that for yourself.

MARTHA: Somehow it feels like the end.

Stig does not answer but drinks out and comes in and sits on her bed edge, after he has put out in the kitchen -

MARTHA: I've tried. I've done the best I could. I have not made reproaches or accusations. I've always tried to understand you, always.

STIG: So the fault is mine.

MARTHA: I never made any questions.

STIG: Why would you ask me about things that don't concern you.

MARTHA: It doesn't concern me that you are together with Nelly Bro.

STIG: Not as far as I can see. You can be morally indignant if it amuses you, but keep it to yourself. I'm not interested.

MARTHA: But why? Varför? Varför?

STIG: What then?

MARTHA: Why are you with her?

STIG: Why do you trip over dog shit on the street? Because you don't look up. And then you wear it.

MARTHA: That you can!

STIG (scornfully): You should say that as before we met lay to the right and left. You were even with that nasty Marcel.

MARTHA: But that was then. Before we had the kids. Don't they mean anything?

STIG: You used to have that too, although you got rid of them.

MARTHA: Sometimes I regret being stubborn when you didn't want us to have any children.

STIG: Do you see. You see, Martha.

MARTHA: Yes, I see. I see how shabby we have become.

Stig lies straight across his own bed and looks at the ceiling.

STIG: I know what the whole disease is. We don't think we're getting anything out of our life. We have been seized by clairvoyance both you and I. You learn to do that at our age, I've heard. At the same time as the clairvoyance comes the disgust. That is a natural consequence.

MARTHA: We used to be able to quarrel and be mean to each other, but then we just needed to reach out our hand and it was good again. Not even that. And we never had to argue and reason. It was such a great security.

STIG: And now we have discovered that there is no such thing as security.

MARTHA: Remember what you said here our first night together: The main thing is that you become a real person.

STIG: There was so much talk at the time.

MARTHA: But it was true.

STIG: That was a lie, Martha. In a while, this is no longer so important, and even a little later, we can make jokes about it. In the end, we forget that we were ever unhappy or that we had longed and hoped. It is the end of the song when you are old and wise, as it is called.

MARTHA: Maybe it feels that way to you. But I will never be like that. Never!

STIG: Remember that night when I came home with my hand cut. Then my lucidity began. And it was so excruciating that I reached out my fist through a window pane to get so messed up that I would never have to dream any more soloist dreams. But when I later stood there with my hand bloody, I thought: How ridiculous I am! Why is nobody laughing? The hand made it. You cannot get away with it that easily. Sönderby is right. I am a mediocre who refuses to accept his mediocrity.

MARTHA (bitter): Me and me! Don't you notice that sounds terrible?

STIG: By all means. I'm sorry. We are not going to talk about it any more.That is all they have to say for a long time.

MARTHA: I'm going to Grandma's. It's good for the kids there, too.

STIG: How are you gonna get money for that trip?

MARTHA: They thought I'd let you give me.

STIG: I have no money.

MARTHA: It was extraordinary.

STIG: You got last week.

MARTHA: On the phone, yes, as we were behind, and then the milk store and the rent.

STIG: The money used to be enough.

MARTHA: You want to see the book. You think I'm embezzling?

STIG: You don't care about saving, that's the whole thing.

MARTHA: I guess you'll have to take an advance like everyone else.

STIG: I have already done that.

MARTHA: YOU must have data. I haven't seen that money.

STIG: You have nothing to do with my money.

MARTHA: Well, as far as the household is concerned.

STIG: Anyway, there's no money for your sudden trip. We are relatively poor actually and cannot afford expenses for emotional reasons.

MARTHA (nasty): And the money you give to Nelly Bro?

STIG: Shut up, please.

MARTHA: What kind of tone are you using?

STIG: I use the same tone towards you as you towards me.

MARTHA: It costs money to have a lady-in-waiting.

STIG: Yes, but still somehow it is more honorable because the price is fixed.

MARTHA: Now you were rather crude, I think.

STIG: How sensitive you have become! Were you as sensitive at that time with Marcel… It must have been complicated.

MARTHA (raw): I don't understand how you can have a mistress, you who these days don't even meet the minimum requirements of a husband.

STIG (raw): Probably your own fault.

MARTHA: Of course. I have been naive enough to imagine that one would be faithful.

STIG: Now stop, Martha.

MARTHA: But you must have an outlet for your artistic temperament, and Nelly suited your misunderstood genius better. Although she probably didn't have too much fun either, poor thing.

Stig then punches her in the face. He hits her as hard as he can. Then he strikes several times completely mindlessly and without pause. She cowers with her head in her hands and her face down to try to protect herself from the blows that rain down on her. But she doesn't scream, not a sound comes from her. Finally he gets tired and just sits as if deflated, breathing raggedly and heavily. Martha raises her face. She is bleeding from her nose and from her lips. Then he is gripped by horror and despair at what he has done -

STIG (whispering): Forgive me, Martha. Forgive me.

MARTHA (calm and dead): This last was my own fault. I had myself to blame.

STIG: Forgive me anyway.

He tries to touch her but she pushes his hand away—

MARTHA (hatefully): But the other I do not forgive. You may be convinced that I shall raise money for the journey, if I am to go down the street and beg for it.

STIG: Martha. Martha – not so.

MARTHA: Don't touch me. Don't touch me. You disgust me so much I want to spit in your face. Then Stig stops trying to talk to her. They look at each other. A strong and newly awakened hatred. And both harden themselves—

STIG: By all means. You are the one who wants it this way. You must get your wish across. I'm going to ask Sönderby for money tomorrow and it's going to be damn nice not to see you anymore.

HALF A YEAR LATER. At home with Mikael Bro. Stig is reading on a pad. It says: Says it's a brain bleed but I know Nelly has poisoned me. Stig lowers the block and looks at Mikael Bro, who is lying in his bed motionless and with a petrified face. One eyelid is paralyzed, he can move his eyes, his hands run over the blanket, he breathes through his mouth, which stands like a mailbox opening. In here in the bedroom, the blinds are drawn, it is semi-twilight. But in the other room the sun shines brightly. Cold winter Sunday. The bells are ringing. Nelly stands by Mikael's headboard. She bends down to stroke his cheek, but he lunges at her like an angry dog, she screams in hysterics and cowers. Mikael mutters something hateful with his paralyzed tongue, and motions for Stig to take her away. The murmur rises to an inarticulate noise. Stig takes Nelly by the arm and leads her out of the room, closes the door. She controls her crying and takes her hands from her face –

NELLY: Do you think he is tormented?

STIG: Probably.

NELLY: That's good. I wish he is in so much pain that he wants to scream all the time.

STIG: He can't scream, he's paralyzed -

NELLY: That's the beauty of it, you see.

STIG: You must hate him, you.

NELLY (shrugging): Oh, he'll die soon!

STIG: Sometimes it's like a dream.

NELLY: Then what? This?

STIG: You refuse to believe that some things are true.

NELLY: I'm afraid of him too. Sometimes at night I think he's going to get up and come in and beat me to death or strangle me.

STIG: I still almost think you poisoned him.

NELLY: I've often thought I would.

STIG: What has he actually done to you?

NELLY: What has he done to me? He just exists. Somehow I depend on him. I don't know me.

STIG: You may differ.

NELLY: Then where would I go? Would you take care of me?

STIG: You could take a job.

NELLY: Others will work - but not me.

STIG: Then you always have Marcel.

NELLY (laughing): I may be wrong, but I'm always on the wrong horse.

STIG: It's because you're so fucking mean and lack human feelings.

NELLY: What about your wife? Who walked away from you.

STIG: We loved each other.

NELLY: And then suddenly you didn't love each other anymore. I thank you for such love. Then I prefer my line.

She goes to the corridor, takes off her dressing gown and starts to put on a dress –

NELLY: I think it's cold.

STIG: It's minus thirteen degrees.

NELLY: One day I'll find a millionaire. He will have a pleasure hunt. During the winter we will cruise on the Caribbean Sea. He will have a black boy, who has very sharp palms and nails, and I will love him when I am free from the millionaire. I'm definitely getting fat all over again.

STIG: It's the age.

NELLY (sighs): Oh well, you don't really have much time. There is reason to turn the corner. Do you know a millionaire? Then the doorbell rings -

NELLY: You go in. He still can't bear to see me.

STIG: I don't look after him.

NELLY: No you're not, but he considers you his only friend.

STIG: Poor Krake.

NELLY (reflecting): I agree.

When Stig comes in to see Mikael, he is lying with part of Shakespeare's Collected Works on his stomach. He points to something he wrote on the pad. Stig sits down so he can see Nelly. Twilight prevails in the bedroom. The other room is brightly lit like a stage. Nelly walks around the room outside, pulls on her socks, stops in front of a mirror, begins to comb her hair. Stig reads in a low voice –

STIG (reading): Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then not heard from. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.

Marcel has come in to see Nelly. He waddles around like a big cat in heat, tries to touch her, but she silently but angrily lashes out. He makes another stroke across the floor –

STIG (reading): Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then not heard from. It is a tale Told by an idiot,…

The voice stutters. He stands up. These words hit him with violent force. He puts the book down and can't make a sound. The sun shines bright and hard. The church bells are ringing. Nelly stands in the middle of the light and Marcel comes forward once more and makes a renewed attack. Mikael cannot see any of this. He lies motionless, filled with knowledge, writes on the pad: »I'm a damn human and it's right for me what happens, but you have to be careful. Be careful, Stig.« Stig reads what Mikael wrote and gives him the pad back -

STIG: You Mikael. Now I'm going my way and never coming back. I'm very grateful for what you've taught me but I can't stay here a minute longer because I don't want to be like you three and the only one who can help me is Martha.

He doesn't bother to look at Mikael as he walks away. Martha comes from the post office with a letter in her hand. She goes up into the WOODS for herself and as she walks she reads the letter from Stig -

STIG (voice): Dear Martha, You will be surprised now because you have not heard from me in almost three months. But I have to write to you and tell you that things have happened to me, because it was as if all my madness suddenly became understandable to me and I discovered how I have wasted the only thing that really has any value in this life…

The concert hall. As Stig sits during a break at the rehearsal and the orchestra is around him and tuning, he fishes up a letter from Martha and quietly reads it to himself -

MARTHA (vote): Dear Stig! When I got your letter in hand I was very worried at first, since I felt all this last time that you were alone and had a hard time in many ways. I have read it several times and although you are very few words, I can read myself that something important has happened to you. I, too, have been thinking about this loneliness and I now know that we will never be divorced, that it would be a cruel mistake. I don't think I'm going to come home, but I can't wait much for you.

It's night. Martha sits in the window of her small WIND ROOM and she reads a letter from Stig. The kids sleep in their beds, the moon draws large squares on the floor -

STIG (voice): My dearest beloved Martha!! I was so damn happy about your letter that I almost had to laugh for a while. You see people close again after so much and I guess I would have done that too in some way with you and the kids, because it hurt too much. Or I've never before really understood how deeply I love you.It's raining.

Stig stands under an umbrella and reads a letter from Martha -

MARTHA (voice): My beloved friend! Now I want you to come here and pick us up, we have so much that we have to arrange and plan for the summer, haven't we? Oh dear, how stupid and strange it feels to write. I would like to say a lot, but it looks silly and sentimental on paper. Believe me, I've tried. By the way, I don't think we need to talk any more when we meet. I know exactly how to show you how much I like you. Can you guess? Come soon! – – –

On a windy and sunny spring day, when it alternately blows and shines hot over the sea and the plain, Stig takes the train to pick up his wife and children. The train honks and drives, it rattles and fumes like real trains do, the curtain waving in the open compartment window. Opposite Stig is a woman and an old man, both sleeping well. But Stig he sits there thinking -

STIG (tänker): This train is running very slowly. I'd like to drop off and push next to for a while. Maybe I'd shoot on some slope if I got in that mood. I think it will be so remarkable to hear her speak, for example, and say: "Yes, but now you're pretty stupid anyway" or "When was the last time you washed your ears?" or "You poor thing, are you in so much pain in the stomach. Oh, oh, where does it feel the worst?" or also to sit in the cinema together again at some idiotic movie and hold each other's hands or sit in the kitchen at night after a concert and eat from the pantry and drink brandy and beer and talk and joke and don't say a serious word.

The attic room. Martha dresses and adorns herself. She is shaken up like a young girl about to meet her lover for the first time. This results in the hair standing on end and cracking, the powder running out, the bra breaking, Lisa using her earrings, after which they disappeared without a trace. But the blouse is white as a summer cloud and she takes her most high-heeled summer shoes and she perfumes herself so that her body is fragrant. But she doesn't care about the lipstick -

MARTHA: No lipstick, it just looks crazy afterwards. I can bite my lips a little just before the train arrives and they will still be nicely red. I'm actually pretty good-looking and I've become tan. It doesn't look like I didn't sleep last night either. Yes, but it's ridiculous, I'm only going to meet my old man. We've seen each other to the limit. And yet everything is new, new, new! Washed clean! Freshly bathed! How fun it will be to cook again! Being in my own kitchen, donating and commanding, sleeping in my own bed, feeling his warmth, having him sleeping next to me, never again be.. alone … never be alone again.

The train honks and honks, making an enormous noise. Now it's also raining, but the sun is shining. In the north stands a huge rainbow. There will be a thousand pearls on the passenger compartment window. Stig gets happier and happier.

STIG: Her face … her eyes … the fine wrinkles around the eyelids. I've seen those streaks get there, I'm guilty of some of them myself. The chin that is so round and determined, the ear that is so small. A work of art is her ear – and her mouth which is so lovely and soft to kiss. I love her body too. The smooth skin on the shoulders and breasts that never really recovered after the babies, but are as sensitive as living beings. Her feet… small with high arches, the fine line of the neck, the friendly sensual curve of the stomach. The waist … so narrow I can wrap my hands around it. I love her because we have hit each other, because we have hurt each other, but also for the thousand nights we have had in joy and complete pleasure. Soon the train will stop and then maybe she will be there to meet me. Damn I'm nervous! But I'm happy too! As happy as I've ever been. And as poetic as I am now, no poet in world literature ever was. They can go home and put the whole band to bed, especially those who wrote about love. For my love for Martha is the most extraordinary and Martha's love for me the most incomprehensible that ever occurred in this wretched and dark world.

The train stops. The sun shines hot but it blows. Martha sees him coming towards her, and he is very thin and long-haired, and looks shyly at his nose, yet she sees that he is very happy, for his face shines like a lantern. And she goes up to him and they meet in the middle of a school trip that will come on to go to Stockholm. It's about 100 kids and it's a noise and a crowd, something that Stig and Martha hardly notice. They leave there tightly printed next to each other, dumbfounded and sunk. The wind is catching up in Martha's skirt. It's like a piece of music just that. A FEW YEARS LATER. The apartment. Lisa is sitting on the floor, is now seven years old, has the strange doll in her arms. It looks both tarnished and miserable -

LISA (to the manikin): You see, you haven't been very kind, so you're not allowed to come with us now when we're going to Grandma's to visit. You're gonna have to lie here under the couch and sleep until I get back. That makes you so happy. Now you're going to sleep.

She pushes the doll under the couch and walks away to inspect the luggage. Martha is about to dress Lasse –

LASSE: We're going to catch very big fish and then a beautiful nice one that we're going to take home and keep in the bathtub and I'm going to teach him to talk.

LISA: Fish cannot talk.

LASSE: They can learn.

LISA: They can't at all.

LASSE: You couldn't talk but you learned.

LISA: Yes, but I'm not a fish.

LASSE: I have met a fish that can talk and it was a boy my age who had taught him. Lisa is extremely shaken by this sentence –

LISA: Mother, now Lasse is lying again!

MARTHA: Stig, do you want to call for a car.

LISA: Dad, Lasse is lying.

STIG: Lasse is not lying at all. He writes poetry and why shouldn't a fish be able to speak. You can never be completely sure. Then he orders the taxi –

MARTHA: I think you should ask Sonderby to come home tonight. There is Vichy water in the fridge.

STIG: It gets a little lonely.

MARTHA (laughing): You think it will be nice.

STIG: Well, the kids could travel and then you could stay here with me and have a vacation.

MARTHA: You're stupid. What do you think grandma would say about that?

STIG: In any case, you have your pack with you as if you were going to be gone until doomsday.

MARTHA: You don't have to come with me to the station. I can take a city bid.

STIG: And what is this? A bomb? Stig rummages through the stuff, there is a large brown and slightly angular package –

MARTHA: It's a liquor kitchen.

STIG: What now! Do you want to bring a stove with you too?

MARTHA: That's much better. We get to live in the summer cottage and cook ourselves and not bother the old people.

STIG (sighs): Yeah yeah yeah.

MARTHA: Sigh, but you'll think it's so nice when you get there.

Now Stig is standing on the platform. Martha, Lisa and Lasse are in the window –

MARTHA: You should go get a haircut.

STIG: It's so nasty because you get so many small hairs inside the collar.

MARTHA: If you came along now, I could cut your hair.

STIG: Coming later.

MARTHA (sighing heavily): Strange that people always long for you anyway.

STIG: Why is it strange?

MARTHA: As long as we've been married. Don't lick the window Lasse, it's dirty.

STIG: You will have beautiful weather.

MARTHA: It looks like it was about to spring.

STIG: Why isn't the train running?

MARTHA: Well, you want to get rid of us?

STIG: No, but it's always so silly to stand like this at a station. Then the train leaves -

STIG: Goodbye, goodbye.

MARTHA: Goodbye my boy. She takes his hand and holds it for a moment. The kids wave.

LISA: Say hello to her who is under the sofa, that she shouldn't be lazy because I'll be back soon. Then they disappear from sight, because the train enters a switch curve.

Stig walks home, turns suddenly, feels a dull emptiness, tries to aim for the train, but it's gone. He stands on the platform and doesn't know where to go -

STIG: Martha, my love. Now you left and I was so sad. I don't understand why.

Stig is on the floor face down. Now the sun is shining. It is morning. He sits up. The eyes are dry, the face is drawn into a painful grimace and petrified. He hears laughter and children's screams from outside the street, then he hears Martha's voice right next to his ear –

MARTHA (voice): If I were like you, I would still be happy to go to the rehearsal today at ten o'clock and sit as usual in my usual place and do my job.

He gets up, takes the violin case and the hat and leaves.

The concert hall. Just before the rehearsal is to begin, Sönderby approaches Stig -

SÖNDERBY: I have heard about what happened. I … I … you … you see I'm … you have to understand that you don't have to come here if you don't want to yourself.

Stig does not look at Sönderby but gets up from his chair. He holds the violin under his arm and the bow points to the notes.

STIG (whispering): Thank you. But it is better to work.

SÖNDERBY: Yes, you do what you want.

Sönderby pats him on the neck –

STIG (whispering): Don't touch me.

The members of the orchestra gather on the podium. The choir will also be present on this day. It arches in through the large doors and sets up behind the orchestra.

SÖNDERBY: We start at the double line. There are eleven bars before the recitative.

He raises the baton but lowers it again –

SÖNDERBY: The cellos and basses must sing like hell, you understand.

He thinks a little, pushes his glasses up on his forehead and slurs, finds it difficult to express himself -

SÖNDERBY: That is the question of joy, then. Not the kind of joy that expresses itself in laughter or even the kind of joy that says: I am happy. What I mean is a joy so great and special that it is beyond pain and boundless despair. You see, it is a joy beyond all understanding. Yes, I can't explain it better.

Stig feels that someone is watching him. He looks down towards the salon. Lasse has come in quietly and sat down on the first bench. He suddenly looks at Stig. Sönderby raises the baton and suddenly he bursts into flames and the fire spreads and everyone is caught in the fire. The huge recitative rushes up against the walls in an explosive joy beyond all understanding.

Afterword by Jan Holmberg

In the summer of 1949, Ingmar Bergman went on one of his few vacations with his friend and actor Birger Malmsten. The trip went to the French Riviera. In BERGMAN ABOUT BERGMAN, he talks about the trip:

Then I met some good friends down there - painters and such - you were never really sober and so I sat longing for home and began to romanticize my marriage - the one at the time - the one that I had previously with real delight cut to pieces in connection with THIRST. I got a little sentimental and then I started thinking about the time in Hälsingborg, how fun it was and the symphony orchestra and that I wasn't as brilliant as I had imagined. The first real setbacks had begun to appear. But people thought that even if you were average, you had to work, and so I manufactured some kind of consolation for that. That it is the foot soldiers of culture that are important and not this remarkable cavalry.

That's how the work on Till joy began.

[derangedrhythms]

Hi quotes on ocean / sea / drowning?

I combined this with your previous ask about sea / sirens

'Siren Song' & 'This Is a Photograph of Me' by Margaret Atwood

"The sea is incommensurable."

— Nick Lantz, We Don’t Know We Don’t Know; from ‘What We Know of Death by Drowning’

"One day I would drown, radiant with joy."

— Roberto Bolaño, from ‘2666’, tr. Natasha Wimmer

"I thought of the sirens in their bloody meadow surrounded by the clean white bones of the men they had seduced and devoured–the heaps of shinbones, the pelvises like bows, the femurs like arrows."

— Erica Jong, from 'Sappho's Leap'

"Like a deep woman, it hid a good deal; it had many faces, many delicate, terrible veils. It spoke of miracles and distances; if it could court, it could also kill."

— Sylvia Plath, Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams; from ‘Ocean 1212-W’

"I held my drowning / in my palm like a giant pearl."

— Nick Lantz, We Don’t Know We Don’t Know; from ‘What We Know of Death by Drowning’

"The sea, silver — dreadful, like death."

— Anna Akhmatova, The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova: Uncollected Poems and Fragments 1957-1966, tr. Judith Hemschemeyer

"This August I began to dream of drowning."

— Anne Sexton, Live or Die; from ‘Imitations of Drowning’

"How to explain the irresistible compulsion to join the sea, to be part of it, to sink into the solace of its company?"

— Brian Masters, from ‘Killing for Company: The Case of Dennis Nilsen’

"Now the Sirens have a still more terrible weapon than their song, namely their silence. Though it has never happened, it is perhaps conceivable that someone might have escaped from their singing, but from their silence certainly not."

"But they – lovelier than ever – craned and twisted, let their gruesome hair float free in the wind, stretched their claws wide on the rocks; they wanted to allure no more, all they wanted was to catch for as long as possible the reflected radiance from the great eyes of Odysseus."

— Franz Kafka, The Great Wall of China and Other Short Works; from 'The Silence of the Sirens', tr. Malcolm Pasley

"I'll adore you, as a drowned person does the sea."

"Come, I'll draw you the bitter water, / To love your death there in the sea's night"

— Renée Vivien, The Yale Anthology of Twentieth-Century French Poetry; from 'Ransom', tr. Mary Ann Caws

"Each wave-tip glitters like a knife."

— Sylvia Plath, The Colossus & Other Poems; from ‘A Winter Ship’

"His drowning never seemed to have affected him as much as I thought it should, he couldn’t even remember it. If it had happened to me I would have felt there was something special about me, to be raised from the dead like that; I would have returned with secrets, I would have known things most people didn’t."

— Margaret Atwood, from ‘Surfacing’

"I am happiest / near the ocean, / where the changing light / reminds me of my death"

— Erica Jong, from At the Edge of the Body; from 'I Live in New York'

"You ask the sea, what can you promise me / and it speaks the truth; it says erasure."

— Louise Glück, A Village Life; from ‘March’

"The sea has undone me."

— Anne Sexton, from ‘A Self-Portrait in Letters’: Alfred Sexton, 7th September 1963

"The waves pulse and pulse like hearts."

— Sylvia Plath, Collected Poems; from 'Whitsun'

"The sea gets into your head [...] once you let it in, it doesn’t leave you alone."

— Hannah Kent, from 'Burial Rites'

"…the slap of waves on the hull / of a boat that’s sinking to the sound of mermaids / singing songs of love,"

— Richard Siken, Crush; from ‘Saying Your Names’

[scarasimplysimping]

Serendipity

Part one/?

Kazuha x GN!reader

sypnosis: you're an assassin sent by Baal to murder him.

word count:905

"Detain Kaedehara Kazuha, confiscate his vision, and the one he's stolen. He made a mockery of the Raiden Shogun and has sealed his fate. Execute him if you must, just make sure to bring back his head in a platter." Sara, your superior said in a cold voice. You could almost feel her anger radiating from the way she talked. She was graceful and concise nonetheless.

"Yes, my liege." You bow as you are dismissed and waste no time, already tracking him in no more than several seconds.

Your chase bought you to Liyue. It wasn't an easy journey, as you had to explain to your archon that the fugitive had already left Inazuma long before you started tracking him.

After unloading all your belongings (which wasn't much considering how small your boat was) you take a moment to inspect your vehicle.

It was almost entirely destroyed and looked as if it was going to sink in a few minutes. It was in no shape for a trip back to your homeland meaning you'd be here for a while.

Another thing is it was probably going to be a difficult journey back, even more so with a severed head.

Thinking could wait. For now, you deserved a nice long rest.

You take note that based on the stares of the people residing the inn you decided to sleep the night in, they knew you weren't from here. You'd have to change into something more simple later.

"Are you going to compete for the masterless vision? I heard it's traveled all this way from Inazuma."

Your head perks up when you hear those words from a stranger's idle chit-chat. You contemplate on whether you should approach them and ask or let them continue their conversation.

"Perhaps. Where did you say it was, again?"

"Guyun Stone Forest. Just north of Liyue Harbor."

How... convenient.

You're there just in time to catch a glimpse of said fugitive, bidding a blonde boy and his small floating companion a farewell.

Careful as to not alert the samurai, you tail him carefully and wait til he's alone.

You almost feel guilty when you sneak up on him in his peaceful nap. Killing him now meant he would not die an honorable death. You didn't give him a chance to fight for it. But you were not a soldier with a code. You were an Archon's loyal assassin.

Gripping the blade in your hands, almost hesitantly, you take a moment to admire his features. He is quite the beautiful man, you think to yourself. Seriously? You've rid children of their parents and yet you hesitate at the sight of a pretty face? How shallow you are.

You shake your head, vanquishing unnecessary thoughts as you raise the dagger, prepared to plunge it in his heart.

Kazuha opened his eyes just in time to dodge and stood upright, a couple meters away from you, thanks to his vision.

"You're quite the agile one. The grass couldn't tell me of your presence until you were arm's length away."

You stare at him blankly. You weren't surprised. No one said tracking a trained samurai with super-human hearing was gonna be easy.

The battle was quite long, yet you were down on your knees, bleeding out in no less than five minutes.

Your eyes meet his, and he takes note of the anger in them, the look he gives you in return is pitiful. "In another life, perhaps you would've been born free from a God's grasp,"

Kazuha says sadly, as his back faces you. He takes his leave.

You wanted to be angry, to shout at him, to order him to come back and deal the final blow. But instead, you find yourself using your remaining strength to stand up and follow a fresh scent of flowers.

Kazuha on the other hand, was already thinking about going back to at least give you a proper burial. After all, you may have been an assassin, but you were a loyal one til the end. Truly, he did not know why his blade didn't slice of your head. Maybe, just maybe he'd hoped that you'd survive and have a second shot at life.

It was almost sundown when he returned to the place where your body supposedly lay. Supposedly. Kazuha furrows his eyebrows in confusion at the lack of your corpse. Though thankfully(?), there was a rather noticeable trail of blood.

Did you follow him? No. He went in the opposite direction. Were you gonna ambush him? No. The trail of blood would give away your location. Was this a trap? Possibly. And yet he followed.

With each second that passes, Kazuha feels his pace quickening until he's running, hoping that you were still alive. Quite ironic.

He finds the trail ending in a field of pale flowers. Your crimson blood staining their white petals in such a perfect way. Your body lay there, unmoving as Kazuha kneels to check for a pulse.

And then he feels it. Something pulsating in his pocket. He takes the object out and inspects it, eyes wide with surprise and hope. The object only glowed more when he placed it on your unconscious form.

And so, without thinking, Kazuha swung your arm around his shoulder and was on his way to Baizhu's pharmacy in a matter of seconds.

It seems his old friend's masterless vision had found a master in you.

A/N: am complete shit at fight scenes so I skipped that part entirely. Who says you can't ignore your problems? Also I'm a procrastinator so there probably won't be a part 2 anytime soon.

[apenitentialprayer]

Well, it took 764 pages into the fifth book, but I’ve seen my first confirmation that the Faith of the Seven do, in fact, believe in seven corresponding heavens in addition to the seven hells. Which I find interesting; Catelyn Tully seemed to be a relatively devout adherent of the Seven, but I had recalled her thinking about how the Tullys held eternal court beneath the Trident. Looking back at the passage, though, maybe I had taken it a bit too literally:

And then [the funerary boat] was gone . . . drifting downriver still, perhaps, or broken up and sinking. The weight of his armor would carry Lord Hoster down to rest in the soft mud of the riverbed, in the watery halls where the Tullys held eternal court, with schools of fish as their last attendants.

(ASoS, page 477) Now, adherents of the Drowned God definitely took water-burial literally; there is a concern about how the spirits of those whose bodies were not placed in water will find the watery halls in several different places through the novels. In light of that bit of information, when I first read the above passage, I thought maybe the Faith of the Seven simply had a stronger image of what the ‘bad’ afterlife was than the good (which, frankly, would have been par the course for this series) and that maybe different families had simply come up with their own traditions surrounding it. But in light of ‘seven heavens’ finally being mentioned, maybe I should have read the passage above as a figurative expression for decay, the “last attendants” being the fish that would feast on Hoster Tully’s corpse. After all, just a few paragraphs before Catelyn had mentioned that her father and sons would be reunited in death.

[the-artist-from-hell]

DM!memoirs au Chapter 2

(TRIGGER WARNING! Mention of burial/funeral, and well just over all emotional stuff?)

The boat had been landed for some time before anyone decided to step off...

Joxter, after bawling his eyes out for at least an hour straight and his voice had become hoarse from yelling, had now sat on the floor a small distance away from the cold corpse in simple disbelief, his head pounded from all of this all so suddenly. Moomin sat there with joxter not sure how to... help? How to react? He wasn’t as close to Muddler as Joxter or Hodgkins were of course but he still felt immense remorse and sorrow for the two.

“I... I shouldn’t have let him sleep...” mumbled the Joxter in a quiet, saddened voice.

“Don’t blame yourself, Joxter.” replied the Moomin, hesitantly patting Joxter's back.

Joxter stared at the covered body with a pained look “Maybe if I didn’t let him sleep he would have... He would've still been alive now-“

Moomin cleared his throat anxiously “Joxter... at least he died peacefully... maybe you should come get some fresh air with me outside...?”

“Do you really think right now is the right time? He’s already gone, don’t try to rip me away from him more.”

“I just mean this is unhealthy for you to just... stare... I’m not saying move on right this minute but at least get some air- try to bring yourself together-“

“Moomin, will you just- shut up and leave it be?! Leave ME be! If YOU want to leave then go right ahead! I need... time.”

The Moomin gave a nod, looking down guiltily he slowly left the lower deck of the ship to leave Joxter with his dead lover, he was thinking about checking in on Hodgkins but... He didn't know how Hodgkins would react to being comforted. He stepped out to the top deck of the boat and looked out to the new land they found themselves in, he decided to let down the ramp and get off, take a small walk around to see if he could find anyone to check if this place was inhabited.

Meanwhile the Joxter scooted closer to the Muddler's body partially wanting to uncover his face to see him one last time knowing it wouldn’t be long before he’s unable to see him ever again. Knowing the inevitability of having to bury his best friend, and the first person he had ever truly fallen in love with. he of course couldn't stomach the thought of uncovering his corpse, so he went ahead and held Muddler's cold paw for a moment instead, soon after quickly letting go. The sinking feeling of knowing there was no more life in that body... in the body that was once a living person... it was an awful feeling that was almost suffocating, he quickly ran out of the lower deck to the top deck unable to bear it any longer. He leaned over the edge of the boat, unable to comprehend his current feelings.

Meanwhile; Hodgkins had been sitting in the pilot-house suffering similarly but in silence. The young man he had raised just all of a sudden gone, from something so avoidable no less. Something he could easily blame himself for. He had been staring blankly out the window, he had watched when Moomin left the boat and he saw when Joxter stood hunched over the railing. Part of him wanted to go and comfort Joxter. But why would he? So he can inevitably fail at it? To make the situation worse? What was he to say? He never said much in the first place especially to Joxter and he and Joxter butted heads more or less since Joxter was young. But, since Muddler begged him to let Joxter stay with them, why shouldn’t he go comfort Joxter? He practically raised him as well since he was by Muddler's side for ages, yet he knew he couldn’t say he was as close to Joxter as he was with Muddler. He had a second awful feeling bubbling up, the feeling that he had failed as an adoptive father figure, to both Joxter and Muddler. He felt angry with himself for a moment and slammed his paws on his desk before shouting out loud:

“WHY?!”

Such a shout had almost shaken the entire boat with it, Joxter heard it and decided to step off the boat as well, he had never heard Hodgkins yell like that before, and he didn’t want to see the details of it all, Joxter wandered alone on the new landscape.

He walked along the short stone walls to get a feel for where he was so he wouldn’t get lost so soon, so he could make his way back to where he was for the most part, he then came across Moomin again, who was talking to the mymble's daughter, asking questions about this place.

“This is the Autocrat's kingdom! How wouldn't you know that? Also I’m not allowed to talk to strangers, my mother will be upset-“ giggled the girl before opening the door and stepping out, Joxter went over to them. Moomin turned his attention to him.

“Oh, Joxter! Are you doing better?” Asked the Moomin.

Joxter looked down and shrugged “Better than Hodgkins at least... or... I think so anyways. Why are you talking to a little girl?”

“Ugh, you make it sound so weird- I’m asking her if anyone else lives here since no one else is around at the moment!”

“They're all at the king's party, including my mother and my siblings!” The mymble's daughter replied joyfully “I can bring you both there if you want!”

“No thank you. We have more important things to deal with currently... but may I ask what’s the party for?”

“It’s the king's 100th birthday! It’s very special, that’s why every ones there! Also, what’s more important than a big royal party?” replied the mymble's daughter

“I don’t think I should explain, sorry.“ said Moomin “But your mother really shouldn’t have left you alone like this-“ he added

“Well, young mymbles tend to be short from what I heard, maybe she’s old enough to be on her own at home and she just doesn’t look it-“ suggested the Joxter.

“Exactly! I’m actually 66!“ Said the mymble's daughter, obviously lying “Anyways, can you two come to the party with me?”

“Well, this might be one of the only times we'll be able to talk to the king about the situation and ask him for permission for a burial, so...” said Moomin to the Joxter

“This is all so complicated and frustrating...” mumbled the Joxter

“Tell me about it...” Moomin replied to Joxter quietly “Where do we go on from here?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious...?” said the Joxter

“Well yes, we have to ask for permission and then find a place to bury Muddler, but we need to find a place first... and get Hodgkin's input aswell...”

“... Maybe you should do that part.” said Joxter

“You mean talking to Hodgkins? But you’ve known him longer!” Retorted the Moomin

“He doesn’t talk to me much and trust me, I think you would do better... I think I need to do some more walking on my own for now.” replied the Joxter

“Are you just going to avoid the situation?”

“As much as I can. Yes.” answered the Joxter before walking off again into nearby wooded area far away from the rest of civilization on this island. He was planning to return later but he might as well walk around and try to clear away as many feelings as he could.

The Moomin paced around planning out what to say and do first to help get this all over with, the mymble's daughter had overheard his conversation with Joxter and skipped over to him.

“you need permission to bury some thing you said?”

“Yes I did, but why are you nosing around in others' conversations?”

“Well I can help you! You can ask the king for permission to bury whatever you want, he's an easy going guy but the hard part of getting to him will be the maze,”

“The what?”

“The maze and the puzzles to get to the garden of course! I can help you get there and through if you want!”

“I suppose it would be interesting to finally meet a real king...but I wouldn’t want to ask him during a party if we could... oh nevermind, I’ll figure it out on my own.” Moomin pondered

“And I won’t have to walk alone! Come on!” Said the mymble's daughter, trying to be convincing. Afterall, she didn’t know the details of what Moomin and Joxter were so wrapped up about, she assumed they were just having a bad day.

“Let me talk to my friend back in his boat first, I need to see what he says before I agree.”

“Oh fine... you adults are no fun-“ she went back to her hut and pouted as she waited for Moomin to get back.

Moomin went back to the ship finally working up the courage to try and console Hodgkins. He knocked on the door to the pilot-house, Moomin stood there for a minute or two before sitting by the door and began to talk through it.

“Hodgkins, sir, I know you're in there- I don’t know where Joxter went but he said he needed some time to walk around, I’m guessing to clear his head... I know you're... probably going through a lot with the current situation and I’m sad about it too of course but we can’t just sit around and let the body stay there... we need to find somewhere to bury him but we might need permission from the local king who runs this place- I ran into a mymble and she told me the king's having his 100th birthday party today and that’s why there’s not many people here right now- i just thought to fill you in on that, I know you don’t like to talk things out or talk much in general but... you get the point, we should go because it might be one of the few chances we can properly talk to him.” The Moomin then went silent for a few moments pressing his ear against the door, he then heard footsteps coming from the inside of the room and hodgkins opened it up and looked down at Moomin.

“Alright...” said Hodgkins before offering Moomin a hand up, he looked tired, and messy, his whiskers were all crooked aswell.

“Hrm...” Hodgkins stood thinking for a moment, he gave a nod 'yes' and walked ahead off the ship “If this is what it takes to get Muddler a proper resting place then fine.”

“There’s just one issue-“ Moomin piped

“And what would that be?” replied Hodgkins rather coldly

“There’s an entire maze we have to go through to get to the castle, so if we want to go through we will have to take the mymble girl with us to solve the puzzles.”

Hodgkins took a deep annoyed sigh and gave another simple nod in understanding. They went to tell the mymble's daughter they were ready to go and the three of them went on their way.

The mymble's daughter was excited and happy about the maze, there were painted eggs for them to find along the way, Moomin and the mymble's daughter stopped a few times to pick up the eggs. Moomin was trying to keep the mood light and maybe even cheer up Hodgkins a tiny bit trying to get his mind off of mourning.

“Come on Hodgkins, have some fun! You should grab that egg up there! Neither of us can reach it!” suggested the Moomin. Hodgkins grabbed it and held it between his pointer finger and thumb.

“That’s the spirit!” said the mymble's daughter, then Hodgkins stared at them and crushed the egg and tossed it to the ground.

Moomin's ears went down and so did his tail “Got it- let’s just rush through the maze then-“ he looked down and continued to pick up the pace.

The mymble's daughter was disappointed “what a buzz kill!” She retorted but Hodgkins didn’t reply and just continued. Eventually they ran into a bunch of pranks mostly involving fake mechanical spiders and things of that sort.

Hodgkins. Was not. Having it.

He crushed one of the fake spiders in anger “All of this just to ask for permission to bury my darn NEPHEW!”

The mymble's daughter fearfully walked ahead without them because of Hodgkin's clearly boiling anger and they where almost out of the maze anyway. They continued past a few more pranks and got through to their end goal: the King's birthday party.

As they entered moomin took in his surroundings seeing tables of food and a carousel and and happy cheerful faces and a very large old man sitting on a thrown with a crown he was amazed to be in the same room as royalty but hodgkins on the other hand was less then thrilled he got straight to the point and walked over to the king with a serious expression “excuse me your kingship I’m apologize for asking you this on your momentous 100th birthday but may I have your permission to bury my nephew on your Island.”

The King looked down at Hodgkins, lifted an eye brow then chuckled out loud thinking it was some sort of dark joke “Oh ho! Aren't you a strange one! Go ahead bury him where ever you want! Better yet, bury him in front of my castle! Hopefully he’ll come and haunt me!”

Hodgkins sighed, annoyed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not a joke your highness. May I bury him on your island? Simple yes or no.”

The King's expression quickly, faded his eyebrows lifted in surprise his smile turned into to an awkward frown “Ho- oh my... uhm... of course- bury him where you would... like- uhm...” he cleared his throat because never in all of his 100 years of life had someone ever asked him such a blunt question especially one of this matter. Hodgkins then ended the conversation with a quick “Thank you.” And left.

He got the answer he needed.

Joxter had spent his afternoon scouting out the area, and along his walk he found a peaceful clearing right before the forest started but far away enough from houses and homes for it to be a proper resting place. He put some stuck some sticks out of the ground to mark the area and remember it before going back to the boat just to find he was the only one there at the moment. He decided to go to the pilot-house and rest on the couch in there until Moomin and Hodgkins returned from where ever they were.

(Sorry if it’s a bit messy I had technical difficulties while typing ✨because my phone hates meeees✨/slight joking)

End of chapter two. Illustrations being added soon-