94. Easy and Comfortable Woman
Erna, drunk, laughed more than usual.
It wasn't a bad drinking habit. The slow chatter and slightly dazed eyes were also part of the story.
“Bjorn, did you know that today is our first anniversary?”
Erna, who was telling a story about her childhood playing here, suddenly asked an unexpected question.
"It was the day we met at the Foundation Day Ball. It was one year ago today."
“You have a good memory, you drunkard.”
“No, I’m not drunk.”
Erna's face flushed with intoxication as she slurred. Bjorn, laughing heartily, refilled the shameless drunkard's empty glass.
One year.
Bjorn gazed at the forest landscape with silent eyes. The sunlight, with its fine golden dust, and the scent of fresh flowers and grass. Filled with the songs of nameless birds, the world seemed so peaceful and beautiful that it felt almost unreal.
A woman raised in such a place was suddenly thrust into the high society marriage market. As he thought about it, he finally understood the intense moment of their first meeting on the night of the ball a year ago. The Hardys' property, trembling and barely able to breathe. The thought of her as a skilled seductress suddenly seemed amusing. It was ultimately a harmless misunderstanding, since he won the bet thanks to her.
“Thank you, Bjorn.”
Erna, who had been watching him quietly, whispered.
“You saved me that day.”
“Was that so?”
It didn't seem like something worthy of such grandiose expressions, but Erna nodded without hesitation. Her eyes, unusually clear, perhaps due to her intoxication, were filled with unwavering trust.
"You saved me at the Marquis of Harbor's party, and on the day of the rowing competition. You even paid for the trophy."
That's because you were a much more expensive trophy.
Instead of saying the words he couldn't, Bjorn smiled faintly. Suddenly, his throat felt parched. It was a thirst that had been coming to him often lately, accompanied by a strange sense of impatience.
"I'm truly grateful that you married me. Thanks to you, I was free from my father. I was able to protect the Baden family mansion. Now that I think about it, I've really owed you a lot, and I've been paying you back."
“Erna.”
Although he called out her name impulsively, Bjorn couldn't continue speaking.
She was an easygoing and comfortable woman.
He was glad he didn't have to think about complicated calculations, and that's why he gave up his wife's place. So, Erna simply had to remain in that role. Quietly. Harmlessly and beautifully. A being who brought peace and joy to this life. That fact remained unchanged, and Erna was clearly fulfilling her purpose.
So what has changed then?
Questions, unanswerable, clawed at his consciousness. It was then that the sound of thin glass touching glass resonated, clear and sharp. Bjorn lowered his gaze and saw Erna, already within striking distance.
Erna smiled shyly as her eyes met Bjorn's. She raised her glass to his. Cheers. She whispered softly.
Bjorn, watching his wife make a bold leap into the world of alcoholics, forgot all his worries and smiled. Meanwhile, Erna downed another glass of wine.
“You’re very drunk, Erna.”
Erna offered him another glass as if it were a given, but Bjorn firmly refused. If he drank a little more, he would fall into a slumber, and that was something he didn't like.
Bjorn snatched the glass from his wife, who was wearing a displeased expression. Erna then began to struggle to pick up the bottle.
“You can’t do this anymore, you drunkard.”
Bjorn leaned against a pile of cushions, holding Erna, who was persistently playing, in his arms. The shadows cast by the sunlight filtering through the leaves played across their faces as they stared at each other.
The sound of a cuckoo's cry could be heard from far away.
Erna sighed in resignation and sagged. Bjorn's chest against her back felt firm and warm. The hand wrapping around her waist was equally as warm.
The temperature, which had always felt a bit chilly, felt warm today, like spring. If this was what it felt like to be drunk, she could understand the feelings of those who were drowning in alcohol.
"I think I understand why you drink, Bjorn. It feels so good."
Erna turned her face to face Bjorn. Bjorn's lips, smiling, were as red as the wine he had just taken a sip of.
“It’s thanks to you, so you’re happy too.”
“Oh. Is that so?”
"Yes. Sometimes I hate it, but I still love it so much. If I could, I'd put it in a cookie jar."
Even in the midst of her absurd drunken tirade, Erna's eyes were quite serious.
Bjorn was about to ask if that meant he'd be buried in a coffin, but he simply laughed. Being in Erna's worn-out tin cookie tin wasn't all that bad. After all, she loved the tacky junk contained there more than any jewel.
“But, Bjorn.”
"Hmm."
“Have the interest rates increased significantly?”
Erna's cheeks glowed with anticipation. While drunkenness is inherently disorganized, this woman was truly a drunkard with a wild and unruly flow of consciousness.
Bjorn's cheerful laughter, as he watched his wife fall in love with the new cookie jar, mingled with the fragrant wind blowing through the field of clover.
“Don’t worry, we’re doing our best to ensure high interest returns.”
Erna smiled like the happiest person in the world, satisfied with the answer.
“What are you going to do with that interest?”
Bjorn picked up a dried fig from the tray and placed it in the drinker's mouth. Erna obediently accepted it, looking like a baby bird in a nest, and Bjorn smiled slightly.
“Hmm. I don’t know yet.”
“But why are you so obsessed?”
This time, a strawberry. A faint dimple appeared on Erna's cheek as she diligently munched.
“Just. I like the fact that the money is being saved up.”
The answer, which felt like a sense of camaraderie, was conveyed with a sweet breath.
A smile like Erna's spread across Bjorn's lips as he watched his wife, smiling as if dreaming a beautiful dream, pondering her bank balance. Although she grew up in the bosom of nature, far removed from civilization, she was a materialistic lady. It was a trait he found quite appealing.
“When the interest increases, I’ll buy you a present too.”
Erna offered her kindness with a serious expression again.
“It is an honor.”
“What kind of gift do you like? Excluding money.”
“Other than that, well, I don’t know.”
"But tell me one thing. Cigars? No. Those are bad for your health, so I won't give them to you. And alcohol."
“If you’re going to do it your way anyway, then you don’t need my opinion, right?”
“No. I will respect your wishes.”
Erna shook her head, her eyes wide. "You're pretty good at lying when you're drunk."
“You like horseback riding, so how about a horse?”
Tie. Gloves. Shoes. Cufflinks.
Erna's ambitions, which had been growing larger and larger, quickly grew larger.
“But horses are expensive, so it will take a lot of time, right?”
As Erna became more serious, Bjorn's smile grew lighter. With that deposit, it would be a difficult gift to accept even while lying in a coffin.
“Or something else...”
"You."
Erna's eyes widened at Bjorn's calm words.
“Me?”
Erna pointed at herself in disbelief.
“I think a ribbon around your neck would be enough. Of course, leaving out all the other cumbersome things.”
Bjorn, who had finished the rest of his wine, chuckled mischievously. Erna looked at him with a bewildered expression.
She hoped it might be love. Then she was disappointed it wasn't. But she was still relieved that she was wanted. What name should she give to this strange feeling, this mixture of all those emotions?
“You are really difficult.”
Erna sighed deeply and turned around to sit. She wondered if the alcohol had clouded her judgment, but even when she was sober, understanding this man was always a struggle.
"Are you a loving person? Or a cold person? I really don't know. It's difficult. You're such a difficult person."
Erna gazed intently at her husband's face, held in both hands. Bjorn's eyes, eagerly meeting her gaze, remained deep and still.
“I really don’t know.”
Erna sighed in resignation and withdrew her hand.
“I still hope you’re affectionate. Will you be so kind?”
“Look at what you’re doing.”
Bjorn, who had given a playful reply, sighed softly and grabbed the wine bottle. Perhaps due to his thirst, he drank more than he'd expected. While he was downing the glass, somewhat hastily, Erna began to take off her dress.
“What are you doing now?”
“I’m getting prettier.”
Even when faced with his frowning face, Erna smiled calmly.
“The more I take off my clothes, the prettier I look.”
Erna neatly unfolded the dress she had taken off and placed it next to the basket, then began to take off her underwear.
"It's a little strange. To be pretty, you have to dress up and put on some effort. But still, you're pretty like this."
Bjorn stared blankly at the surreal scene. He couldn't have been more drunk than this, but he felt more inebriated than ever.
Bjorn unconsciously washed his face and looked around. The languid afternoon sunlight, the lush greenery, and the profuse blooming spring flowers all passed through his unsettled gray eyes. Meanwhile, Erna, stripped down to her underwear, neatly folded them and stacked them on top of her dress.
Bjorn let out a hot, dry sigh and quickly opened his pocket watch. It was still a long way off before the servants were due to arrive, so no one would be watching.
But. That's not the problem. Well. Anyway.
Unable to sort out his jumbled thoughts, Bjorn downed the rest of his wine in one gulp. Erna, stripped down to her stockings, the last remaining piece of clothing, sat before him, completely naked.
“Ah. Ribbon.”
Erna muttered to herself, untied the ribbon tied around her braid, and tied it neatly around her neck. The old-fashioned woman, who had been acting like a lady from a past century, had vanished, leaving behind only a cheeky gift: a sky-blue ribbon wrapped around her naked body.
“Yes. Now that I’ve made everything pretty, take it.”
At Erna's words, spoken with a bright smile, Bjorn almost dropped the glass he was holding.
“Erna, you are now...”
"I'll give you the gift now. This is a gift I can give without interest."
Erna smiled shyly, combing her messy hair with her fingers.
“I’ll give you a present, so be a little more affectionate.”
Erna's small, warm hand cupped his face again. At that moment, Bjorn understood the meaning of the words his wife often muttered in bed.
Oh my god.
I think I'm crazy.
Erna, drunk, laughed more than usual.
It wasn't a bad drinking habit. The slow chatter and slightly dazed eyes were also part of the story.
“Bjorn, did you know that today is our first anniversary?”
Erna, who was telling a story about her childhood playing here, suddenly asked an unexpected question.
"It was the day we met at the Foundation Day Ball. It was one year ago today."
“You have a good memory, you drunkard.”
“No, I’m not drunk.”
Erna's face flushed with intoxication as she slurred. Bjorn, laughing heartily, refilled the shameless drunkard's empty glass.
One year.
Bjorn gazed at the forest landscape with silent eyes. The sunlight, with its fine golden dust, and the scent of fresh flowers and grass. Filled with the songs of nameless birds, the world seemed so peaceful and beautiful that it felt almost unreal.
A woman raised in such a place was suddenly thrust into the high society marriage market. As he thought about it, he finally understood the intense moment of their first meeting on the night of the ball a year ago. The Hardys' property, trembling and barely able to breathe. The thought of her as a skilled seductress suddenly seemed amusing. It was ultimately a harmless misunderstanding, since he won the bet thanks to her.
“Thank you, Bjorn.”
Erna, who had been watching him quietly, whispered.
“You saved me that day.”
“Was that so?”
It didn't seem like something worthy of such grandiose expressions, but Erna nodded without hesitation. Her eyes, unusually clear, perhaps due to her intoxication, were filled with unwavering trust.
"You saved me at the Marquis of Harbor's party, and on the day of the rowing competition. You even paid for the trophy."
That's because you were a much more expensive trophy.
Instead of saying the words he couldn't, Bjorn smiled faintly. Suddenly, his throat felt parched. It was a thirst that had been coming to him often lately, accompanied by a strange sense of impatience.
"I'm truly grateful that you married me. Thanks to you, I was free from my father. I was able to protect the Baden family mansion. Now that I think about it, I've really owed you a lot, and I've been paying you back."
“Erna.”
Although he called out her name impulsively, Bjorn couldn't continue speaking.
She was an easygoing and comfortable woman.
He was glad he didn't have to think about complicated calculations, and that's why he gave up his wife's place. So, Erna simply had to remain in that role. Quietly. Harmlessly and beautifully. A being who brought peace and joy to this life. That fact remained unchanged, and Erna was clearly fulfilling her purpose.
So what has changed then?
Questions, unanswerable, clawed at his consciousness. It was then that the sound of thin glass touching glass resonated, clear and sharp. Bjorn lowered his gaze and saw Erna, already within striking distance.
Erna smiled shyly as her eyes met Bjorn's. She raised her glass to his. Cheers. She whispered softly.
Bjorn, watching his wife make a bold leap into the world of alcoholics, forgot all his worries and smiled. Meanwhile, Erna downed another glass of wine.
“You’re very drunk, Erna.”
Erna offered him another glass as if it were a given, but Bjorn firmly refused. If he drank a little more, he would fall into a slumber, and that was something he didn't like.
Bjorn snatched the glass from his wife, who was wearing a displeased expression. Erna then began to struggle to pick up the bottle.
“You can’t do this anymore, you drunkard.”
Bjorn leaned against a pile of cushions, holding Erna, who was persistently playing, in his arms. The shadows cast by the sunlight filtering through the leaves played across their faces as they stared at each other.
The sound of a cuckoo's cry could be heard from far away.
Erna sighed in resignation and sagged. Bjorn's chest against her back felt firm and warm. The hand wrapping around her waist was equally as warm.
The temperature, which had always felt a bit chilly, felt warm today, like spring. If this was what it felt like to be drunk, she could understand the feelings of those who were drowning in alcohol.
"I think I understand why you drink, Bjorn. It feels so good."
Erna turned her face to face Bjorn. Bjorn's lips, smiling, were as red as the wine he had just taken a sip of.
“It’s thanks to you, so you’re happy too.”
“Oh. Is that so?”
"Yes. Sometimes I hate it, but I still love it so much. If I could, I'd put it in a cookie jar."
Even in the midst of her absurd drunken tirade, Erna's eyes were quite serious.
Bjorn was about to ask if that meant he'd be buried in a coffin, but he simply laughed. Being in Erna's worn-out tin cookie tin wasn't all that bad. After all, she loved the tacky junk contained there more than any jewel.
“But, Bjorn.”
"Hmm."
“Have the interest rates increased significantly?”
Erna's cheeks glowed with anticipation. While drunkenness is inherently disorganized, this woman was truly a drunkard with a wild and unruly flow of consciousness.
Bjorn's cheerful laughter, as he watched his wife fall in love with the new cookie jar, mingled with the fragrant wind blowing through the field of clover.
“Don’t worry, we’re doing our best to ensure high interest returns.”
Erna smiled like the happiest person in the world, satisfied with the answer.
“What are you going to do with that interest?”
Bjorn picked up a dried fig from the tray and placed it in the drinker's mouth. Erna obediently accepted it, looking like a baby bird in a nest, and Bjorn smiled slightly.
“Hmm. I don’t know yet.”
“But why are you so obsessed?”
This time, a strawberry. A faint dimple appeared on Erna's cheek as she diligently munched.
“Just. I like the fact that the money is being saved up.”
The answer, which felt like a sense of camaraderie, was conveyed with a sweet breath.
A smile like Erna's spread across Bjorn's lips as he watched his wife, smiling as if dreaming a beautiful dream, pondering her bank balance. Although she grew up in the bosom of nature, far removed from civilization, she was a materialistic lady. It was a trait he found quite appealing.
“When the interest increases, I’ll buy you a present too.”
Erna offered her kindness with a serious expression again.
“It is an honor.”
“What kind of gift do you like? Excluding money.”
“Other than that, well, I don’t know.”
"But tell me one thing. Cigars? No. Those are bad for your health, so I won't give them to you. And alcohol."
“If you’re going to do it your way anyway, then you don’t need my opinion, right?”
“No. I will respect your wishes.”
Erna shook her head, her eyes wide. "You're pretty good at lying when you're drunk."
“You like horseback riding, so how about a horse?”
Tie. Gloves. Shoes. Cufflinks.
Erna's ambitions, which had been growing larger and larger, quickly grew larger.
“But horses are expensive, so it will take a lot of time, right?”
As Erna became more serious, Bjorn's smile grew lighter. With that deposit, it would be a difficult gift to accept even while lying in a coffin.
“Or something else...”
"You."
Erna's eyes widened at Bjorn's calm words.
“Me?”
Erna pointed at herself in disbelief.
“I think a ribbon around your neck would be enough. Of course, leaving out all the other cumbersome things.”
Bjorn, who had finished the rest of his wine, chuckled mischievously. Erna looked at him with a bewildered expression.
She hoped it might be love. Then she was disappointed it wasn't. But she was still relieved that she was wanted. What name should she give to this strange feeling, this mixture of all those emotions?
“You are really difficult.”
Erna sighed deeply and turned around to sit. She wondered if the alcohol had clouded her judgment, but even when she was sober, understanding this man was always a struggle.
"Are you a loving person? Or a cold person? I really don't know. It's difficult. You're such a difficult person."
Erna gazed intently at her husband's face, held in both hands. Bjorn's eyes, eagerly meeting her gaze, remained deep and still.
“I really don’t know.”
Erna sighed in resignation and withdrew her hand.
“I still hope you’re affectionate. Will you be so kind?”
“Look at what you’re doing.”
Bjorn, who had given a playful reply, sighed softly and grabbed the wine bottle. Perhaps due to his thirst, he drank more than he'd expected. While he was downing the glass, somewhat hastily, Erna began to take off her dress.
“What are you doing now?”
“I’m getting prettier.”
Even when faced with his frowning face, Erna smiled calmly.
“The more I take off my clothes, the prettier I look.”
Erna neatly unfolded the dress she had taken off and placed it next to the basket, then began to take off her underwear.
"It's a little strange. To be pretty, you have to dress up and put on some effort. But still, you're pretty like this."
Bjorn stared blankly at the surreal scene. He couldn't have been more drunk than this, but he felt more inebriated than ever.
Bjorn unconsciously washed his face and looked around. The languid afternoon sunlight, the lush greenery, and the profuse blooming spring flowers all passed through his unsettled gray eyes. Meanwhile, Erna, stripped down to her underwear, neatly folded them and stacked them on top of her dress.
Bjorn let out a hot, dry sigh and quickly opened his pocket watch. It was still a long way off before the servants were due to arrive, so no one would be watching.
But. That's not the problem. Well. Anyway.
Unable to sort out his jumbled thoughts, Bjorn downed the rest of his wine in one gulp. Erna, stripped down to her stockings, the last remaining piece of clothing, sat before him, completely naked.
“Ah. Ribbon.”
Erna muttered to herself, untied the ribbon tied around her braid, and tied it neatly around her neck. The old-fashioned woman, who had been acting like a lady from a past century, had vanished, leaving behind only a cheeky gift: a sky-blue ribbon wrapped around her naked body.
“Yes. Now that I’ve made everything pretty, take it.”
At Erna's words, spoken with a bright smile, Bjorn almost dropped the glass he was holding.
“Erna, you are now...”
"I'll give you the gift now. This is a gift I can give without interest."
Erna smiled shyly, combing her messy hair with her fingers.
“I’ll give you a present, so be a little more affectionate.”
Erna's small, warm hand cupped his face again. At that moment, Bjorn understood the meaning of the words his wife often muttered in bed.
Oh my god.
I think I'm crazy.
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