Even long before Stellan Petréus become familiar with the notion of self, even
before the time when he spoke of himself in the third person, he had a clear
and abiding understanding of his own importance.

Every day, when he came home from his promenade with old Kerstin and the
hallway door was opened, he stood by the threshold and shouted in a shrill
voice that could be heard throughout the house:


-- Here he comes!


Outside fell the late February snow in great flakes [that melted].

In the barracks courtyard, athwart the road, stood spruces, their branches
heavy with snow. Now and again a clump of snow fell to the ground with a dull,
soft thump: the branch would then right itself again and dotter for a few
moments, as if it had shaken off the falling snow.

From the other side of the barracks courtyard the spruce trees heard the
measured tramp of marching feet, high shouts of command, a brief blast on a
trumpet and the neighing of a horse, who was led alone out of one the long
stalls, each a dingy off-white, that stood nearby.

That day, [young] Stellan was not allowed to go outside. He stood on a chair
by the window and spoke at length to the snowflakes falling outside. It was
often that he needed to stay instead on account of the weather. [Someone] had
suddenly become very anxious over him. Why he could not understand.

Incidentally, there was very much Stellan found mysterious at that time.

For example his mother.

Old Kerstin said that she was quite sick. All went about seriously and spoke
with low voices. Ida out in the kitchen ceased to sing as well.

He couldn't entirely understand everything. His mother certainly lay in bed.
But she had been there so long, ever since she came home from the hospital.
And he imagined that she had lain in the hospital as long as he could
remember.

But he couldn't understand that she was _really_ sick. She didn't cry. She
didn't lament either. She spoke. And sometimes she laughed.

It must be something extraordinary in any case. Her legs [voro] _so_ thick.
There was no one with thicker legs than her. Between Kerstin or [ens] Ida in
the kitchen. He had himself looked after the matter. And they become thicker
every day. Every morning, as he came in to see his mother, his first question
was: -- Have you gotten thicker, mamma?

Old Kerstin said that there was water in them. None among the others had water
in their legs. [Det var ej utan att han var stolt över dem. poss. "It was not
as though he wasn't proud of them."] He understood that, because of them, his
mother was distinct from everyone else. But at the same time he was afraid of
them. At one time, when he saw them, he took a step back from the bed, and at
another time, when he had _touched_ them, he had drawn away his hand in shock,
as if they had been able to harm him.

And so came his paternal uncle, a doctor, every day. One week ago he stayed
quite long. At that time, Stellan had not been allowed to stick his nose in
the sickroom. Old Kerstin said that the doctor should [drop] his mother.
Stellan was, from the beginning, opposed to the idea.

-- Yes, but will she be able to get up afterwards? he asked.

-- Yes, Kerstin answered.

Stellan calmed down a bit. He stood by the door and listened to hear when his
mother fell onto the floor. But he heard no thud.

When at last he was let in, she lay exactly as before in bed. He dared say
nothing. He was ordered to keep himself _very_ quiet. He stood a pace apart
from the sickbed and stared at his mother with a finger [in,over] his mouth.
At last he tugged at Kerstin's skirt, a long since understood gesture that she
should bend down so that he could whisper in her ears:

-- Won't she get up?

-- Yes, yes, she will soon.

But she didn't get up.

From that day onward, Stellan lost all trust in his uncle, the doctor. He was
also upset over how people were made to get up simply by shoving them out of
their beds onto the floor. Were Old Kerstin to do such a thing with him in the
morning -- -- --?

A young woman had also come into the house. She wore a white hat. He was
supposed to call her 'sister'. He didn't like her. He wanted to have no
sister. He wanted to be alone with pappa and mamma. He was envious of her. She
was always allowed sit inside with his mother. And she always wanted to drive
him out into the children's room. But he had planned to take revenge on her:
one day, when he became a right big man, he would take his father's sabre and
cut her head away. Yet thus far he took great pleasure in biting her in the
hand when she led him out of the sickroom.

Everything about his mother's alleged sickness, however, also had its own
great advantages. He couldn't help but notice how he grew in strength.
Everyone but sister did what he wanted. He only needed to shriek so loud that
his mother heard it. And so he got his way.

Every day his aunts came to visit as well. They had chocolate and confections
with them for him. They took him [i sitt knä], fawned over and kissed him and
said: -- Your mamma will soon be back to health again.

Both when they came and went, he bowed very low for them, so low that they
said to his mother: -- Think of what a kind and courteous cavalier he already
is.

Afterwards, Stellan went out into the kitchen and said:

-- I am a kind and courteous cavalier.

-- Hin tro't, sade Ida.

Men då blev gamla Kerstin ond:

-- Inte får hon säga sånt, när barnet hör det.

But Ida answered:

-- [Åja], be patient. The world will most likely tame him.

-- It will _not_, he answered and gave her withering look. He could not put up
with Ida. One time he had stolen preserves from her and she found out. She had
found him on a stool in the pantry with his whole face [nedsmort, likely
schmutzed up].