Sleet. Stig Dagerman

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СКАЧАТЬ those hills. They can hear the people who live in the valleys, and even more. They can hear how people struggle and fight in the cities. They can hear all the way to the sea. They hear boats sailing in the night, and buoy-bells sounding their warnings. And even that’s not all. They can even hear people screaming on the other side of the ocean, when war comes. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

      “War,” answered the boy. “That’s soldiers.”

      Grandmother remained silent. But her words hovered around the boy like a thick smoke. He bent over the table. On top, beside the seashell, was a big, yellow apple.

      “Grandmother,” he asked. “Can you hear apples, too?”

      “You can hear whatever you want,” said Grandmother.

      The apple was cold and bitter. He pressed it to his ear.

      “What do you hear?” asked Grandmother.

      “I hear when the wind blows,” said the boy.

      But it was a bottomless lie. In reality, he heard nothing, and would probably never hear anything again.

      “Do you hear everything?” he asked her.

      She didn’t sense his hatred. Nor did she answer him. Instead, she rose up youthfully, lightly, and took him by the hand. He thought she wanted to go into the bedroom, and he struggled against her. But instead they went outside. They stood together on the porch and looked out on the garden with its frozen dahlias, its apple trees beaming with fruit. There was no breeze, and no one was coming down the road. No birds were crying out and no dog was barking in the village. It was quiet, and the sky above spread itself out, steep and dark blue. Stars bloomed in the clear quietness. And further below, a red wall rose up from the earth – the town’s quiet lights reflecting on the sky.

      The boy listened with all his might. He sent his hearing out all over the world, but each time it came back with nothing to show for the effort. And yet, as they stood on the porch amidst this sparkling quiet, an apple loosened from a nearby tree. It fell to the hard ground with a small, clear thud.

      “Did you hear that?” asked Grandmother as she put her arm around his shoulder, preparing herself for a speech.

      “Yes,” answered the boy. “It must have been a dog.”

      He hadn’t heard a thing. Grandmother’s arm suddenly began to tremble, and at first he didn’t know why.

      “Yes,” the boy went on. “First a dog walks on the road. And then – then come the soldiers.”

      “Soldiers,” he had said triumphantly. Because in that moment he knew why she was shaking. She was afraid. She was afraid because she couldn’t hear what he heard. She didn’t hear the dog. Perhaps she was even more frightened than him. Somehow he sensed his only chance for escape might come from this one advantage, and so he went on with his betrayal.

      Grandmother whispered to him, “And what comes after the soldiers?”

      The boy listened out into the darkness. But still he heard nothing, not even the hot, staggered breath of his own fright.

      “After the soldiers,” he whispered back. “After the soldiers is a heavy wagon.”

      “How do you know it’s heavy?”

      “Because its wheels are squeaking.”

      Grandmother was finding it difficult to breathe. The wind drew reluctantly through the trees, but neither of them heard it.

      “And what comes after the wagon?”

      “After the wagon there’s a man beating a drum.”

      “Why can’t I hear the drum?” panted Grandmother.

      “He’s beating it softly,” answered the boy. “Because it’s dark out.”

      Now a long moment passed. Frightened and cold, the boy thought: “Maybe … maybe she’ll never go back inside. And if she never goes back inside then she’ll never notice the boot is missing.” Grandmother shivered. If there was anyone in the world who wasn’t deaf, then they would have heard Grandmother’s bones rattling in her body like a rickety old cart. But in this world there were only the deaf. And out on the road, the endless procession dragged past in the thickening darkness.

      Grandmother whispered, “And what comes after the drum?”

      “After the drum,” said the boy, “… there are two horses.”

      “Why don’t I hear them?” complained Grandmother.

      “Their hooves are padded,” replied the boy. “Because it’s dark out.”

      He could feel the evil growing within him like a tree of stone.

      “And after the horses?”

      “After the horses there is someone crying.”

      And in that instant a bird cried out from the hedge. The boy heard nothing, but Grandmother heard it. She said, “I hear, I hear. I’m freezing. Let’s go in.”

      And she hurried in to lock the door against the evil. But when she looked for the boy he wasn’t there. He realized now that everything was lost, and so he shouted back as he rushed down into the garden:

      “I just want to get my ball!”

      There was no ball there. There was nothing there. But he quickly threw himself down below a tree, and he began to pray out loud.

      “Dear God, please fix the boot. Dear, dear God, please let me hear again.”

      But God did not hear his prayers. Instead God allowed the quiet to spread itself out over the boy like a giant black wing.

      And yet the creek was there. It flowed steadily on the other side of the road, throwing itself from stone to stone with an anxious whisper. He had to go there and listen. So he shot up and rushed to the gate. But he never made it through the gate, because a man was coming down the road.

      The man came forward in the darkness. And clearly, things were not altogether right with him. First of all, he walked so strangely, staggering from ditch to ditch. And even though he walked forward most of the time, sometimes he would step back, too. And then, of course, he sounded funny. One moment he’d quarrel with someone who wasn’t even there, and then the next second he’d sing a snatch from a tune. Then, once he’d finished singing, he’d begin to quarrel all over again. With a pounding heart the boy followed the man’s peculiar wandering from behind the hedge. He followed him as far as he could, until the man disappeared into the night and could no longer be heard.

      Be heard? Yes, the boy had heard him. But he was only a person, and people can always be heard, because they’re there. The boy needed to hear something that wasn’t there. But he couldn’t. So because of this, and because he was cold, he sneaked back inside.

      As he slipped into the kitchen Grandmother was standing just outside the bedroom door. And the moment he saw her face, he knew. It was sunken in, as if someone had dug into it with a spade. And her eyes clung to him, rigid and huge. He knew now that she had learned everything. Suddenly, СКАЧАТЬ