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.