by Par Lagerkvist
I remember one Sunday afternoon when I was about ten years old, Daddy took my hand and we went for a walk in the woods to hear the birds sing. We waved good-bye to mother, who was staying at home to prepare supper, and so couldn’t go with us. The sun was bright and warm as we walked quickly on our way. We went along the railway line where other people aren’t allowed to go, but Daddy belonged to the railway and had a right to walk along the rails. And in this way we came direct into the woods and did not need to take a round-about way. Then the bird songs and all the rest began at once. The birds were singing everywhere, and we also heard all the noises of the little creatures as we came into the woods.
The ground was thick with anemones, the birches were dressed in their new leaves, and the pines had young, green shoots. There was such a pleasant smell everywhere. Everywhere there was life and noise; bumble-bees flew out of their holes, midges circled where it was damp. The birds shot out of the bushes to catch them and then dived back again. All of a sudden a train came rushing along and we had to go down the embankment. Daddy hailed the driver with two fingers to his Sunday hat: the driver saluted and waved his hand. Everything seemed on the move. There was a smell of everything, including machine oil from the train, and all smells were mixed. We took big steps from rail-tie to rail-tie so that we didn't have to step among the stones, which were rough to walk on, and wore your shoes out. The rails shone in the sunshine. On both sides of the line stood the telephone poles that sang as we went by them. Yes! That was a fine day! The sky was absolutely clear. There wasn’t a single cloud to be seen: there just couldn’t be any on a day like this, according to what Daddy said.
After a while we came to a field of oats on the right side of the line, where a farmer, whom we knew, had a field. The oats had grown thick and even; Daddy looked at it knowingly, and I could feel that he was satisfied. I didn’t understand that sort of thing much, because I was born in town. Then we came to the bridge over the brook that mostly hadn’t much water in it, but now there was plenty. We took hands so that we shouldn’t fall down between the rail-ties. From there it wasn’t far to the railway gatekeeper’s little place, which was quite buried in green.
There were apple trees and gooseberry bushes right close to the house. We went in there, to pay a visit, and they offered us milk. We looked at the pigs, the hens, and the fruit trees, which were in full blossom, and then we went on again. We wanted to go to the river, because there it was prettier than anywhere else. There was something special about the river, because higher up stream it flowed past Daddy’s old home. We never liked going back before we got to it, and, as usual, this time we got there after a fair walk.
It wasn’t far to the next station, but we didn’t go on there. Daddy just looked to see whether the train signals were right. He thought of everything. We stopped by the river, where it flowed broad and friendly in the sunshine, and the thick leafy trees on the banks mirrored themselves in the calm water. It was all so fresh and bright. A breeze came from the little lakes higher up. We climbed down the bank, went a little way along the very edge. Daddy showed me the fishing spots. When he was a boy he used to sit there on the stones and wait for perch all day long. Often he didn’t get a single bite, but it was a delightful way to spend the day. Now he never had time. We played about for some time by the side of the river, and threw in pieces of bark that the water current carried away, and we threw stones to see who could throw farthest. We were, by nature, very merry and cheerful, Daddy and I. After a while we felt a bit tired. We thought we had played enough, so we started off home again.
Then it began to get dark. The woods were changed. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but almost. We hurried. Maybe mother was getting anxious, and waiting with supper for us. She was always afraid that something might happen, though nothing ever had. This had been a splendid day. Everything had been just as it should, and we were satisfied with it all. It was getting darker and darker, and the trees were so strange-looking. They stood and listened for the sound of our footsteps, as though they didn’t know who we were. There was a glow-worm under one of them. It lay down there in the dark and stared at us. I held Daddy’s hand tight, but he didn’t seem to notice the strange light: he just went on. It was quite dark when we came to the bridge over the stream. It was roaring down underneath us as if it wanted to swallow us up, as the ground seemed to open under us. We went along the sleepers carefully, holding hands tightly so that we shouldn’t fall in. I thought Daddy would carry me over, but he didn’t say anything about it. I suppose he wanted me to be like him, and not think anything of it. We went on. Daddy was so calm in the darkness, walking with even steps without speaking. He was thinking his own thoughts. I couldn’t understand how he could be so calm when everything was so ghostly. I looked round scared. There was nothing but darkness everywhere. I hardly dared to breathe deeply, because then the darkness comes into one, and that was dangerous, I thought. One must die soon. I remember quite well thinking so then. The railway embankment was very steep. It finished in black night. The telephone posts stood up ghostlike against the sky. It was all so creepy. Nothing was real, nothing was natural, all seemed a mystery. I went closer to Daddy, and whispered:
"Why is it so creepy when it’s dark?"
"No child, it isn’t creepy," he said, and took my hand.
"Oh, yes, but it is, Daddy."
"No, you mustn’t think that. We know there is a God, don’t we?" I felt so lonely, so alone. It was queer that it was only me that was frightened, and not Daddy. It was queer that we didn’t feel the same about it. And it was queerer still that what he said didn't help, didn’t stop me being frightened. Not even what he said about God helped. The thought of God made one feel creepy too. It was creepy to think that He was everywhere here in the darkness, down there under the trees, and in the telephone posts—probably that was Him everywhere. But all the same one could never see Him.
We went along silently, each of us thinking his own thoughts. My heart felt small and tight as though the darkness had come in and was squeezing it.
Then, when we were in a bend, we suddenly heard a great noise behind us. We were startled out of our thoughts. Daddy pulled me down the embankment and held me tight, and a train rushed by; a black train. The lights were out in all the carriages, as it rushed past us. What could it be? There shouldn’t be any train now. We looked at it, frightened. The furnace roared in the big engine, where they shoveled in coal, and the sparks flew out into the night. It was terrible. The driver stood so pale and immovable, with such a stony look in the glare. Daddy didn’t recognize him—didn’t know who he was. He was just looking ahead as though he was driving straight into darkness, far into darkness, which had no end.
Startled and breathing heavily with fear I looked after the wild thing. It was swallowed up in the night. Daddy helped me up on to the rail line, and we hurried home. He said, "That was strange! What train was that I wonder? And I didn’t know the driver either." Then he didn’t say any more.
I was shaking all over. That experience had been for me—for my sake. I guessed what it meant. It was all the fear which would come to me, all the unknown; all that Daddy didn’t know about, and couldn’t save me from. That was how the world would be for me, and the strange life I should live; not like Daddy’s, where everyone was known and sure. It wasn’t a real world, or a real life;—it just rushed burning into the darkness which had no end.