Who hath dared to wound thee? My mother was what one calls a spiritual counselor. I remember from my upbringing that people would constantly call our home, seeking intercession and comfort during difficult times. My mother – the pastor’s wife – helped and inspired them one by one, patiently and gently. She never said no.
One of those who called frequently was an elderly lady named Gerd. I often answered the phone and directed her to my mother. Eventually, she began calling herself “Auntie Gerd” when I picked up the receiver. Quite cozy, one might think.
But after a long time, it turned out that Gerd was far from a sweet aunt. She was vicious; that is what she was.
And all the while, until her death, she has known that what she did awakened a lion in the angel’s son.
Suddenly, one day, Auntie Gerd appeared on the front page of the local newspaper with a triumphant gaze, and the drama was at full throttle: The leadership of our congregation had fleeced her of thousands of kroner! Or so she claimed. Meaning my mother and my father. It was not uncommon for members of the congregation to give monetary gifts to the work. Now, Gerd claimed she had been pressured. In an instant, the patient, kind spiritual counselor was transformed into a “soldier in the Cosa Nostra.”
Not long after my father died, my dear mother told me that Auntie Gerd had hired a lawyer. At that moment, something snapped for 17-year-old Frank Benjamin. An hour later, I was to make my debut as a scourger par excellence, in Auntie Gerd’s living room. My father had recently passed, my mother was broken down, and then came this malice from a Gerd who perhaps, over time, felt she hadn’t received as much attention as before. There are many things that drive evil.
I believe Gerd was never the same after her encounter with yours truly. And that, I can well understand. I did not, of course, threaten her life or limb, but alternating between fierce indignation and icy calm, I explained to her that I would dedicate my life to pursuing those who hath dared to wound my impeccably kind mother. I do not remember the details of what I said.
To me, I believe that hour in the living room with that malicious and slighted shrew was a watershed moment. For my mother, it was the certainty that she would be protected and carried on a golden chair until her death. For Gerd? We never heard from her again. Two things are certain: She had wasted money on legal fees, and she had to live the rest of her life knowing she had done something wicked to an angel. And all the while, until her death, she has known that what she did awakened a lion in the angel’s son.
(This text was published on maksima.no in 2024)
(Illustration by J. Melnes, 2013)