Lögberg-Heimskringla - 01.06.1967, Blaðsíða 7

Lögberg-Heimskringla - 01.06.1967, Blaðsíða 7
LÖGBERG-HEIMSKRINGLA, FIMMTUDAGINN 1. JÚNÍ 1967 7 POETS - TRANSLATORS tues in the working class to- day.” “You see only your side of the coin. What do you know of the working man’s life? Just work, weariness and sleep. That’s their existence — one endless struggle to keep the breath in the body. While we are comfortable and secure, other people’s ordeals don’t touch us. We pity them casually from a distance if hunger and hardships happen to kill them, and this makes us charitable people, but if their misery causes us incon- venience, they’ll find pity in short supply.” “My what a dreary picture! These people get enough to live well, but now they’re after power too. They are dic- tating to us and we are to obey their orders. They don’t seem to realize that industry and production are the re- sponsibility of their employ- ers. We are the ones who must balance profit and loss and see that we come out even, at least. Business is based on reality, not dreams and im- possible ideals.” “Everything begins with dreams, though,” she argued, “and sometimes they become reality. For how many cen- turies have men preached the one message that far exceeds all other teachings of equa- lity: ‘Do onto others as you would have others do onto you.’ It’s just that in practice we tend to reverse the mes- sage to ‘Do onto others that which you would not have them do onto you.’ There is just the one salvation. While there is oppression of the weak there will be dedicated humanitarians to fight their battles — always at the cost of war, some sort of war. This strike is war, Elvar.” “Please, dear,” Elvar said coldly, “don’t speak of dedi- cated humanitarians. If you suppose these blowhards, the labor leaders, are inspired by love you’re mistaken. They’re cheap rabble rousers who have seen an opportunity to ad- vance their own interests by building themselves up as apostles of freedom, stirring up the masses to gain their following and political power. Those who blow their trum- pets the loudest, what have they done for the people?” “Much,” she said firmly, “where was labor before the unions. The working man was helplessly subject to the whims of his employer — his harshness or decency.” “And this is our reward for the decency — demands and threats. They know what the conditions are in this country right now. One tends to lose faith in the much touted honesty, pride and nobility of the masses.” “Elvar, if this goes on there will be rebellion. Is there no way to mediate?” “They won’t dare. If there is violence the army will be called out.” The army! Bergljot shud- dered. The brothers and sons of the strikers shooting them down. Unthinkable! “The soldiers will not turn on their own people,” she said. “They will unite too and you’ll have a mass of people, moving toward a destination with the power of flood waters in a spring thaw, a stream with strength to sweep away every- thing in its wake. A spring thaw follows even the longest winter, and this applies to the apathetic endurance of peo- ple. The most frightening re- volutions in history prove it.” “And the army is our only defence. It will be called out in dire emergency. There is no other way.” „How humane!” Bergljot ex- claimed icily after a stunned silence. This is how far we are removed from the cannibals — a different system, of course, but just as effective. This is Christian culture; this is progress; this is moral principle!” Both were hurt and angry when Elvar stopped the car at Bergljot’s house and she could not bring herself to reach for his hand as she stepped out. He sat stiffly erect with both hands so tense on the wheel that the knuckles turn- ed white. “Good night,” Bergljot said. “Thank you for the evening Elvar. If the army is called out you can look for me in the front ranks of the other force.” His face flushed crimson, but he looked unflinchingly into her eyes. “As a child my mother taught me a motto that is said to have been cher- ished by our forebears: ‘With laws a land is built, with lawlessness destroyed’.” With that he lifted his hat and was off into the night. In her room, Bergljot toss- ed off her coat and hat, walked to the window and stared unseeingly into the darkness. What an end to an evening together! She and Elvar had often disagreed, but never before had they quarrelled. She was angry with herself and with him. Why could they not have talked without so much pas- sion, even though both were emotionally involved in the issue? But Elvar was unrea- sonable, one-sided and blind in all things that concerned this struggle. What did he know of lawlessness. He, who had never been caught in the confining shoe of the law could not feel its pinch on the feet of others. Easy for Elvar to be at peace with authority. It was on his side. Guttormur J. Guttormsson. Elvar confused his fear of change with respect for the law. As a working man Elvar would not be one to tolerate oppression. What he called lawlessness could well become law in the near future. Elvar rec'eived progress with en- thusiasm when it meant new inventions, advanced efficien- cy in his factory or improved machinery. Only the thinking of his workers must not change. There the status quo must be maintained. Gener- ous, sensitive Elvar, who could not bear the sight of suffering when confronted with it — why could he not understand? Her eyes filled with tears as she walked to a chest and picked up a picture of him. Nothing could change her love for him. But could their dif- ferences wreck a marriage? Many a marriage, she knew, had been corroded with just this kind of acid, but surely not theirs. She and Elvar could risk strong disagree- ment once in a while. Tomor- row they would be at peace with one another. Round ringing of the door- bell broke in on her thoughts and she heard excited voices downstairs. Seconds later there was a knock on her door and when she opened it to her landlady, she instantly sensed disaster. The woman stopped for a while inside the door before she could speak and then, as from a distance, Berg- ljot heard her say that Elvar had been in a car accident. He was on his way home and driving too fast, she said. As he passed a group of boys playing in an empty lot, their ball flew into the street and a small lad dashed after it, land- ing almost under the wheels of the car. To avoid hitting the boy, Elvar swung the speeding car around. It turned a somersault, and now Elvar lay dying in the hospital. “Dying in the hospital!” The words echoed and re- echoed in Bergljot’s mind. She must see him at once, see him alive and beg him to forgive — him who chose to give up Jakobina Johnson. his life rather than harm a child. What had she said to him? “Oh, God, let him live! Let him live, God! Oh, God, let him live!” She stood at his beside, quiet and silent, holding his hand and trying to smile a last goodbye into his unseeing eyes. But the large, once ex- pressive eyes just stared into space. She bent over Elvar and saw infinite peace — the dignity and distance with which Death marks his own. Such a short moment ago he had been alive to everything around them — vibrantly alive and aware. And now? Oh, God, where was he now? The same eternal question met with the same eternal silence. Clutched with cold despair, she stood alone in agonizing rebellion against the tyranny of death. She seemed torn apart into a bleeding, quiver- ing mass of pain until, over- powered, she could feel no more. Deserted in empty space, she was dead with only enough life left to feel the futility of it. That first night passed in hopelessness, self-accusation and weeping, as so many other nights have passed for so many other people for thou- sands of years. But life went on. She work- ed of necessity and gradually found courage to strive for happiness. But this is some- times to court the return of pain. Grief and doubt haunted her like dark shadows, as she gazed at the gold-edged clouds of evening. Was he there in the bright realms of the west as the ancient Egypt- ians believed? Where was he? Slowly her vision cleared and she began to see life- with new understanding. No one class of people had a mono- poly on grief and pain; none shouldered all the burdens of the race alone. She observed all kinds of misery and all de- grees of want borne with courage and fortitude, and often she found heroes where she least expected. Caroline Gunnarsson. Compassion grew within her; patience and courage she had bought, too, with the cost- liest lessons in the school of life. Even with her little world crumpled in the dust, she discovered the universe again, still bright, happy and beautiful. The sun had lost none of its light while she shut her eyes to it, the flow- ers none of their color; the birds still sang and children played with verve and excite- ment. And she went on, for noth- ing keeps back the human spirit. Slowly but surely the soul of man must break the fetters of dull indifference. Petty things lost their im- portance and out of the dark- ness of sorrow and doubt, Bergljot became a whole wo- man, rich in love and sym- pathy for her fellow beings, she had come a long way that night she came back to the Walker Theatre to hear Wagner’s Lohengrin. The music soared up to her now where she sat under the eaves. Soft, sweet and beauti- ful it came to her and was re- ceived with deepened under- standing, for it spoke to her emotions and reason at once and she sensed more clearly than ever before how close she had come to destruction through self-pity and grief. Elvar belonged to eternity — an eternity of peace and love, and though she still stood in the wake of the storm, all storms ended event- ually. Higher still rose the music, reaching her as no spoken words ever had reached her. It was is if a veil of dust had been swept from her eyes and the shackles around her in- ner being torn away. She didn’t sit there alone. By her side was Elvar, young, happy and full of life, his eyes aglow with joy and love. And thus he would walk be- side her through forever- more. 1920.

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