Garbo, Me and the Trolls
Posted: Saturday, October 08, 2011
by Jack H. Schick
I was looking for a photo album booklet once. It’s the kind that’s about the size of an over sized post card. I thought it might be in one of the shoe boxes full of stuff we keep stored on the shelves in the library closet. I’m embarrassed to say; I hadn’t been in that closet in years. While I was reaching up to grab down a box on one shelf, I spotted one with the lid off at about eye level on another. I recognized the corner of the album booklet I was looking for poking up and reached for it.
I reached into the box for my photo booklet. I felt relief that I’d finally found it. From my angle of observation I couldn’t see down into the box, just barely over its edge. I “preconceived” a shoe box full of loose photographs and envelopes because I could see the edges of a few. When my hand reached over and in, something tickled it, something like hair or fur. I instinctively grasped. My fingers closed around something that was totally unexpected. It was smooth, slightly pliable, and of an indistinguishable shape.
I totally lost it. I freaked out. I actually shrieked, “Aaaaaaah!” and jumped back, out of the closet, knocking over the magazine rack by the reading chair. The box flew and landed on the floor scattering the contents: my album booklet, loose photographs, old envelopes and post cards; and, one of those little rubber troll dolls with big magenta colored hair that were so popular with my kids a few years back. I actually stomped on the little monster, out of revenge for nearly giving me a heart attack. It just laid there grinning.
How it got in that box, I’ll never know. I put it on the reading lamp table, actually stood it up properly and, for some mysterious, perhaps superstitious reason, repositioned it a couple of times before I was satisfied. While I was picking up the scattered contents I got thinking about trolls. The old Billy Goat Gruff story always scared me. The drawing of the troll in the book we had when I was a kid was frightening. We had a foot bridge right by the house, too. I always sprinted across it, expecting to get snatched by a troll.
It also reminded me of an odd story about my favorite actress, Greta Garbo (yes, I have a hopeless crush on a long dead woman). Garbo was Swedish. Trolls are from Scandinavian folklore. It’s a general term that has referred to a variety of spirits or supernatural beings over the millennia. Some were large. Some were small. Some lived in rocks, some lived in burial mounds and some lived…under bridges. Few of them were helpful or friendly and some were downright nasty.
After Garbo retired she became a recluse in New York City. She loved to walk. Incognito, she walked, literally, hundreds of blocks every day. That’s why there were so many Garbo “sightings” over the years. As she got older, friends convinced her to get a walking companion. She became very close, platonic friends with Sam Green, an art dealer. When they met, she was 65 and he was 30. They walked together through the city for years.
Once, Sam was at Garbo’s apartment. When she left the living room to mix drinks, he reached for some peanuts and knocked a few on the floor. When he bent down to pick them up he noticed a small face staring out from under the sofa he was sitting on. It startled him, but then he recognized it as one of the troll dolls. When he bend down further to investigate he found that there were at least a dozen of them under the couch. They were set up in a formation, like a gathering of some sort.
He’d become accustomed to Garbo’s eccentricity and certainly did not want to jeopardize their relationship, so he didn’t say a word about it to anyone. However, from then on, whenever he had the opportunity he’d check under the couch. Sure enough, the trolls were always there and they were always in a different arrangement. She apparently moved them around regularly.
Green was asked, “Why trolls?” He considered it sort of a silly question and said: “Why not? Children play with dolls. Garbo played with trolls. They amused her. Alone late at night when the sandman wouldn’t come, maybe she couldn’t get to sleep, maybe she acted out little scenes or games or fantasies with them, from some Swedish legend. Who knows? You tell me.” It certainly hasn’t diminished her image in my eyes (wink, wink).
It’s funny how, even after the fright he gave me when he was hiding in the shoe box, he doesn’t bother me at all. He’s looking at me from over at his spot on the table in the library right now. I explained that the stomping was just instinct, and he forgave me long ago. Sometimes I can feel his eyes on the back of my head, but usually I don’t even notice he’s there. A lot of times when I walk by, I stop and reposition him. She claims she doesn’t, but I’m convinced my wife does it, too, because I often notice that he’s definitely moved.
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)Well done, Jack. (And here I thought it was a mouse!) Loved hearing about Garbo. Interesting woman. Certainly nothing wrong with a troll here and there.
Thanks for reading and commenting. I'll do Garbo and her pet fly soon
Well some like horses and some like trolls? Didn't know that about her. Interesting lady from the little I know. Loved the way you told the story.Thanks for always readigna nd commenting
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