Liisa Lehtonen and Birgitta von Ohler had returned to finish the wallpapering. Agnes had to admit that it seemed to be turning out very nicely. The hall looked more inviting. The professor had mumbled something inaudible before he disappeared into his study. The three women took that as approval.
Liisa was the one in command, she was happy to give orders and took for granted that her opinion should prevail as indisputable. It was a character trait that Agnes had great difficulty with. She was actually accustomed to the professor’s manner, but thought it was somehow unbecoming in a woman who in such an obvious, almost physical way took the initiative and kept it.
Perhaps it was Birgitta’s complaisance that irritated Agnes most. Birgitta who otherwise held her ground well simply acted wishy-washy, though for what reason Agnes did not comprehend. The Finnish woman was not that terrifying. Besides, it was Ohler’s house, so she ought to be a little more respectful, Agnes thought.
She sat down on a chair and listened distractedly to the discussion—perhaps they should take the opportunity to move the furniture in the hall too? She was tired. The night had been difficult. The aches in her hip had tormented her. In addition, the thoughts about the gardener circled like a restless nocturnal bird in her head. The statement he had made about time—that it lives a life of its own and that you cannot rule over it—had shaken her up considerably. It was more than sixty years since she last heard that expression. It was Anna who said it. She often used it to describe how small people were; in any case that was how Agnes understood it, that people did not rule over their own fate.
Her father had heard her say it once and got angry. For him such vague expressions of human wisdom were completely reprehensible. It was God who ruled in everything, over time as well, therefore it could not live a life of its own. It was perhaps due to her father’s fury that Agnes remembered the whole thing so well. Where Anna got the expression from she did not know. Perhaps from Viola, who was full of proverbs and sayings? Or perhaps from Viktor?
It might be a coincidence that the gardener used that particular expression. But Agnes did not believe in chance. Perhaps he was from Roslagen, even Gräsö? Or perhaps the saying was more common than she had thought. Speculating about time was a very human trait.
No matter how that was, she felt ill at ease. Was it the memory of Aron’s indignation, her terror in the presence of his anger and God’s wrath that called forth the uneasiness? He had thundered in her childhood, not least over Anna’s lack of faith, how she deserted the Ohler house and thereby brought shame on her parental home.
Thoughts of Anna had always come and gone. The absence and uncertainty had often been hard to endure. She and Greta never discussed the fact that they had not heard from their sister in more than half a century. What had become of her? Was she still alive?
Could she go over again and ask the gardener a direct question, whether he possibly came from Gräsö? No, that would seem impertinent. It would be better to inquire through Associate Professor Johansson. She knew him and harbored great respect for him. He was upright, as her father Aron would have said. The associate professor would take her question the right way, not as a sign of curiosity or desire to snoop.
“What do you think, Agnes?” the Finnish woman interrupted her musings.
Liisa Lehtonen was standing by the old dresser, measuring its width with her hands.
“It will be fine,” said Agnes. “You decide.”
She got up laboriously from the chair.
“I think I have to go down to the pharmacy,” she said.
Birgitta looked at her inquisitively.
“The professor’s prescription,” Agnes clarified. “And then I need a few pain tablets.”
“Do you have aches?”
Yes, what do you think, was on the tip of Agnes’s tongue but she only nodded. Birgitta came up to her. She was dressed in a yellow overall and had tied a scarf around her head.
She put on a worried face, but Agnes suspected that Birgitta mostly saw an opportunity to interrupt Liisa’s lesson in interior decorating.
“It’s the usual,” said Agnes. “No worries.”
“Do you want me to drive you into town?”
“No, not at all. I also need to go down to Luthagen and order a little meat.”
“You can call,” said Birgitta.
“It’s not the same,” said Agnes. “I want to talk with Jansson himself.”
In reality she wanted to get out of the house for a while, get some air and shake off the increasing feeling of discomfort of the past few days. Take the opportunity to steal a little extra time for herself now when the professor was taken care of. Perhaps walk a little in town, have a cup of coffee at Landings?
Birgitta smiled at her. She is probably the only one besides Greta who is going to miss me, thought Agnes, but despite that she could not rouse the old feeling of sympathy. Not even when Birgitta put her arm around her and insisted that she would really like to drive Agnes into town, that it was no trouble at all.
“I’ve made lunch,” said Agnes. “All you need to do is warm it up a little. The salad is in the refrigerator.”
As usual there was always duty to resort to when Birgitta got too affectionate. It amused her, because she knew that Birgitta always felt a little discomfort at being taken care of, above all in the presence of others. She preferred to present herself as equal with Agnes and became overly considerate.
Birgitta looked hurt. Liisa Lehtonen urged them on, the last few widths had to be put up. Agnes left the two of them, went upstairs to put on something warm and get her handbag.
She saw him immediately. He was raking leaves. Agnes could not help but smile. The associate professor’s leaf raking was legendary in the neighborhood. He had once explained to her how valuable leaves are, how they promoted growth. She believed him. His garden was the evidence.
As she approached he straightened up a little and Agnes was convinced that if he had been wearing a hat he would have raised it in a stylish gesture.
“Taking a walk?” he said in an inquisitive tone.
Agnes stopped. He came up to the fence.
“I just have a few errands. And it’s so nice to get out a little.”
They chatted awhile about this and that, commented on how terrifying earthquakes are—thousands of people had died somewhere in Asia the day before—but both carefully avoided mentioning anything about the professor.
“I’ve been thinking about the garden,” she said when they had both fallen silent. “It’s starting to look too dreary. Lundquist has had help and I exchanged a few words with the gardener. What do you think about him, can he be trusted? You can judge such things.”
“I definitely think so,” the associate professor testified. “He seems serious.”
“Do you know who he is? I thought he seemed so familiar.”
“No,” said the associate professor. “I’ve never met him before.”
“Perhaps he’s from along the coast?”
“No idea,” said the associate professor. “We’ve only talked a few times, but I immediately got the impression that he knows his business.”
“Hardworking too,” said Agnes in order to round off and conclude the question in a kind of harmony, something that she and the associate professor always seemed to achieve when they spoke.
The associate professor nodded and smiled. They parted and Agnes walked toward Norbyvägen to take the bus into town.
During the walk she decided to actually ask the gardener if he came from the coast. The decision revived her. True, the week had been full of gloomy thoughts but also involved a growing sense of energy. It was as if the professor’s awakening from his static existence meant that she too found new ways of thinking about old ideas. The statement, so shocking to the professor, that she was going to retire was not just a loosely tossed out thought but a manifestation of how a slumbering idea had taken firmer form.
Now the thought of leaving her position and moving back to the island did not seem quite as unreal. After fifty-five years she could not, like Anna, be accused of faithlessness if she left the Ohler house, could she?
The bus came and she got on. It was the calm driver, the one who always waited until she sat down before he started up again. She smiled at him.
Agnes felt uncommonly satisfied, as if her thoughts were freed after years of constraint. It felt as if she was sitting in bus number 811 en route to the rock at Tall-Anna’s. There she would get off, thank the driver for their final trip together, and start the laborious ascent.