It is a fine summer day in Stockholm. The afternoon sun, mirrored in the waters of Lake Mälaren, blinds the passers-by and brings perspiration to the foreheads of the panting cyclists. No one seems to be in a hurry as they cross the bridge. The only sound is the gentle pinging of the gliding trams. No cars are to be seen.
I stand leaning over the bridge. A thin teenager with a stubble of hair and a hungry look, I am wearing a green silk dress I have made from an old curtain, in early forties style. It is cut well above my knees. I feel very smart in it and hope no one notices my feet. I am a little ashamed of my black laced shoes and short white socks. Patent leather shoes and silk stockings would have been smarter.
I look at the view, dazzled by its beauty. A sudden unease makes me turn around. No, no armed SS guard stands behind me. The pavement is empty. Behind the bridge is only a shining mirror where the sunbeams chase each other.
Where am I? How did I come here? Just now I don’t know. I am filled only with the recurrent, joyous thought: I am alone, I am free, free to go where I please, free to do what I please, free to enjoy the day as much and as long as I please. I look around thirstily, I want to drink the greenness, the sun, to swallow everything at once. I want to gulp down everything quickly, quickly, as I have been gulping bread these last weeks, quickly, before anyone can take it from me.
My eyes meet the old town on the other side of the bridge. An improbable fairy city rises from the water. Enchanted houses line the shore, winking at me with their window eyes. Those behind lean forward and beckon, leading me to the fairy palace of my childhood. The palace itself glows ruby red, its gilded cupola glittering in competition with the water. A seagull circles the tower, and the three crowns set their seal beneath the invisible writing on the blue sky. I dwell on the picture, unwilling to be parted from this fairy tale.
The sound of the tram swinging around a curve makes me turn slowly. Inquisitive eyes meet me from the tram’s windows. Men and women, contented, well fed, seemingly happy. On their way somewhere, to someone waiting for them: father, mother, friends. A small cloud shadows the sun for a second. No one is waiting for Livi and me. But the thought passes before it can take root. Just now there is only this wonder, this strange feeling so new that I scarcely recognize it. Joy? Happiness? Is this how they feel?
Laughing girls come toward me. Their skirts reach far below their knees. A tandem drives past, a father in checked shirt and red tasseled cap, a mother in shorts, a child on the handlebars, another in the basket. How funny they look.
Translated by Lena Karlström and Peter Stenberg.