“The whole modern school of fiction in the twentieth century stems from Hamsun. They were all Hansun’s disciples: Thomas Mann and Arthur Schnitzler . . . and even such American writers as Fitzgerald and Hemingway.”
—Isaac Bashevis Singer
IV
There was no lack of game at this time, I shot what I wanted— a hare, a black grouse, a ptarmigan—and when I happened to be down by the shore and came within range of some sea bird or other, I shot that too. They were good times, the days were getting longer and the air more limpid. I would fix myself up for a couple of days and head for the mountains, onto the peaks, I met reindeer Lapps who gave me cheese, small, rich cheeses with a relish of herbs. I went there more than once. On my way back home again, I always shot some bird or other and put it in my bag. I sat down and tied up Aesop. Miles below me I could see the sea; the mountainsides were wet and black from the water trickling down them, dripping and trickling to the same tiny old melody. Those little melodies far away in the mountains helped me pass many an hour as I sat there looking around. Here is this little endless tune trickling away in solitude, I thought, and nobody ever hears it and nobody thinks about it, but still it goes on trickling to itself, on and on! And I no longer felt that the mountain was quite deserted when I heard that trickle. Once in a while something happened: a thunderclap would shake the earth, a rock come loose and plunge down to the sea, leaving behind a trail of smoking dust; the next moment Aesop would turn his nose to the wind, showing surprise as he sniffed the smell of burning he couldn’t understand. When the snow water had forced crevices in the rock, a shot or even a sharp cry was enough to tear a big block loose and send it crashing down. . . .
An hour might go by, maybe more, time passed so quickly. I unleashed Aesop, slung my bag over the other shoulder and set out for home. The day was waning. Down in the woods I invariably hit upon my old familiar path, a narrow ribbon of a path with the most curious turns. I followed each bend taking my time, there was no hurry, nobody was waiting for me at home; free as a lord, I wandered about in the peaceful forest at my own sweet pace. The birds were all silent, only the blackcock was calling far away; it was always calling.
Coming out of the forest, I saw two people ahead of me, two people out for a walk. I caught up with them—one was Miss Edvarda, I knew her and said hello; with her was the Doctor. I had to show them my gun, they inspected my compass and my bag; I invited them to my hut and they promised to come some day.
Evening had fallen. I went home and lighted a fire, roasted a bird and had a meal. Tomorrow was another day. . . .
A hushed stillness all around. I lie there looking out of the window till well into the evening. A faery light hovered over field and forest at that hour, the sun had set and colored the horizon with a rich red light, motionless as oil. The sky was everywhere open and pure; gazing into that clear sea, I felt as if I lay face to face with the very bedrock of the world, my heart beating warmly against that naked bedrock and being at home there. God knows, Ithought to myself, why the horizon decks itself out in violet and gold tonight, whether some celebration isn’t taking place up there in the world, a celebration in grand style, with music from the stars and boating parties down broad streams. It looks that way! And I closed my eyes and went along on the boating party, and thought upon thought sailed through my brain. . . .
Thus passed more than one day.
I wandered about observing how the snow was turning into water and how the ice was breaking up. Many days I didn’t even fire a shot; when there was already food enough in the hut, I just roamed about at my leisure and let the time pass. Wherever I turned, there was always just as much to see and hear, everything changed a little each day, even the osiers and junipers were waiting for the spring. One place I went to was the mill, which was still icebound; but the ground around it had been trampled for ages and bore witness that people had come there with sacks of grain on their backs, to have it ground. It was as though I walked among people; besides, there were many letters and dates carved on the walls.
Ah, well!
V
Shall I write more? No, no. Just a little to amuse myself, and because it helps pass the time to tell how spring came two years back and how the country looked. The earth and the sea began to emit a faint odor, the dead leaves rotting in the woods gave off a sweetish smell of hydrogen sulfide, and the magpies flew with twigs in their beaks, building nests. Another couple of days, and the brooks began to swell and foam, a few tortoise-shell butterflies were seen, and the fishermen returned from their fishing stations. The trader’s two smacks came in with a full load of fish and anchored off the drying grounds; suddenly there was a hustle and bustle out on the largest of the islands, where the fish were to be dried on the rocks. I could see it all from my window.
But no noise reached my hut, I was alone and remained so. Every now and then someone would pass by; I saw Eva, the blacksmith’s daughter, she now had a few freckles on her nose.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To fetch firewood,” she replied, softly. She had a rope in her hand to carry the wood, and she had her white kerchief on her head. I followed her with my eyes, but she didn’t turn her head.
Then many days went by before I saw anyone again.
Spring pressed ahead and the forest grew lighter. It was great fun to watch the thrushes in the tree tops, gazing at the sun and screeching; sometimes I was already up by two in the morning to share in the joyous mood emanating from birds and beasts when the sun rose.
Spring must also have come to me, and at times my blood seemed to pound like footfalls. I sat in my hut thinking I should check my fishing rods and trolling lines, but I didn’t lift a finger to do anything; an obscure, joyous restlessness came and went in my heart. Then, suddenly, Aesop jumped up and, standing there on stiff legs, gave a short yelp. Some people were coming to the hut, I could already hear Edvarda’s voice at the door as I quickly took off my cap. She and the Doctor were coming to call on me, kindly and unpretentiously, as they had promised.
“Yes, he’s home,” I heard her say. And she came up and gave me her hand, in a perfectly girlish way. “We were here yesterday, too, but you weren’t home,” she explained.
She sat down on my bed, on top of the coverlet, and gave a look around the hut; the Doctor sat down beside me on the long bench. We talked, chattering on and on; among other things I told them what kinds of animals there were in the forest and what game I could no longer shoot because it was out of season. Right now the black grouse was out of season.
The Doctor didn’t say much this time either; but when he caught sight of my powder horn, with a figurine of Pan on it, he began to explain the myth of Pan.
“But,” said Edvarda suddenly, “what do you live on when all the game is out of season?”
“On fish,” I replied. “Mostly on fish. There’s always food to be had.”
“But you could come and eat with us, you know,” she said. “Last year it was an Englishman who had your hut, and he came and ate with us quite often.”
Edvarda looked at me, and I looked at her. In that moment I felt something touch my heart, like a fleeting affectionate greeting. It was the spring and the clear day, I have thought about it since. Besides, I admired her arched eyebrows.
She said a few words about my place. I had covered the walls with various animal skins and bird’s wings, the hut looked like a furry lair inside. It met with her approval. “Yes, it’s a lair,” she said.
I had nothing to offer the visitors that they might like; after some thought I decided to roast a bird, just for the fun of it. They could eat it hunters’ fashion, with their fingers. It might be rather amusing.
I roasted the bird.
Edvarda told us about the Englishman. He was an old man, an oddball who talked aloud to himself. He was a Catholic, and wherever he came and went he had a little prayer book with black and red letters in his pocket.
“He was an Irishman, then, perhaps,” the Doctor said.
“Was he an Irishman?”
“Yes, don’t you think, since he was a Catholic?”
Edvarda blushed, she stammered and looked away: “Well, yes, maybe he was an Irishman.”
From now on she lost her vivacity. Feeling sorry for her and wanting to smooth things over, I said, “No, of course you’re right in saying he was English. The Irish don’t travel to Norway.”
We arranged to row out and have a look at the cod-drying rocks some day.
After walking my visitors a little way, I went back and got down to work on my fishing gear. My bag net had been hanging on a nail by the door and several meshes had been damaged by rust. I sharpened some hooks, fastened them on, and checked the seines. How difficult it was to get anything done today! Irrelevant thoughts came and went in my head; it seemed to me I had made a gaffe in letting Miss Edvarda sit on the bed the whole time, instead of offering her a seat on the bench. Suddenly I saw her dusky face and neck before me. She had tied her pinafore rather low on her hips to have a long waist, as was the fashion; the chaste, girlish look of her thumb affected me tenderly, and the one or two wrinkles on her knuckle were full of kindness. She had a large mouth, her lips were flaming red.
I got up, opened the door and listened. I could hear nothing, nor did I have anything to listen for. I closed the door again; Aesop came out from his corner and noticed my restlessness. It occurred to me that I could run after Miss Edvarda and ask her for a bit of silk thread to mend my net with; it wasn’t just a whim, I could produce the net and show her the meshes spoiled by rust. I was already outside the door when I remembered that I had silk thread myself, in my fly-book, more than I needed, in fact. And disheartened, I went quietly back in, since I had silk thread myself.
A breath of something unfamiliar wafted toward me as I entered the hut, it seemed as if I were no longer alone there.
VI
A man asked me whether I had quit hunting; he hadn’t heard me fire a single shot up in the hills, though he had been fishing in the bay for two days. No, I hadn’t been hunting, I was staying home in my hut until I ran out of food.
On the third day I did go hunting. The forest was getting green, there was a fragrance of earth and trees, and the green leaves of the chive were already sticking up through the ice-burned moss. My head was full of thoughts and I sat down more than once. For three days I hadn’t seen a soul except one person, the fisherman I met yesterday. I thought to myself, Perhaps I’ll run across someone tonight when I go home, at the edge of the forest where I met the Doctor and Miss Edvarda the last time. They might very well take another stroll there, maybe and maybe not. But why did I think of just those two? I shot a couple of ptarmigan and prepared one of them at once; then I tied up Aesop.
I lay on the dry ground as I ate. The world was quiet all around, only a gentle sighing of the wind and the sound of a bird here and there. I lay and watched the branches swaying softly in the breeze; the little wind was doing its part, carrying pollen from twig to twig and filling each innocent stigma. The whole forest was in ecstasy. A green caterpillar, an inchworm, walks along a branch end by end, walks incessantly, as if it cannot rest. It sees next to nothing, though it does have eyes; often it rears straight up, feeling about in the air for something to bear up against. It looks like a bit of green thread sewing a seam with slow stitches along the branch. By evening, perhaps, it will have reached the place where it’s going.
Always quiet. I get up and walk, sit down and get up again. It’s about four o’clock; when it’s six I’ll start going home and see whether I meet anyone. There are two more hours till then, and I’m already a bit restless and brush the heather and moss from my clothes. I know the places I’ll pass, the trees and the rocks stand there as before in their solitude, the leaves rustle under my feet. The monotonous soughing and the familiar trees and rocks mean a lot to me, I’m filled with a mysterious gratitude; everything befriends me, intermingles with me, I love all things. I pick up a dry twig, hold it in my hand and look at it as I sit there having my own thoughts. The twig is nearly rotten, its poor bark affects me, pity stirring my heart. And when I get up to go, I do not throw the twig away but lay it down and stand there feeling fond of it. Finally, with moist eyes, I give it one last look before leaving it there.
It’s five o’clock. The sun tells me the wrong time; having walked westward all day, I may have gotten ahead of my sun marks at the hut by half an hour. I’m quite aware of all this, but I still have another hour before six o’clock, so I get up again and take a short walk. An hour or so goes by in this way.
Below me I can see the creek and the little mill, which has been icebound during the winter, and I stop; the mill is running, its hum rouses me, I stop short then and there. “I’ll be late!” I say aloud. A pang rips through me, I turn at once and head for home, knowing full well that I’ll be late. I begin to walk faster, to run; Aesop understands that something is up, he strains at the leash and drags me along, whining and bustling. The dry leaves crackle around us. But when we reached the edge of the forest there was nobody there; no, everything was quiet, there was nobody there.
There’s nobody here! I say to myself. Anyhow, I had half expected it, no great loss.
I didn’t stand there for long but went on, drawn by all my thoughts, past my hut and down to Sirilund, with Aesop and my bag and gun, with all my gear.
Mr. Mack received me with the utmost friendliness and invited me for supper.
VII
I believe I can read a little in the souls of those around me; maybe it is not so. Oh, when I have a good day I feel as if I can peer deep into other people’s souls, although I don’t have a particularly good head on my shoulders. We sit in a room, some men and women and I, and I seem to see what is going on in the hearts of these people and what they think of me. I put something into every flashing glance of their eyes; occasionally the blood rushes to their cheeks so they turn red, at other times they pretend to be looking another way while still watching me out of the corner of their eyes. There I sit observing all this, and nobody suspects that I see through every soul. For several years I have thought I could read the souls of everybody. Maybe it is not so. . . .
I remained at Mr. Mack’s house all evening. I could have left again at once, I wasn’t eager to stay on. But hadn’t I come precisely because all my thoughts had drawn me there? Could I, then, go my way at once? After supper we played whist and drank toddy, I had my back to the room and sat with my head bowed; behind me Edvarda was going in and out. The Doctor had gone home.
Mr. Mack showed me how his new lamps worked, the first kerosene lamps that had come north, showpieces on huge leaden feet; he lighted them every evening himself to forestall accidents. Once or twice he spoke about his grandfather, the consul: “My grandfather, Consul Mack, received this clip from King Carl Johan’s own hands,” he said, pointing his finger at the diamond clip. His wife had died, he showed me a painting of her in one of the side rooms, a genteel-looking woman with a lace cap and a polite smile. In the same room there was also a bookcase, which even had some old French books in it, ostensibly heirlooms. They had fine, gilded bindings, and many owners had inscribed their names in them. Among the books were several educational works; Mr. Mack was a thinking man.
His two store clerks had to be summoned for the whist; they played slowly and diffidently, counted over carefully and still made mistakes. One of them was helped by Edvarda.
Then I upset my glass; I felt miserable and stood up. “Oh—I’ve upset my glass!” I said.
Edvarda burst out laughing and replied, “Yes, that’s plain enough.”
They all assured me laughingly that it didn’t matter. They gave me a towel to dry myself with and we went on playing. Soon it was eleven o’clock.
An obscure feeling of resentment shot through me at Edvarda’s laughter, I looked at her and found that her face had become commonplace and quite plain. Finally Mr. Mack broke up the game on the pretext that his two clerks had to go to bed; then, leaning back in the sofa, he began to talk about putting up a sign on his warehouse front and asked my advice about it. What color should he use? I was boredand answered “black,” without giving it any thought, and Mr. Mack at once said the same, “Black, just what I’ve been thinking myself. ‘SALT AND BARRELS IN STOCK,’ in big black letters, that’s the most dignified. . . . Edvarda, shouldn’t you be going to bed now?”
Edvarda got up, gave us both her hand for good night and left. We stayed on. We talked about the railroad that had been completed last year, and about the first telegraph line. God only knew when the telegraph would come up north! Pause.
“You see,” Mr. Mack said, “step by step I’ve reached the age of forty-six, my hair and beard are gray. Yes, I do feel I’m getting on in years. Seeing me during the day, you may think I’m young, but when evening comes and I’m alone, I flag considerably. Then I just sit here in the parlor playing solitaire. It usually comes out with a bit of cheating. Ha-ha!”
“Your patience comes out with a bit of cheating?” I asked.
“Yes.”
It seemed to me I could read his eyes. . . .
He got up, took a turn over to the window and looked out; he appeared very stoop-shouldered, and his neck and throat were furry. I also got up. Turning around, he came toward me in his long pointed shoes, keeping both thumbs in his vest pockets and flapping his arms a little, like wings, all the while smiling. Then once more he offered to put a boat at my disposal and gave me his hand.
“Come to think, let me go with you,” he said and blew out the lamps. “Yes, I’ll take a little walk, it’s not late yet.”
We went out.
He pointed up the road toward the blacksmith’s house and said, “This way! It’s the shortest.”
“No,” I replied, “it’s shorter to go around by the docks.”
We exchanged a few words about this without coming to an agreement. I was convinced that I was right and couldn’t understand his insistence. Finally he suggested that we should go our separate ways; the one who got there first should wait at the hut.
We were off. He soon disappeared into the forest.
I walked at my usual pace and figured I would get there at least five minutes ahead of him. But when I reached the hut he was already there. He called out to me as I came up, “There, you see! No, I always come this way, it really is shorter.”
I looked at him in great surprise, he wasn’t warm and didn’t seem to have been running. He took his leave at once, thanked me for a pleasant evening and went back the same way he had come.
I stood there thinking, How odd! I should be a fairly good judge of distance, and I’ve gone both ways several times. My dear man, you’re cheating again! Was it all a pretense?
I saw his back disappearing into the forest again.
The next moment I was following him, quickly and warily; I could see him wiping his face all along, and I was no longer sure that he hadn’t been running. He was now walking very slowly and I kept an eye on him; he stopped at the blacksmith’s house. I took cover and saw the door being opened and Mr. Mack entering the house.
It was one o’clock, I could tell by the sea and by the grass.
VIII
A few days went by as best they could, my only friend was the forest and the great solitude. Good God, never before had I been more alone than on the first of those days. Spring was in full tilt; I found starflowers and yarrow in the fields, and both the chaffinches and the bramblings had arrived, I knew all the birds. Sometimes I would take two quarters from my pocket and chink them together to break the solitude. I thought, What if Diderik and Iselin came along!
It was beginning to be no night, the sun barely dipped its disk into the sea before it rose again, red, renewed, as if it had been down to drink. What strange adventures I met with at night sometimes; nobody would believe it. Wasn’t Pan sitting in a tree watching to see how I would comport myself? Wasn’t his belly open, and wasn’t he hunched over so that he seemed to be drinking from his own belly? But all this he did only so he could cock his eye and watch me, and the whole tree shook from his silent laughter when he saw that my thoughts were running away with me. There was a rustling all over the forest. Animals snuffled, birds called one another, their signals filled the air. It was a year when the cockchafers were particularly numerous; their buzzing mingled with that of the moths, it sounded like whisperings through the forest, back and forth. How much there was to listen to! I went without sleep for three nights, thinking of Diderik and Iselin.
Look, I thought, they might come. And Iselin would lure Diderik up to a tree and say, Stay here, Diderik, and watch, keep guard over Iselin, I’ll let this hunter tie my shoelace.
The hunter, that’s me, and she will give me a sign with her eyes to make me understand. And when she comes my heart understands all, and it no longer beats, it peals. And she is naked under her dress from head to foot, and I lay my hand upon her.
Tie my shoelace! she says with flaming cheeks. And a little later she whispers directly against my mouth, against my lips, Oh, you’re not tying my shoelace, sweetheart, you’re not tying . . . not tying my . . .
But the sun dips its disk into the sea and then rises again, red, renewed, as if it has been down to drink. And the air is full of whisperings.
An hour later she says against my mouth, Now I must leave you.
And she waves back to me as she goes, her cheeks still flaming; her face is tender and rapturous. And again she turns and waves to me.
But Diderik steps forward from the tree and says, Iselin, what were you doing? I saw you.
She answers, Diderik, what did you see? I did nothing.
Iselin, I saw you do it, he says again. I saw it.
Then her loud, merry laughter rings through the forest and she goes off with him, exultant and sinful from top to toe. And where does she go? To her next lover, a hunter in the forest.
It was midnight. Aesop had broken loose and was hunting on his own, I could hear him baying up in the hills, and when I finally brought him back it was one o’clock. A shepherd girl came along, she was knitting a stocking and humming while looking about her. But where was her flock? And what was she walking around for in the forest at midnight? Oh, for nothing, nothing. For restlessness, or for happiness perhaps, no matter. I thought, She heard Aesop barking and knew I was in the forest.
I had stood up and was looking at her as she came, and I saw how young and thin she was. Aesop also stood and looked at her.
“Where are you coming from?” I asked her.
“From the mill,” she replied.
But what could she have been doing at the mill so late at night?
“How come you’re not afraid to walk in the forest so late at night,” I said, “young and thin as you are?”
She laughed and replied, “I’m not that young, I’m nineteen.”
But she couldn’t be nineteen, I’m convinced she was lying by two years and was only seventeen. But why did she lie and make herself older?
“Sit down,” I said, “and tell me your name.”
And blushing, she sat down beside me and said her name was Henriette.
I asked, “Do you have a sweetheart, Henriette, and has he ever held you in his arms?”
“Yes,” she answered, laughing shyly.
“How many times already?”
She’s silent.
“How many times?” I repeat.
“Twice,” she said softly.
I drew her toward me and asked, “How did he do it? Did he do it like this?”
“Yes,” she whispered, trembling.
Then it was four o’clock.
IX
I had a conversation with Edvarda. “It’s going to rain soon,” I said.
“What time is it?” she asked.
I looked at the sun and replied, “Around five.”
She asked, “Can you tell it that exactly by the sun?”
“Yes,” I replied, “I can.”
Pause.
“But what if you can’t see the sun, how do you know the time then?”
“Then I go by other things. There is high tide and low tide, there’s the grass that settles at a certain hour, and the changing birdcalls; some birds begin to sing when others are silent. And I can tell the time by the flowers that close in the afternoon, and by the leaves, which now are bright green, now dark green. Besides, I have a hunch.”
“I see,” she said.
I was expecting rain, and loath, for Edvarda’s sake, to detain her any longer in the middle of the road, I touched my cap. But then, suddenly, she stopped me with a fresh question and I stayed. She blushed and asked me what I was really doing up here, why I went hunting, why this, that and the other. After all, I shot only what was strictly necessary, for food, letting Aesop remain idle?
She blushed and lookedhumble. I understood that someone had been talking about me and that she had overheard it, she was not speaking for herself. My feelings were touched, she looked so forlorn—it struck me that she was motherless, her thin arms gave her a neglected appearance. It just came over me.
Well, I didn’t shoot to murder, I shot in order to live. I needed one grouse today and so I didn’t shoot two, I’d shoot the other one tomorrow. Why should I shoot more? I lived in the forest, I was a son of the forest. Anyway, from the first of June ptarmigan and hare were out of season, so I would have practically nothing to shoot anymore; well and good, I would go fishing and live on fish. I would get a boat from her father for rowing out in. No, I was not a hunter just so I could shoot things, of course not, but to be able to live in the forest. I felt comfortable there; I could lie at table, on the ground, when I ate, I didn’t have to sit straight up and down on a chair; and I did not upset my glass. In the forest I forbade myself nothing, I could lie on my back and close my eyes if I wished, I could also say anything I liked there. Often when you had something you wanted to say and you said it out loud, it sounded like a voice from the very heart of the forest. . . .
When I asked her if she understood that, she answered “Yes.”
I went on to say more, because her eyes lingered on me. “If you just knew all the things I see out in the wild,” I said. “In the winter, walking along, I may see ptarmigan tracks in the snow. Suddenly the tracks disappear, the birds have flown up. But I can tell from the imprint of the wings in what direction the game has flown, and before long I hunt it up. Each time it’s a bit different. Many a time in the fall you may chance to see shooting stars. What was that? I then think to myself in my solitude. A world seized by convulsions, a world breaking up before my very eyes? To think that I—that I was privileged to see a shooting star in my life! And when the summer comes, there may be a tiny living creature on every leaf; I can see that some have no wings, they can’t get anywhere—they must live and die on the little leaf where they came into the world. Just imagine! Sometimes I see a bluebottle. Well, all this doesn’t sound like very much, I don’t know if you understand.”
“Yes, yes, I understand.”
“Well. And then sometimes I look at the grass, and maybe the grass looks back at me, what do we know? I look at a single blade of grass, perhaps it’s trembling a little—that is already something, it seems to me. I think to myself, Look, this blade of grass is trembling! And if it is a pine tree I’m looking at, then perhaps it has a branch which makes me cherish that too a little. But sometimes I also meet people up in the hills, yes, it happens.”
I looked at her—she was listening, craning her neck forward. I couldn’t recognize her. She was so attentive that she dropped her guard, became ugly and stupid-looking, her lower lip sagging badly.
“Really!” she said, straightening up.
The first raindrops fell.
“It’s raining,” I said.
“Yes, just think, it’s raining,” she said too, and was gone.
I didn’t walk her home, she went off by herself while I hurried up to my hut. A few minutes passed, it began to rain heavily. Suddenly I hear someone come running after me, I stop and see Edvarda. She had turned red from the exertion and smiled.
“I forgot,” she said breathlessly. “About that outing to the drying grounds, the cod-drying rocks. The Doctor is coming tomorrow, do you have time then?”
“Tomorrow? All right. Sure, I have time.”
“I forgot,” she said again and smiled.
As she left I noticed her beautiful slender legs, they were wet high up. Her shoes were worn down.
X
I can still remember one day very well. It was the day when my summer came. The sun began shining when it was still night and had dried the wet ground by morning, the air had become nice and soft after the latest rain.
I showed up on the pier in the afternoon. The water was perfectly still, we could hear laughter and talking coming from the island where the men and girls were busy with the fish. It was a happy afternoon.
Yes, wasn’t it a happy afternoon? We had baskets of food and wine with us, a large party of people divided between two boats, with young women in light-colored dresses. I was so delighted, I hummed to myself.
Once in the boat I wondered where all those young people had come from. There were the daughters of the Sheriff and the district doctor, a couple of governesses, and the ladies from the parsonage; I had never seen them before, they were strangers to me and yet so trusting, as if we’d known one another a long time. I committed a few gaffes. I was no longer accustomed to mixing with people and often addressed the young ladies by their first names; but they didn’t mind. Once I said “Dear” or “My dear,” but they pardoned me for that as well and pretended that I hadn’t said it.
Mr. Mack had his unstarched shirt front on as usual, with the diamond clip. He seemed to be in excellent spirits and called over to the other boat, “Take good care of the baskets with the bottles, you crazy people! Doctor, you’ll answer for the bottles!”
“All right!” the Doctor answered back. And coming over the water from one boat to another, those two calls alone sounded festive and jolly in my ears.
Edvarda was wearing her dress from yesterday, as if she didn’t have any other dress or refused to put it on. Her shoes were also the same. Her hands weren’t quite clean, it seemed to me; but she had a brand-new hat on her head, with a feather in it. She had brought her dyed jacket to sit on.
At Mr. Mack’s request I fired a shot as we were about to land—two shots, both barrels, followed by shouts of hurrah. We walked up on the island; the dryers greeted us all, and Mr. Mack talked to his workers. We found daisies and buttercups, which we put in our buttonholes; some of us found bluebells.
And masses of sea birds quacked and cried in the air and on the shore.
We camped on a grassy plot with a few stunted white birches, the baskets were uncovered and Mr. Mack uncorked the bottles. Light dresses, blue eyes, the tinkling of glasses, the sea, the white sails. We sang snatches of song.
And our cheeks became rosy.
An hour later my thoughts are sheer exultation. Even little things touch me: a veil flutters on a hat, someone’s hair is let down, a pair of eyes close with laughter and I am moved. What a day, what a day!
“I hear you have such an amusing little hut, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, a nest. God, all my heart could desire! Come and see me some day, miss; it’s one of a kind. And behind the hut there’s a large forest.”
Another girl comes up and says amicably, “You haven’t been up north before, have you?”
“No,” I reply. “But already I know all about it, my good ladies. At night I’m face to face with the mountains, the earth and the sun. But I won’t try to be pompous. What a summer you have up here! It springs forth some night when everyone is asleep, and in the morning there it is. I looked out of my window and saw it myself. I have two small windows.”
A third one comes up. I find her charming because of her voice and her small hands. How charming they all are! The third one says, “Shall we exchange flowers? It brings good luck.”
“Sure,” I said, holding out my hand, “let’s exchange flowers, thank you for that. How pretty you are! You have a charming voice, I’ve been hearing it all the time.”
But she withdraws her bluebells and says curtly, “What’s the matter with you? I didn’t mean you.”
She hadn’t meant me! It grieved me that I’d made a mistake, I wished I were home again, far away in my hut where only the wind spoke to me. “I’m sorry,” I say, “forgive me.” The other ladies look at one another and go away so as not to humiliate me.
At this moment someone came quickly toward us, everyone saw her, it was Edvarda. She comes straight up to me, says a few words and falls on my neck—she clasps her arms around my neck and kisses me on the lips again and again. She says something each time, but I can’t hear what it is. I couldn’t understand the whole thing, my heart had stopped, I just noticed the burning look in her eyes. When she let go of me, her little bosom rose and fell. There she stood, lingering, with her dusky face and neck, tall and slim, with flashing eyes, completely reckless; everyone was staring at her. For the second time I was thrilled by her dark eyebrows, which rose in a high curve on her forehead.
But good God, the girl had kissed me in front of everybody!
“What is it, Miss Edvarda?” I asked, and I hear my blood throbbing, hear it as it were from my throat, it prevents me from speaking clearly.
“Oh, nothing,” she answers. “I just felt like it. It doesn’t matter.”
I take off my cap and mechanically brush my hair back as I stand looking at her. Doesn’t it matter? I thought.
Then Mr. Mack’s voice is heard from another part of the island, saying something that we cannot hear. I’m glad to think that Mr. Mack has seen nothing, knows nothing. How lucky that he was in another part of the island just now! This makes me feel relieved, I step up to the rest of the company and say laughingly, acting very nonchalant, “May I beg you all to pardon my unseemly behavior a while ago; I feel terribly upset about it. I took advantage of a moment when Miss Edvarda wished to exchange flowers with me to offend her; I apologize to her and to you all. Put yourselves in my place: I live alone, I’m not used to associating with ladies; besides, I’ve been drinking wine today, which I’m not used to either. Please, bear with me.”
I laughed, acting nonchalant about the whole trifling business to consign it to oblivion; but in my heart I was serious. Anyhow, my words were lost on Edvarda, who didn’t attempt to hide anything or to erase the impression of her rashness; on the contrary, she sat down close to me and kept looking at me the whole time. Every now and then she would say something to me. Later on, when we were playing “widower,” she said loudly, “Lieutenant Glahn is the one I want. I don’t feel like running after anyone else.”
“Damn it all, woman, why don’t you pipe down!” I whispered, stamping my foot.
A look of surprise flitted across her face, she made a pained grimace with her nose and smiled shyly. I was deeply moved, unable to resist that forlorn expression of her eyes and of her whole thin figure. I fell in love with her and took her long, narrow hand in mine.
“Later!” I said. “No more now. We can meet tomorrow, you know.”
the evening redness in the west 