The Best Intentions by Ingmar Bergman Read Free Book Online Page A

young, handsome face; thin, wispy hair, brushed back off a high forehead; large blue eyes; a small self-conscious smile — pride, vulnerability, integrity, and suffering; the features of an actor.
    In one corner by the window, somewhat cramped, is the altar with its altar runner and silver candlesticks, Thorvaldsen’s Jesus, and an open prayer book. In front of the altar, a prie-dieu embroidered in green and gold. The altar frontal is purple with a cross in dull red. A dazzling bunch of freshly picked cowslips stands at Jesus’ feet.
    Henrik sinks down on one of the odd chairs, hides his face in his hands, and breathes deeply, as if suffering from an attack of asphyxiation.
    He finds it hard to swallow, although he ought to be hungry, for he has eaten nothing but a few sandwiches he had taken with him for the long journey. His mother sits opposite him at the table, the paraffin lamp lit, dusk fallen outside the square windows.
    Alma: Everything’s got so terribly expensive recently. Of course, you don’t have to think about things like that, but I hardly know how I’m going to manage. Just think, paraffin’s gone up by three öre, and five pounds of potatoes cost thirty-two öre. I can hardly afford beef nowadays but have to get ordinary pork, or perhaps another kind of meat for soup. And coal — you’ve no idea what a winter we’ve had — coal and wood have doubled in price. It meant wrapping up indoors, though I have to put the heat on for my piano pupils, and that costs an awful lot. What’s the matter, Henrik? You look so miserable. Has something awful happened? You know you can tell your old mother anything.
    Henrik: I failed my church history exam.
    He makes a helpless gesture and stares at his mother’s ear. She carefully puts down her teacup and places her fat little hand on the table, the heavy wedding ring glistening dully.
    Alma: When did this happen?
    Henrik: A few weeks ago.
    Alma: And what will the consequences be?
    Henrik: I’ll retake it at the end of November. Professor Sundelius won’t let me try any earlier.
    Alma: So your finals will be delayed.
    Henrik: By six months.
    Alma: How are we going to manage, Henrik? The loan is almost all gone, and everything’s grown so expensive. Your fees and books and your keep. I can’t think what we can do. I’ve never been able to handle money.
    Henrik: Neither have I.
    Alma: And we promised to pay back the loan as soon as you were ordained.
    Henrik: I know, Mama.
    Alma: I try to get more pupils, but piano lessons are the first thing people give up when things get so expensive. One can understand that.
    Henrik: Yes, one can understand that.
    Alma: I could start cleaning again, but my asthma’s got so bad, and my heart’s acting up, too.
    Henrik: Mama, dear, you’re not to start cleaning.
    Alma gets up with a sigh, filled with tenderness. She embraces her son and showers him with kisses, prattling away at the same time: “My little boy, my darling, my heart! You’re all I have. I live for you and you alone. We’ll help each other. We’ll never abandon each other, isn’t that right, my darling boy, isn’t that right?”
    Gently but firmly, Henrik frees himself and puts his mother onto a chair. Holding her arms, he looks into her bright, tear-filled eyes.
    Henrik: I can give up my studies, Mama. I’ll give them up and look for work and move back here again. Then first of all we’ll pay back the loan to the aunts in Elfvik. Then perhaps I could start studying again, when I’ve saved enough to manage on my own and not be a burden to anyone.
    Alma laughs, a large hearty laugh of white teeth, and strokes her son’s face with her soft, fat hand.
    Alma: My poor dear boy, you really are even sillier than me. Surely you don’t think we should stop now, just when we’re nearly there? Surely you don’t think I’m going to let you be some