Swedish Saga

Swesish Saga Gerda left Sweden with an odd liking for turnips. She claimed hard labor ruined her hands. She hated her father. Fritchof walked like an ex-sailor. He had a vein-blue tattoo on his left hand. He once sailed the Red Sea and grew a mustache. They met in Vancouver. A brown wedding oval preserves her stiff upper lip, his doubting earnestness. She made him smoke his after-dinner cigar in a corner where he taught me chess. On the morning he died my mother removed the half pint of Jim Beam from his bed-table drawer. Gerda now reads the Bible to her son. He is 50 and masturbates in the tub. They go to faith healers. He has actually seen the Devil!