RIO by Harry Martinson

That town was situated in the gulf, with its semicircle front towards the ocean, softly curved like a blue password, the united breast of the warren took the wind in miles long sails of marble. The town confronted us like an absorbing white unity, curved around the room of space which our soul gently seized. Later, when the doctor's boat came, and - like shots fired from the marblefront - cutters, police boats, patrol boats arrived and the advertising boat, (full of blinking girls) arrived, at that time this quarrelsome independence came. It cuts up itself every day to achieve the love and the bread - that's when that town by the ocean became a broad mean, a white giant cistern for the bread, the work, the love, the indifference. At that time it swung in the gulf like a white desirable ship which is constantly loaded and unloaded.

When I had been signed off my first modest merchant vessel - a little schooner - I was fifteen years old and lumbered out of Stockholm. My purpose was to tramp the countryside and joyride until I reached Trondheim. And I did - that's obvious. However, it hardly belongs to the story. By the time of the first snowstorm that winter, I had reached Orsa. The snowstorm confined me inside the decent railway waiting room of Orsa. A couple of muffled up rural women sat on all sides and one of them - a gammer - even lit a pipe. At that time, I thought it was very strange. They'd been seeking shelter like me, these honest rural women, and what's more - they had to wait a long time for an abnormally delayed train. The stove of the waiting room wanted to be on strike. That didn't bother the women, but my feet were terribly freezing, perhaps my heart too, for these crummy women looked like mothers - in some special way. Something to cling to. Anyhow, they were safe, a kind of concrete symbols for my imagination. As they suddenly disappeared inside the snowy train, the waiting hall became empty and desolate. And cold!

Their bodies had radiated a warmth which soon was evaporated, my own couldn't preserve it. I had no money, so I couldn't buy a ticket and consequently - I couldn't accompany them a bit of the way. I lost myself in a light melancholy. I was seated so, for a long time. I was seated so, a bit tearful, fifteen years old and blue at Orsa waiting hall. I started to hate everybody, except the women of the world and a few good friends. The door leading to the waiting hall flew open, the snowstorm threw itself diagonally like a waterfall. Afterwards came a snowy man dressed in a fur. He wrestled with the wind and closed the door. He brushed the snow off: it seemed to be a fairly wealthy gentleman. Full of desperation, I rashly went up to him and begged for a coin. He kindly stared hard at me.

"You'll get that", he dashingly said. "But why are you out for a walk, you little man?"

"I'm going to Trondheim."

"TO TRONDHEIM???"

He laughed but controled himself and became harder:

"Been a sailor?"

"Yes".

"What boats and voyages?"

First, I said the truth: the schooner, the cruises to Scotland, Ireland and France. Then the lie came, I lied: a certain mysterious steamer, a cruise to Rio. His eyes shone, I understood. I wanted to die:

"What does it look like in Rio?"

"???"

"Describe Rio!"

I should have stopped here. At this point I should have said: I'm lying, or have neutralized the shame in such a confession with some diplomatic and clever turn. No. I hopelessly walked into the coils of the arabesque of the lie. I started to describe Rio.

I compromised about the ground and the view over the harbour, so that everybody would think it was a reasonably acceptable town. I wanted to cry when I heard myself say:

"It's not hilly and it's not flat country either."

He pityingly smiled and quickly interrupted me. In that way, the ridiculousness and shame was reduced a bit. He picked up a coin, turned it upside-down a little and looked at Oskar II.

"Once you've seen Rio, you never forget it", he tenderly said.

I was ashamed. I thought: now he won't believe the truth either: the schooner Willy, Scotland, Ireland and France. He put the coin in his hand, scraped with his finger around Oskar II and repeated:

"Once you've seen Rio, you never forget it".

While he gave me the coin, he said:

"You may get to Rio, if you keep being a sailor you'll naturally get there sooner or later. But you're still a bit stupid."

He gave me his hand. I shook it almost desperately and walked away. He remained in the waiting hall, but me? I just thought about disappearing and darken in the snowstorm. A signboard fluttered, I percieved the word Café. I went there. I remained seated with a cup of coffee and thought a few thoughts.

A few years have passed since then. Perhaps a new snowstorm is howling on the village street of Orsa. And perhaps a new boy is sitting with a cup of coffee which is getting cold - on his way along some of the thousand windings of the globe. To Rio, to Rio.

Once you've seen Rio, you never forget it.

A HALF SHEET by August Strindberg

The last vanful of furniture had disappeared; the tenant, a young man with mourning crape on the hat, once again walked through the flat to see, if he'd forgotten anything. No, he hadn't forgotten anything, nothing at all; and then he went out, in the hall, determined not to think about what he'd experienced in this flat. But in the hall, close by the phone, a half sheet was nailed on; and it was filled with writings in several types, some with plain ink, others scrawled with lead or red pencil. There it was, this beautiful story, which had been reflected in the short time of two years, everything he wanted to forget was there, a piece of human life on a half sheet.

He took down the sheet; it was a sun-yellow paper, which shines. He put it on the tiled stove and read it. First her name was written: Alice, the most beautiful name he knew at that time - because it was his fiancée's. And the number: 15 11. It looked like the number of a hymn. Afterwards was written: the bank. It was his job, the holy job, which gave the bread, the home and the wife, the foundation of the existence. But it was crossed-out! For the bank no longer existed, but he'd been saved by another bank - after a short time of much anxiety, though. Then it came. The flower shop and the driver. It was the engagement, when his pocket were filled with money.

Subsequently: the furniture dealer, the upholsterer: he settle down. The removal firm: they move in. The box office of the Opera 50 50. They are newly married and go to the Opera on Sundays. Their best moments, when they're quiet, and meet in beauty and harmony in the fairyland on the other side of the curtain. A male name follows, which is crossed-out. It was a friend, who'd reached a certain position in the society, but couldn't carry the happiness and fell, hopelessly, and has to travel far away. That's how fragile it is. At this point, something new seems to have entered the life of the couple. It says, written by a woman, and with a lead: "The lady." What lady? The one with the big coat and the friendly, sympathetic face who arrives so silently, and never walks through the drawing-room, but goes by way of the corridor to the bedroom.

Below her name, "Doctor" is written. For the first time, the name of a relative appears. It says "Mum". It is the mother-in-law, who discreetly has hid herself because she doesn't want to bother the newly-weds, but now she's called for in time of need, and happily arrives, since she's needed. At this point, a big scrawl with blue and red begins. The commission office: the maid has moved, or a new one is to be employed. The pharmacy. Hmmm! It's getting dark! The dairy. Milk is ordered, free from tubercle. The grocer's shop, the butcher, etc. The house is managed by phone; then the housewife is not there. No. For she is ill in bed. He could not read the following, for it's getting dark in front of his eyes, as it has to be for a drowning person at sea, when he's looking through saltwater. But there it said: The funeral parlour. That speaks for itself! One bigger and one smaller, understood: coffin. And it was written in brackets: of ashes. Afterwards, nothing more was written! It ended with ashes; and that's what it does. But he took the sun-yellow paper, kissed it and put it in his breastpocket.

In two minutes, he'd experienced two years of his life. He wasn't stooping, as he went out; on the contrary he carried his head high, like a happy and proud person, for he felt, that he'd still possessed the most beautiful thing. There are many poor ones, who've never done that!

My favourite poem

My favourite poem is "Bright Star" by John Keats. Somehow, it's very vivid and touching - that's what I like about it. There are powerful words: 'unchangeable', 'eternal' and 'death', which makes you startled. I don't quite understand all of it, but that only makes the poem more interesting.

The poem is written in an admiring way, I think Keats is writing about his love for a certain woman, who's strong-willed and beautiful. He's talking about waters, shores, mountains and moors, the first words might be a way to describe the woman's lively personality. Perhaps mountains and moors are metaphors for naturalness.

If I was an exhibitor, I would use "Bright Star" as a text attached to a painting - preferably depicting a romance. Perhaps it would give life to the painting.

The Shell II - PART 5

Sandie felt all aglow. It was as if somebody had laid a hot cotton ball in her stomach. She laughed. Jordan threw a rope towards the sink unit.

Three hours later, police commissioner Bradley searched the house and saw the strange mess. A dead boy and a dead girl, an alarming amount of hash on the kitchen floor - and a smell of vomit. He shook his head.

Late in the night, a quick murmur broke the silence. Three seconds later, the house exploded.

The End

The Shell II - PART 4

An hour later, Sandie had eaten six sandwiches. Jordan gave her a pistol.

"To protect yourself against that....charlatan. In other words, your doctor."

"How many weapons have you got?"

"Quite enough. People come to my house and play pranks. That's why I prefer to keep myself armed."

Uncle Jeffrey was beside himself with fury.

"You're spaced-out! If I see you in this state again....."

Sandie didn't know what to say. She entered the spare bedroom and started to ponder. Jordan would understand. He'd hide her in in his house - she was dead certain.

The following morning, she got up 5.00 Uncle Jeffrey and Eric were asleep. Sandie carried her little trunk which contained clothes, the bags and a photo of cousin Thomas. On the way to Jordan's house, she searched her pockets to make sure that the pistol was there. Yes, it was. Sandie breathed freely as she began to see the red house.

Jordan wasn't surprised to see her.

"I sort of thought you'd return. You're free to stay here. Are you hungry?"

She stuffed herself with slices of bacon and told him about the accident. His eyes turned into saucers as she described the dreadful course of events in uncle Jeffrey's basement.

"They emerged from that bubbling sauce, is that what you mean?"

"Yes. They attacked me...."

"Play it cool. I'll give you some hash and then you'll be calm."

"Thank you."

He gave her the powder and she swallowed it.

Jordan flopped down in his leather-upholstered armchair.

"I'm crazy", he talked to himself. "I'll help her, she can't consume all of it."

My christmas vacation

My christmas vacation was quite long (although I thought the opposite) and not that eventful, since my main priority was to relax. Still, there were several highlights. These are a few of them:

CHRISTMAS EVE: Me and my family spent it at my grandmother's house. I had lots of nice presents: a necessaire, candy, a digital camera, books etc.

NEW YEAR'S EVE: I spent it at home with some friends of my parents & my uncle. We played games and ate a delicious fruit salad. I'd made it (with some help from my mother and sister), the recipe came from an African cookery book - actually one of my Christmas presents. Later in the evening, all of us went out to see the fireworks and to grill marshmallows.

JANUARY 7th: Me and some friends went to Umeå. We did some shopping and ate hamburgers. I bought a book, a cell phone case and chewing-gum.

The Shell II - PART 3

"Hello, Sandie."

Doctor Brown sat on a stool close to the bunk.

"What happened?" she whispered.

"You had withdrawal symptoms and was headed for my office to get the little syringe. But the bike skidded and you fell off. Remember?"

Sandie didn't answer.

"You'll get your syringe.... You'll be light as a feather...."

As the clock stroke six, Sandie directed her steps towards home. She suddenly caught sight of a little object on the curb. Distinct lines stood out, it resembled a shell.... She rubbed her eyes and pinched her arm. It was a nightmare. A real nightmare! Sandie noticed a red house near by. Someone ought to be at home, someone had to be at home.

Her clenched fists fiercely hammered on the brown door. It was opened by a dark-haired boy who peered at her.

"Help", Sandie whispered.

The boy run his eyes over her pale face.

"Are you peddling drugs?" he asked. "Your brother is furious, isn't he? Don't worry. Can I have a look at your plastic bag?"

Sandie nodded.

"Wow, you've got quite a lot. Let's have a talk about it in my humble habitation. By the way, my name is Jordan."

"Sandie. Sandie Knives."

The wall of the hall was decorated with old clippings.

"Memories", Jordan explained. "I'm an animal rights activist."

He pointed at the jam on his T-shirt.

"My bad habit. I'm also terribly stingy."

Sandie smiled up her sleeve. The brightly coloured curtains made her happy. Jordan held one of the syringes between his thumb and forefinger.

"You've just started, haven't you?"

"Yes", Sandie admitted.

"I thought as much! You have 7 bags with lots of LSD, hash and heroin."

"I don't use drugs voluntarily."

"Why?"

"They're my medicines. I've been through an accident."

Jordan gaped at her.

"You have a weird doctor, that's for sure."

The Shell II - PART 2

Jordan sighed. The plastic bag laid in his desk drawer, waiting for his attention. They'd found it on the previous evening, he and the other three enthusiasts. The bag had been buried in a clod of earth - totally untouched. Jordan decided to open it. There were lots of dirt, grass and dead insects. The digging in the bag was a tedious doing. Jordan fell asleep.

He woke up an hour later and felt something trickle down his cheek..... Blood! There was something sharp beneath the dirt, he had a slight wound in the forehead. He digged freneticly and found a fan-shaped shell. Its stench made him turn his nose up. The shell seemed to be a little bit charred. A red liquid made his finger wet. The drop quickly coagulated.

Uncle Jeffrey's face was fiery red.

"My niece? Are you saying that my niece has been treated with LSD -- for the period of a year?!"

Sandie overheard the call.

"Mr Knives", dr Brown kindly said. "I don't think you understand this...."

"You're nuts!" Jeffrey screamed.

Dr Brown sighed.

"I have different methods of working. I'll give you the necessary syringes...."

"Not on your life!!"

Sandie hung up. Dr Brown had injected a drug in her blood....

A few days later, she had her first bout against the abstinence. She had to get to the hospital, dr Brown had to give her the drug. She kept her plan to herself, but still looked back after each bend of the road. If Jeffrey chased her in this heat, he really was a fool. The pain in her head got worse. Downhill and uphill again.... The trees became blurred. She suddenly caught a glimpse of a big white building which resembled the hospital.... The bike tipped over.

The Shell II - PART 1

After the lapse of one year, Sandie is finally discharged from the hospital. To her horror, she discovers that she has been treated with LSD. While the addiction is growing stronger, traces of a certain object suddenly appear. The shell from the nightmares....

Sandie stared into space. Today, she'd escape from this miserable existence - she'd forget about the accident.

"Doctor Brown wants to see you."

She turned around and saw the young nurse who was patiently waiting for her.

Doctor Brown was the most unbearable physician in the entire hospital. But he was also the most handsome - and consequently a favourite with the vain and immature nurses. He was responsible for Sandie's medicines and case books.

"You'll be discharged today. How do you feel?"

His disagreeable smile made her shudder inside.

"Good. My uncle will come here, he's visiting an old friend near by and...."

"I know. He asked me to tell you about....."

"What has happened?"

"Your aunt Mandy and your cousin Thomas have been killed in a car accident."

Visual pictures suddenly started to rush about in her brain, like a quick multislide presentation. Mandy and Thomas?

A dark-haired nurse entered the room. She greedily run her eye over doctor Brown.

"Nurse Norah, please hold Sandie's hand while I take out the necessary things."

"Yes, doctor Brown", the cringing voice said. "By the way.... I'm working late tonight...."

"Give her 3 injections", Brown said, ignoring the sensual tone. "Be quick about it."

Sandie clenched her teeth. She saw doctor Brown and nurse Norah leave the room. The darkness surrounded the little bunk.

Sandie shut her eyes. Croaking sounds filled her head. Strange purple fishes swam above her, beneath her, behind her. She heard loud voices. The nightmares from the past had been put to flight. For the time being.