Persona

You wished to speak to me, Doctor?

Have you seen Mrs. Vogler yet, Sister Alma?

No, not yet.

Let me explain her situation

and why you've been hired to care for her.

Mrs. Vogler is an actress, as you know.

In the middle of her last performance of Electra,

she fell silent and looked around as if in surprise.

She was silent for over a minute.

She apologized to her colleagues afterward,

saying she'd felt a sudden urge to laugh.

The next day the theater called

to ask if she'd forgotten about rehearsal.

The maid went in her room and found her still in bed.

She was awake but wouldn't answer questions or move.

This condition's gone on for three months now.

She's been given every conceivable test.

The result is clear:

She's perfectly healthy, both mentally and physically.

And it's not a question of some hysterical reaction either.

Any questions, Sister Alma?

If not, you can go see Mrs. Vogler now.

Hello, Mrs. Vogler.

I'm Sister Alma.

I've been hired to take care of you for a while.

Perhaps I should tell you a bit about myself.

I'm 25 years old, and I'm engaged.

I got my nursing certificate two years ago.

My parents have a farm in the country.

My mother was a nurse too, before she got married.

I should go get your dinner tray - fried liver and fruit salad.

It looked quite good.

Shall I raise this end up? Are you all right like that?

Sister Alma, what's your first impression?

I don't know what to say, Doctor.

At first her face looks soft, almost childish,

but then you see her eyes...

Her expression's so hard.

Perhaps I shouldn't -

What were you going to say?

I was thinking I should turn down the assignment.

Why? Did something frighten you?

No, not exactly,

but perhaps Mrs. Vogler should have an older nurse,

one with more life experience.

I might not be able to manage. - Manage? In what way?

- Mentally. - Mentally?

If she's made a conscious decision not to speak or move,

which must be the case, since she's healthy -

Then?

Then that shows great mental strength.

I may not be up to it.

I thought you might want to see the twilight.

I can draw the curtains later.

Shall I turn on the radio?

I think there's a play on.

Forgive me, darling.

You must forgive me.

All I want is your forgiveness.

What are you laughing about? Is the actress so funny?

What do you know of mercy? Well?

What do you know of mercy?

I don't understand those sorts of things.

I enjoy films and the theater,

but I'm afraid I don't go very often.

I have tremendous admiration for artists.

I think art is enormously important in life,

especially for those struggling for one reason or another.

But I'm skating on thin ice, telling you about such things.

Let's see if I can find some music.

Is that all right?

Good night, then. Sleep well.

Damn it.

It's funny.

You can go about as you please...

doing almost anything you please.

I'll marry Karl-Henrik and we'll have a couple kids,

whom I'll raise.

It's all decided. It's inside me.

I don't even have to think about it.

It's a great feeling of security.

I have a job I like and enjoy.

That's good too...

but in another way.

But it's good.

Yes...

it's good.

I wonder what's really wrong with her.

Elisabet Vogler.

Mrs. Vogler, would you like me to open the letter?

Shall I read it?

Shall I read it to you?

"Dearest Elisabet,

since I'm not allowed to see you, I'm writing instead.

If you don't wish to read my letter, you can ignore it.

But I can't help trying to contact you this way,

as I'm tormented by a persistent question:

Have I done you harm in some way?

Have I unknowingly hurt you somehow?

Was there some terrible misunderstanding between us?"

Should I really go on?

"As far as I know, we've been happy recently.

Surely we've never been...

so close.

Do you remember saying,

'I'm only just beginning to understand

what it means to be married'?

'You've taught me... "'

I can't make it out.

"'You've taught... " ' Now I see.

"'You've taught me that we must see each other

as two anxious children

full of goodwill and the best of intentions

but gov-"' Now I see.

"'... governed by forces we can only partially control. '

Do you remember saying all that?

We were walking in the woods,

and you stopped and grabbed the belt of my coat -"

There was a picture with the letter.

A picture of your son. I don't know if -

Do you want it, Mrs. Vogler?

He looks awfully cute.

Elisabet, I don't think there's any point

in your staying here in the hospital.

It's just hurting you to be here.

Since you don't want to go home,

I suggest you and Sister Alma move out

to my summer place by the sea.

You think I don't understand?

The hopeless dream of being.

Not seeming to be, but being.

Conscious and awake at every moment.

At the same time, the chasm between what you are to others

and what you are to yourself.

The feeling of vertigo, and the constant hunger

to be unmasked once and for all.

To be seen through, cut down...

perhaps even annihilated.

Every tone of voice a lie, every gesture a falsehood,

every smile a grimace.

Commit suicide?

No, too nasty.

One doesn't do things like that.

But you can refuse to move or talk.

Then at least you're not lying.

You can cut yourself off, close yourself in.

Then you needn't play any roles,

wear any masks, make any false gestures.

So you might think...

but reality plays nasty tricks on you.

Your hiding place isn't watertight enough.

Life oozes in from all sides.

You're forced to react.

No one asks whether it's genuine or not,

whether you're lying or telling the truth.

Questions like that only matter in the theater,

and hardly even there.

I understand you, Elisabet.

I understand that you're not speaking or moving,

that you've turned this apathy into a fantastic setup.

I understand and admire you.

I think you should play this part until it's played out,

until it's no longer interesting.

Then you can drop it, just as you eventually drop

all your other roles.

Thus, at the end of the summer, Mrs. Vogler and Sister Alma

move out to the doctor's summer house.

The stay by the sea agrees very well with the actress.

Her crippling apathy at the hospital

gives way to long walks, fishing excursions,

cooking, letter writing, and other diversions.

Sister Alma enjoys the seclusion of the countryside

and tends to her patient with utmost care.

Don't you know it's bad luck to compare hands?

Elisabet...

may I read you something from my book?

Or am I disturbing you?

Here's what it says:

"All the anxiety we carry within us,

all our thwarted dreams, the inexplicable cruelty,

our fear of extinction,

the painful insight into our earthly condition

have slowly crystallized our hope for an other-worldly salvation.

The tremendous cry of our faith and doubt

against the darkness and silence

is the most terrifying proof of our abandonment

and our unuttered knowledge. "

Do you think that's true?

I don't believe that.

To change... but I'm so lazy.

And then I feel guilty about it.

Karl-Henrik scolds me for not having any ambition,

for going around like I'm sleepwalking.

I think that's unfair.

I graduated highest in my class.

But maybe he means something else.

You know - Oh, sorry.

You know what I think about sometimes?

At the hospital where I took my exam,

there's a home for old nurses