I'm sorry, I'm sorry!! // Much Ado About Clogs (?)
“Don’t worry, they’ll be there,” I tried to reassure him. He said nothing in response, his face still unchanged. He took a sudden left that made me back track and sprint a few paces to keep up, hi focus remained straight ahead of him. After a few more sharp turns, Berwald finally came to a stop in front of a large glass window. I looked up at his face. His expression still unchanged, but I could see the happiness in his eyes. After a few moments he looked away from the treasure inside and pointed toward it, facing me.
“Those,” he muttered, looking as serious as ever.
“Those ones?” I repeated, motioning toward the item, “Are you sure?”
He hesitated for a moment before nodding very slowly. I knew his hesitation was not one of uncertainty, rather just his natural way of reacting, to go with his slow-paced lifestyle. Once he wanted something, he never went back on it.
He followed me into the store. I walked up to a pretty, nice looking clerk with long brown hair with a cute flower placed in it. She seemed slightly shocked, probably because of Berwald’s frightening demeanor, and confused, most likely because the item Berwald had requested seemed unusually out of character to outsiders. The clerk brought out a box of the requested item and pulled off the lid, looking nervously at Berwald as she did so. Berwald didn’t notice as he stared at the contents of the box, mesmerized by the beauty of his new gift; shiny, brand new, wooden clogs. They were finely crafted and polished. They were made of lightwood and made smooth and cleanly and the toe had a sharp point. The bottom was made of darker wood and looked a little rougher than the clean-cut rest of the shoe.
They were exactly what Berwald wanted.
After Berwald had a good look at his new prized possession, I nodded to the clerk to let her know it was good and we silently followed her to the checkout counter.
“So, who’s paying…?” she asked us in a thick accent, her eyes dancing back and forth between Berwald and me.
“M’ wife,” Berwald mumbled.
The woman gave a wide smile and put her hands together as she replied, “Oh really?! How long have you two been married!?”
I laughed nervously and waved my hand as if too shoo away Berwald’s previous comment.
“Oh, he always jokes like that…” I said with a nervous laugh. The lady’s faces dropped and looked around her, as if she just realized where she was and rung up the price. I paid and handed Sweden his birthday present before exiting the store. A small “goodbye!” sounded out from behinds us as we left. We navigated our way back to the entrance of the mall in silence but once we got outside, Berwald turned to me, thanked me for the gift, in monotone, and leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.
Once we returned home, we were immediately greeted by Denmark.
“Happy birthday, Sve!” He yelled. Berwald nodded in acknowledgement and held out the box for Denmark to see.
“Oh! Is this what you got?” Matthias grabbed the package, “Hey, look everyone!” He called out. The hallway became just slightly more crowded as Norway and Iceland entered the room, both looking a little less interested than Denmark. Matthias held the box above his head, as if it were some sort of trophy he had just won and he wanted the world to see. I was a little nervous to how the others would react to Sweden’s gift of choice; I didn’t want to see Berwald embarrassed. I remained cautious, trying to give a look to the others not to say anything offensive, but as Matthias removed the lid off the box to reveal the new shoes inside, he acted as if it was the greatest treasure ever, most likely just to make Sweden feel good.
“Wow, Berwald!” he exclaimed, looking into Sweden’s blank expression, “These are yours?! How awesome! Guys, did you see?!” He held the box out towards Eirik and Nikolia so they could get a better look. Denmark went on enthusiastically, congratulating Berwald and trying to cause more excitement in the faces of the other two Nordics, with vain. The other two were not as enthused as Denmark, but they still showed their happiness for Berwald by wishing him a happy birthday.
“Hey, Sve! We got something for you, too!” Matthias piped up, “Just follow us!”
Denmark pushed past Eirik and Nikolia so he could lead everyone towards the kitchen. Berwald’s expression still unchanged, he followed Matthias into the kitchen, with me, and Iceland, and Norway close behind. Once we entered the small room, I looked around to see what Denmark had in store. On the kitchen table was a small, round, cake covered with white frosting and accented with blue decorations and arranged to spell out the words, “Happy Birthday, Sve!” One of the five wooden chairs that surrounded the round kitchen table had three pastel colored balloons tied to the back. I also noticed a sixth, smaller chair that was positioned next to the one with balloons and I saw that it was already occupied by a very small person.
“Happy birthday, papa,” the boy said, “You left before I woke up, so I didn’t get to say happy birthday and Uncle Matthias told me to wait in here for you when we heard you come in, so…” Berwald walked over to Peter and pat him on the head. The child smiled up at his adoptive father, a bright light in his eyes. It warmed my heart.
“Thank you,” Berwald uttered in his deep voice, his eyes remaining on Peter.
“No problem!” Denmark hollered. I looked at Matthias’ face to see any sign of disappointment at Sweden’s lack of emotion, but Denmark looked as pleased as ever, and at this, I smiled to myself to think that the man had heart enough to want to give Berwald a good birthday.
“I know how you don’t like big parties or social events,” Denmark continued proudly, “So I thought we could just have a nice, little party here!” He puffed out his chest and jabbed his thumb towards himself to emphasize that it had been his idea. I rolled my eyes. I take that back.
“So, who’s ready to sing?” Matthias shouted with much gusto.
“Me! Me!” Sealand shouted, his hand shooting into the air. Sweden smiled down at him before taking his seat in the “special chair”. We all took our seats as well, Berwald insisting I sit on his other side, as Nikolia lit the candles on the cake. After singing happy birthday and congratulating Berwald, Matthias cut the cake. Sweden didn’t want any, much to Denmark’s dismay, but Peter and Eirik graciously accepted slices before everyone dispersed. Peter began to follow his father out of the room, but Berwald told him he must eat his food in the kitchen. Peter took a seat back at the table, looking slightly downtrodden, but quickly got over it as he addressed a slightly un-thrilled looking Iceland.
I followed Sweden into the family room where Denmark was already y watching some comedy showing on the television. Berwald sat and pat the cushion next to him, motioning for me to sit as well. I took my place beside him and once again he thanked me for his gift, which he held in his lap, and his party, which I actually had no part in, and once again, he kissed my cheek.
The next day, Sve and I were walking through the park. Sealand was holding Berwald’s hand as he shouted excitedly and pointed with his free hand, towards carts with food samples that exerted delicious smells that made my mouth water. The sky was so beautiful, clear blue with hardly any puffs of clouds blocking the sun’s rays. The air was warm but cool breezes passed through the park, over the green grass and small pond. The trees rustled as if the leaves were disturbed by the wind’s presence invading their quiet and peaceful place. I enjoyed myself on days like this, graciously accepting the nice weather that was so rarely give to us. I sat down on a park bench as Berwald told Peter to be careful as he played in the sand and on the jungle gym with the other children. Peter ran ways excitedly. The other kids accepted Sealand’s appearance with giggles of joy as they played tag around the park. Peter was a good, sweet child and his confident personality was a slight refresher from the rest of the Nordic household, with Sweden, Iceland, and Norway never showing signs of happiness and Denmark only thinking about himself all the time. As I watched Peter play, Berwald walked over to me to the bench and took a seat beside me. He put his hands on his knees, and then changing his mind, put his hand on my knee, looking content. I was too nervous to shy away from his touch, so I did not protest.
As we sat on the bench, Sweden turned to me again and mumbled the words, “Thank you,” once more. Is he going to thank me for the rest of his life? I thought, but instead I gave a nervous smile and answered with, “Of course. I know how much you wanted them.” He nodded and looked down at his feet, admiring his new shoes.
Just then, a loud and obnoxious man walked up and stopped near the bench Berwald and I were sitting on. The man was chatting animatedly on his cellular telephone.
“I understand that, but I don’t have any time to schedule them! .... Well why can’t I just fit them in tomorrow? …No, because the Vargas’ were coming on Thursday! ...Why else do you think I’m here!? I’m waiting for them; this is where they wanted to meet! …. Yeah, I’ll see you when I get back, maybe by then you’ll be able to do your job right!” The man closed his phone without waiting for a response from the other, and then he took a seat on the bench next to ours. He sighed and looked at his watch and I wondered whom he was here for. He was a little over dressed to meet someone at a casual park. Well, it’s not my problem, I thought. I went back to watching Peter play when I heard someone call out. I realized it was the man.
“Hey… Hey! I’m talking to you!” he said, his voice harsh. Berwald and I both turned. The man pointed towards Berwald’s new shoes and said, “I really like your shoes. Where’d you get them?” Before Berwald could even answer, the man continued, “I think they would be an interesting piece for my magazine. Hmm…” He stood up suddenly, giving me a little fright but he walked toward Berwald with a wide toothy grin on his face. Berwald looked up at him his same bored expression as always. The man stuck out his hand for Berwald to shake and he introduced himself.
“I’m Gilbert Beillschmidt and I work for a modeling agency, and I think you might just fit what we are looking for. So, what do you say?” He held out his hand, still waiting for Berwald to take it, but Berwald seemed as if he didn’t understand a single thing Gilbert had said, maybe because of his thick foreign accent. I stood up, hoping to speak up for Berwald sine he had such a difficult time socializing.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I protested. Gilbert seemed shocked to see me, as if he hadn’t realized I had been sitting there the whole time. Maybe he hadn’t.
“Who’s this?” Gilbert questioned, jutting his thumb out towards me as if I had been the intruder on this peaceful afternoon, not him.
Sweden was silent for a moment then answered, “M’ wife, Tino Vainamoinen.” At this I yelled, “I am not his wife!” Gilbert looked taken aback at my sudden outburst, but I ignored him and continued with a softer tone, “I don’t think that’s a good idea because he as a child to look after and he’s not very comfortable around ne people and-“
Gilbert held up his hand to stop me mid sentence. I suddenly realized how very small I felt compared to him. As I studied his appearance, I noticed he was much taller than I and rather thin, but not out of shape. His light blond hair looked almost silvery in the sunshine and his eyes, a deep red, made me feel even more insignificant in his presence. Towering over me, I realized just how easy it would be for him to squash me right there and his intimidation made me shrink even more where I stood.
“This man is perfect,” he persisted, gesturing towards Sweden, “I have been looking for a model like him everywhere, and I finally found him! I’m not going to let this chance go!” The intensity in his eyes reminded me how awful it would be to die by this man’s hand, but no matter how much I told myself not to, I could feel the worlds slipping past my lips; words of protest.
“But,” I began nervously, “Berwald’s not even trained to be a model!” Gilbert turned to Berwald eyeing him over and looking amused before saying, “We could train him.” He put his hand to his chin thoughtfully and said, “What did you say your name was?”
“Berwald,” Berwald stated, “Berwald Oxenstierna.”
“Those,” he muttered, looking as serious as ever.
“Those ones?” I repeated, motioning toward the item, “Are you sure?”
He hesitated for a moment before nodding very slowly. I knew his hesitation was not one of uncertainty, rather just his natural way of reacting, to go with his slow-paced lifestyle. Once he wanted something, he never went back on it.
He followed me into the store. I walked up to a pretty, nice looking clerk with long brown hair with a cute flower placed in it. She seemed slightly shocked, probably because of Berwald’s frightening demeanor, and confused, most likely because the item Berwald had requested seemed unusually out of character to outsiders. The clerk brought out a box of the requested item and pulled off the lid, looking nervously at Berwald as she did so. Berwald didn’t notice as he stared at the contents of the box, mesmerized by the beauty of his new gift; shiny, brand new, wooden clogs. They were finely crafted and polished. They were made of lightwood and made smooth and cleanly and the toe had a sharp point. The bottom was made of darker wood and looked a little rougher than the clean-cut rest of the shoe.
They were exactly what Berwald wanted.
After Berwald had a good look at his new prized possession, I nodded to the clerk to let her know it was good and we silently followed her to the checkout counter.
“So, who’s paying…?” she asked us in a thick accent, her eyes dancing back and forth between Berwald and me.
“M’ wife,” Berwald mumbled.
The woman gave a wide smile and put her hands together as she replied, “Oh really?! How long have you two been married!?”
I laughed nervously and waved my hand as if too shoo away Berwald’s previous comment.
“Oh, he always jokes like that…” I said with a nervous laugh. The lady’s faces dropped and looked around her, as if she just realized where she was and rung up the price. I paid and handed Sweden his birthday present before exiting the store. A small “goodbye!” sounded out from behinds us as we left. We navigated our way back to the entrance of the mall in silence but once we got outside, Berwald turned to me, thanked me for the gift, in monotone, and leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.
Once we returned home, we were immediately greeted by Denmark.
“Happy birthday, Sve!” He yelled. Berwald nodded in acknowledgement and held out the box for Denmark to see.
“Oh! Is this what you got?” Matthias grabbed the package, “Hey, look everyone!” He called out. The hallway became just slightly more crowded as Norway and Iceland entered the room, both looking a little less interested than Denmark. Matthias held the box above his head, as if it were some sort of trophy he had just won and he wanted the world to see. I was a little nervous to how the others would react to Sweden’s gift of choice; I didn’t want to see Berwald embarrassed. I remained cautious, trying to give a look to the others not to say anything offensive, but as Matthias removed the lid off the box to reveal the new shoes inside, he acted as if it was the greatest treasure ever, most likely just to make Sweden feel good.
“Wow, Berwald!” he exclaimed, looking into Sweden’s blank expression, “These are yours?! How awesome! Guys, did you see?!” He held the box out towards Eirik and Nikolia so they could get a better look. Denmark went on enthusiastically, congratulating Berwald and trying to cause more excitement in the faces of the other two Nordics, with vain. The other two were not as enthused as Denmark, but they still showed their happiness for Berwald by wishing him a happy birthday.
“Hey, Sve! We got something for you, too!” Matthias piped up, “Just follow us!”
Denmark pushed past Eirik and Nikolia so he could lead everyone towards the kitchen. Berwald’s expression still unchanged, he followed Matthias into the kitchen, with me, and Iceland, and Norway close behind. Once we entered the small room, I looked around to see what Denmark had in store. On the kitchen table was a small, round, cake covered with white frosting and accented with blue decorations and arranged to spell out the words, “Happy Birthday, Sve!” One of the five wooden chairs that surrounded the round kitchen table had three pastel colored balloons tied to the back. I also noticed a sixth, smaller chair that was positioned next to the one with balloons and I saw that it was already occupied by a very small person.
“Happy birthday, papa,” the boy said, “You left before I woke up, so I didn’t get to say happy birthday and Uncle Matthias told me to wait in here for you when we heard you come in, so…” Berwald walked over to Peter and pat him on the head. The child smiled up at his adoptive father, a bright light in his eyes. It warmed my heart.
“Thank you,” Berwald uttered in his deep voice, his eyes remaining on Peter.
“No problem!” Denmark hollered. I looked at Matthias’ face to see any sign of disappointment at Sweden’s lack of emotion, but Denmark looked as pleased as ever, and at this, I smiled to myself to think that the man had heart enough to want to give Berwald a good birthday.
“I know how you don’t like big parties or social events,” Denmark continued proudly, “So I thought we could just have a nice, little party here!” He puffed out his chest and jabbed his thumb towards himself to emphasize that it had been his idea. I rolled my eyes. I take that back.
“So, who’s ready to sing?” Matthias shouted with much gusto.
“Me! Me!” Sealand shouted, his hand shooting into the air. Sweden smiled down at him before taking his seat in the “special chair”. We all took our seats as well, Berwald insisting I sit on his other side, as Nikolia lit the candles on the cake. After singing happy birthday and congratulating Berwald, Matthias cut the cake. Sweden didn’t want any, much to Denmark’s dismay, but Peter and Eirik graciously accepted slices before everyone dispersed. Peter began to follow his father out of the room, but Berwald told him he must eat his food in the kitchen. Peter took a seat back at the table, looking slightly downtrodden, but quickly got over it as he addressed a slightly un-thrilled looking Iceland.
I followed Sweden into the family room where Denmark was already y watching some comedy showing on the television. Berwald sat and pat the cushion next to him, motioning for me to sit as well. I took my place beside him and once again he thanked me for his gift, which he held in his lap, and his party, which I actually had no part in, and once again, he kissed my cheek.
The next day, Sve and I were walking through the park. Sealand was holding Berwald’s hand as he shouted excitedly and pointed with his free hand, towards carts with food samples that exerted delicious smells that made my mouth water. The sky was so beautiful, clear blue with hardly any puffs of clouds blocking the sun’s rays. The air was warm but cool breezes passed through the park, over the green grass and small pond. The trees rustled as if the leaves were disturbed by the wind’s presence invading their quiet and peaceful place. I enjoyed myself on days like this, graciously accepting the nice weather that was so rarely give to us. I sat down on a park bench as Berwald told Peter to be careful as he played in the sand and on the jungle gym with the other children. Peter ran ways excitedly. The other kids accepted Sealand’s appearance with giggles of joy as they played tag around the park. Peter was a good, sweet child and his confident personality was a slight refresher from the rest of the Nordic household, with Sweden, Iceland, and Norway never showing signs of happiness and Denmark only thinking about himself all the time. As I watched Peter play, Berwald walked over to me to the bench and took a seat beside me. He put his hands on his knees, and then changing his mind, put his hand on my knee, looking content. I was too nervous to shy away from his touch, so I did not protest.
As we sat on the bench, Sweden turned to me again and mumbled the words, “Thank you,” once more. Is he going to thank me for the rest of his life? I thought, but instead I gave a nervous smile and answered with, “Of course. I know how much you wanted them.” He nodded and looked down at his feet, admiring his new shoes.
Just then, a loud and obnoxious man walked up and stopped near the bench Berwald and I were sitting on. The man was chatting animatedly on his cellular telephone.
“I understand that, but I don’t have any time to schedule them! .... Well why can’t I just fit them in tomorrow? …No, because the Vargas’ were coming on Thursday! ...Why else do you think I’m here!? I’m waiting for them; this is where they wanted to meet! …. Yeah, I’ll see you when I get back, maybe by then you’ll be able to do your job right!” The man closed his phone without waiting for a response from the other, and then he took a seat on the bench next to ours. He sighed and looked at his watch and I wondered whom he was here for. He was a little over dressed to meet someone at a casual park. Well, it’s not my problem, I thought. I went back to watching Peter play when I heard someone call out. I realized it was the man.
“Hey… Hey! I’m talking to you!” he said, his voice harsh. Berwald and I both turned. The man pointed towards Berwald’s new shoes and said, “I really like your shoes. Where’d you get them?” Before Berwald could even answer, the man continued, “I think they would be an interesting piece for my magazine. Hmm…” He stood up suddenly, giving me a little fright but he walked toward Berwald with a wide toothy grin on his face. Berwald looked up at him his same bored expression as always. The man stuck out his hand for Berwald to shake and he introduced himself.
“I’m Gilbert Beillschmidt and I work for a modeling agency, and I think you might just fit what we are looking for. So, what do you say?” He held out his hand, still waiting for Berwald to take it, but Berwald seemed as if he didn’t understand a single thing Gilbert had said, maybe because of his thick foreign accent. I stood up, hoping to speak up for Berwald sine he had such a difficult time socializing.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I protested. Gilbert seemed shocked to see me, as if he hadn’t realized I had been sitting there the whole time. Maybe he hadn’t.
“Who’s this?” Gilbert questioned, jutting his thumb out towards me as if I had been the intruder on this peaceful afternoon, not him.
Sweden was silent for a moment then answered, “M’ wife, Tino Vainamoinen.” At this I yelled, “I am not his wife!” Gilbert looked taken aback at my sudden outburst, but I ignored him and continued with a softer tone, “I don’t think that’s a good idea because he as a child to look after and he’s not very comfortable around ne people and-“
Gilbert held up his hand to stop me mid sentence. I suddenly realized how very small I felt compared to him. As I studied his appearance, I noticed he was much taller than I and rather thin, but not out of shape. His light blond hair looked almost silvery in the sunshine and his eyes, a deep red, made me feel even more insignificant in his presence. Towering over me, I realized just how easy it would be for him to squash me right there and his intimidation made me shrink even more where I stood.
“This man is perfect,” he persisted, gesturing towards Sweden, “I have been looking for a model like him everywhere, and I finally found him! I’m not going to let this chance go!” The intensity in his eyes reminded me how awful it would be to die by this man’s hand, but no matter how much I told myself not to, I could feel the worlds slipping past my lips; words of protest.
“But,” I began nervously, “Berwald’s not even trained to be a model!” Gilbert turned to Berwald eyeing him over and looking amused before saying, “We could train him.” He put his hand to his chin thoughtfully and said, “What did you say your name was?”
“Berwald,” Berwald stated, “Berwald Oxenstierna.”