To Mervas by Elisabeth Rynell Read Free Book Online Page A

if he were dead. That something inside me would change. This change would be noticeable but very slight, like when a petal falls from a flower and floats to the ground. There’d be a difference.
    But that first thought has still continued to tug at me, no matter how hard I’ve tried to push it out of my mind.
    You wouldn’t notice his death, it tells me. His death would alter less inside you than a flower petal. Reality is prosaic, it has no connection to the hereafter, the thought insists triumphantly.
    I realized it was one of those thoughts that are out to get you, that want to crush you, want to shrivel the world. But now I know. He exists. He called me from somewhere. Through my life, through the ruins among which I’ve been moving, he called me. And that thought tugs at me harder than any other. It’s a thought that could turn the world on its head.

December 25
    My dad had one passion. He wanted to populate the world with his offspring. At the very least, he wanted as many children as it’s possible to conceive in a monogamous marriage. The way he saw it, it was Mom’s duty to assist him in this mission. She was meant to give birth to all of his children. That was the sole reason for her existence.
    After Mom’s third pregnancy, from which came twins, the doctors warned her that another pregnancy would put her health at serious risk and suggested sterilization. When Dad heard this, he became so enraged that he pressed a knife against her throat and said he would kill both her and us kids if she went through with the procedure. She was soon pregnant again.
    Dad wanted to prove something with his big and healthy brood. It wasn’t simply to show that he was a virile and capable man. No, the main thing his offspring were supposed to prove by their quality and intelligence was something the world had so far neglected to acknowledge: that Dad was a genius.
    But Mom’s fourth pregnancy became very complicated. She had to stay in the hospital for a month after the delivery. When she finally came home, Dad would spew his venom upon her at every turn.
    â€œA woman who can’t bear strong and healthy children is utterly useless,” he declared at the kitchen table. “In the old days, women could give birth to twelve, fifteen children without suffering any damage. But the modern world has ruined motherhood. The sloppy lifestyle, the doctors’ coddling, the entire medical profession is false. Listen to me, modern women are spoiled. But I’ll tell you this, she can do it if she wants to!”
    The color rose on his cheeks in a frightening way as he spoke, or rather, lectured. My dad didn’t speak, he lectured.
    â€œWomen who give birth,” he proclaimed, and gestured theatrically. “Women who give birth! There are no words, I repeat, no words as grand and beautiful as these!”
    At first, he lowered his voice when he continued speaking.
    â€œBut modern women don’t want to give birth. They think it hurts too much. Ouch, ouch, it hurts! They can no longer stand pain. Can’t stand the pain that has sanctified women for thousands of years. Do you understand? Do you understand what I’m saying, children? Do you understand how important this is for me, for you, for the future? I want you to understand what I mean when I tell you that your mother is useless. She’s a useless woman because out of some kind of stubbornness, she refuses to bring children into this world. This makes her subhuman; genetically, she’s garbage! And this is my wife. Your mother.”
    I don’t understand how Mother could stay quiet. How she could remain where she was sitting. But she did. When our eyes would meet, I would immediately avert mine. I was so terribly ashamed in front of her; I felt dirty and guilty and deceitful. And her gaze was somehow inquisitive. Do you believe what this man is saying? it seemed to ask.
    Dad especially liked to lecture at the