Somewhere Over the Sea by Halfdan Freihow

and talked about the possible causes, and the living-room window that looked as if it might explode at any moment under the pressure, and what a shame it was about the house, newly redecorated and all, and what a gorgeous day it looked to become. Even the firemen and the policemen strolled over for a chat during their breaks, and all things considered it was a fine morning hour — all the more so since the owners of the house were off in the mountains, so no one felt under any ­obligation to temper their good mood with tactful, head-­shaking empathy.
    By late morning everyone had had enough, the firemen, the spectators, and the local paper. It was over. A soot-stained and boarded-up shell surrounded the burned-out core of the house — it was said that the flames had eaten a full inch into the timbered walls. Only the insurance company could seek to profit from what was left. We went home, packed food and drink, and took off to seA.
    YOU SPOKE LITTLE TO US that day, wandered around a great deal on your own. Mom and I bathed in the sun, happy and carefree. Perhaps it was because the day had already been so eventful, perhaps because we have taught ourselves to grab whatever free time offers itself, perhaps simply because we were thoughtless — but we didn’t speak much to you either.
    What did you think? All the fuss, the fire engines, this whole unusual day must have made an impression on you. But what? How?
    You have, in your own particular way, a strong ability to feel with others. Not conventionally, in the expected manner, but strongly all the same. Sometimes your empathy can seem heedless because it is tactless. And you do not forget, you feel for a long time. About a year and a half after one of the special needs teachers at school had lost her husband you went up to her one day and said:
    â€” Hey, Karin?
    â€” Yes, Gabriel?
    â€” It’s been such as long time now since your husband died that I think it’s time for us to find you a new one.
    You meant well; Karin who knows you understood that. But you don’t understand, have no possibility of understanding that when one means well one can also do damage, as when you pick an itching scab off a wound that should be allowed to heal undisturbed. For people who don’t know you it isn’t easy to deal with a little boy who approaches in the street and asks, with genuine concern in his eyes:
    â€” You’re so fat, why don’t you eat less?
    You feel sorry for others and would like to help and comfort them — this is something you often express. You mean what you say and I don’t doubt that. But I am not sure why you mean it. Is it because you’ve learned that what one should do to be kind and nice is to help and show consideration, to be generous and comforting? Or does it come from an unselfish impulse in you, an altruistic need to offer support? I don’t know, and I probably never will know, and perhaps the questions are academic, irrelevant to the practicalities of our everyday life.
    One day when we had been discussing your problems you fell silent for a moment before saying:
    â€” Well at least I know what your problem is!
    â€” Oh yes? And what’s that?
    â€” You can’t eat apples and pears and nuts and stuff. That’s your problem.
    It was, as far as it went, true. I do have an allergy, but it was a pretty unusual comparison to draw.
    Half an hour later at the dinner table you returned to the subject:
    â€” Hey, Dad, if I save until my piggy bank is full, d’you think I’ll be able to afford to buy some pills for you so that you can eat apples and pears and nuts and stuff? If there are such pills, that is?
    You’d forgotten the original purpose of your savings — to buy the biggest diamond in the worLD.
    BUT DO YOU KNOW WHAT regret is? Oh yes, when things disappear and you lose them, or when you break them and lose them in that way, you