Autumn Sonata Page #6

and experiences.

But inside all of this,

I haven't even been born.

I don't remember any faces,

not even my own.

Sometimes I try to remember

Mother's face,

but I can't see her.

I can remember that she was big

and dark, with blue eyes,

a large nose and a full mouth.

But I can't seem to get

the different pieces to agree.

I can't see her.

In the same way, I can't see your

face, or Helena's or Leonardo's.

I remember having given birth

to you and your sister,

but all I remember of the deliveries

themselves is that they were painful.

But the pain, what did it taste like?

I don't remember.

Leonardo once said...

No, I can't remember...

Yes. "Having a sense of reality

is a matter of talent," he said.

"Most people lack this talent,

"and maybe just as well."

- Do you understand what he meant?

- Yes, I do.

- But it's really too peculiar.

- Peculiar?

- I've always been afraid of you.

- I don't see why.

I think I wanted you

to take care of me,

take me in your arms and comfort me.

I was a child.

- Does that matter?

- No.

I could see that you loved me.

And I wanted to love you,

but I couldn't. I was afraid of

your demands.

- I had no demands.

- But I thought you did.

I didn't want to be your mother.

I wanted you to know

that I was as helpless as you.

Is it true?

- What are you thinking about?

- About Leonardo and Helena.

I don't understand.

They hardly knew one another.

- We spent Easter together once.

- You left after three days.

I was playing Bartk with Ansermet

in Geneva.

I wanted to go through the concerto

with the old man in peace

It's possible I left a bit early,

the weather was awful.

Leonardo was in low spirits,

and so were you.

Why remind me

of that horrible Easter?

I'll tell you why.

Leonardo and you arrived on the

Thursday and we had a nice evening.

We drank wine, we sang and laughed,

and played some old game.

Helena wasn't so ill at that point.

She was jolly and happy

the whole evening.

Leonardo enjoyed her happiness.

He was joking and talking to her.

Helena immediately fell in love.

The two of them sat up

late into the night.

The following morning,

Helena told me

that Leonardo had kissed her.

That night we had guests.

Leonardo got drunk and played

all of Bach's Cello Suites.

He didn't seem like himself.

He was heavy and mild,

somehow enlarged.

He played badly but beautifully.

Helena sat shining in the twilight.

I had never seen anything like it.

You and I went for a walk. You talked

incessantly, but I wasn't listening.

All I could think of

was those two people.

When we returned they sat as before,

one in each end of the room.

You went upstairs to sleep.

I had to help Leo up the stairs.

He stopped outside

the door of your bedroom,

turned to face me, and said,

"Would you believe it?

"There's a butterfly

that's bouncing against the window."

When I went downstairs,

Helena sat erect on her chair.

Completely calm, completely relaxed.

There wasn't even the faintest trace

of her illness.

I won't forget her face, Mother.

I won't forget her face.

The following morning,

you left for Geneva.

Four days earlier

than we had agreed on.

On leaving, you said in passing,

"I've asked Leonardo to stay on a bit,

as I can see it's doing Helena good."

And then you smiled.

Leonardo suddenly became

restless and unhappy.

On Easter Day, he took a long walk

in the rain.

When he came back, he went up to

Helena and said he had to go,

but that they'd meet again.

Then he called you in Geneva

and spoke to you for half an hour.

He left on the last evening flight.

That night I was woken

by Helena screaming.

She complained of pain

in her hip and right leg.

She didn't think she could endure it

through the night.

At five o'clock I had to call for

an ambulance.

- So it's my fault that Lena fell ill?

- Yes, I believe so.

You don't mean that Lena's illness...?

Yes.

Not really...

You abandoned Helena

when she was one.

You continually abandoned

her and me.

When Helena became seriously ill,

you sent her to a home.

- It can't be true...

- What can't be true?

If you've got proof to the contrary,

please tell me.

Look at me, Mother.

Look at Helena.

There are no excuses.

There is only one truth,

and one lie.

- There is no forgiveness.

- You can't put all the blame on me.

You always wanted there to be

special exceptions for you.

You've established a kind of

discount system in life.

But at some point you must see

that your agreement is one-sided.

You must realise that you

carry a guilt - like everyone else.

What guilt?

Dearest Eva,

could you forgive me

for everything I've done wrong?

I will try to change.

You will teach me, we will talk.

But help me - I can't stand it

any longer.

Your hatred is so dreadful.

I haven't understood. I've been selfish

and childish.

Please hold me.

At least touch me.

Help me!

Mummy!

Come here!

Help me.

Poor little Mother,

rushing off like that.

She looked so scared,

and suddenly so old and tired.

Her face looked so small,

and her nose was red from crying.

I'll never see her again.

It'll soon be dark, and it's getting cold.

I have to go home and cook dinner

for Viktor and Helena.

I can't die now.

I'm scared of committing suicide.

One day God may want to use me,

and release me from my prison.

I feel so left out of everything.

I'm always homesick.

But when I do come home,

I realise it must be something else

that I want.

Erik!

Are you touching my cheek?

Are you whispering in my ear?

Are you with me now?

We'll never abandon each other.

The light is on in Helena's room.

Viktor is talking to her.

That's good - he's kind.

He's telling her Mother is gone.

Your mother sent her love.

She was upset and anxious,

and she'd been crying.

Eva has gone for a walk.

She was so excited about

seeing your mother.

She set her hopes too high.

I didn't have the heart to warn her.

I don't understand.

What do you want?

Try to speak slowly,

dearest Helena - I can't understand.

Eva, come here!

Sometimes I watch my wife,

without her being aware of

my presence.

She's tormented.

Ever since Charlotte rushed off

she's been so horribly tormented.

She hasn't been able to sleep.

She says she drove her mother away,

and she can never forgive herself.

- Are you going out?

- Yes, I'm going to the post office.

- Do you think you could post this?

- With pleasure.

- It's for Charlotte?

- You can read it if you want.

I'm going up to Helena.

"Dear Mother, I realise now

that I treated you badly.

"I came to you with demands

instead of with affection.

"I tormented you with a rancid hatred

that isn't there any more.

"I did wrong, and I ask you

to forgive me.

"I don't know whether this letter

will reach you.

"I don't even know if you'll read it.

"Perhaps it's too late already.

"But I hope that my discovery

won't be in vain.

"There is a kind of grace.

"I mean the opportunity we have

to take care of each other,

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