Look Back on Happiness Part 39

That was all we said about it, and then she went back to her work.

Bravo, Fru Ingeborg. You're true-blue. It struck me then, as it had done already on several occasions, that she had grown very like Josephine at Tore Peak, both in her way of thinking and her mode of expression. Twelve years of school had laid no foundations in her young mind, though it had loosened much that was firm within her. But that did not matter, as long as she kept a firm hold now.

Nikolai is going down to the trading center, and since he will be bringing back some sacks of flour, he intends to drive. I know very well that I ought to go with him, because then I could catch the mail packet next day but one. I explain this to Nikolai and pay my bill. While he is harnessing the horse, I finish packing my bag.

Oh, these eternal journeys! Hardly am I settled in one place than I am again unsettled in another--no home, no roots. What are those bells I hear? Ah, yes--Fru Ingeborg lets the cows out. They are going to pasture for the first time this spring, so that they shall give more milk.... Here comes Nikolai to tell me he is ready. Yes, here is the knapsack....

"Nikolai, isn't it a bit early to let the cows out?"

"Yes, but they're getting restless in the cow houses."

"Yesterday I was in the woods and wanted to sit down, but I cannot sit in the snow. No, I cannot, though I could ten years ago. I must wait till there is really something to sit on. A rock is good enough, but you can't sit on a rock for very long in May."

Nikolai looks uneasily at the mare through the window.

"Yes, let's go.... And there were no b.u.t.terflies, either. You know those b.u.t.terflies that have wings exactly like pansies--there weren't any. And if happiness lives in the forest, I mean if G.o.d himself--well, He hasn't moved out yet; it's too early."

Nikolai does not reply to my nonsense. After all, it is only the incoherent expression of a vague feeling, a gentle melancholy.

We go outside together.

"Nikolai, I'm not going."

He turns around and looks at me, his eyes smiling good-humoredly.

"You see, Nikolai, I think I have got an idea; I feel exactly as though an idea had come to me that may turn into a great, red-hot iron. So I mustn't disturb myself. I'm staying."

"Well, I'm very glad to hear that," says Nikolai. "As long as you like being here...."

And a quarter of an hour later, I can see Nikolai and the mare trotting briskly down the road. Fru Ingeborg stands in the yard with the boy on her arm to watch the gamboling calves.

And here stand I. A fine old specimen, I am!

Nikolai returned with my mail; quite a little pile had acc.u.mulated in the past few weeks.

"I thought you're not in the habit of reading your letters," said Fru Ingeborg banteringly. Nikolai sat listening to us.

"No," I returned. "Just say the word, and I'll burn them unread."

Suddenly she turned pale; she had put her hand with a smile on the letters, brus.h.i.+ng my hand as she did so. I felt a great ardor, a moment's miraculous blood heat, more than blood heat--only for a moment--then she withdrew her hand and said:

"Better read them."

She was deeply flushed now.

"I saw him burn his letters once," she explained to Nikolai. Then she found something to do at the stove, while she asked her husband about his journey, about the road, whether the mare had behaved well--which she had.

A minor occurrence, of no importance to anyone. Perhaps I should not have mentioned it.

A few days later.

The weather has grown warm, my window is open, my door to the living room is open, all is still; I stand at the window looking out.

A man entered the courtyard carrying an unshapely burden. I could not see his face very well, but thought it was Nikolai carrying something, so I went back to my table to work again.

A little later I heard someone say "Good morning" in the living room.

Fru Ingeborg did not return the greeting. Instead, I heard her ask in loud, hostile tones:

"What do you want?"

"I've come to pay you a visit."

"My husband isn't in--he's in the field."

"Never mind."

"I do mind," she cried. "Go away!"

I don't know what her face looked like then, but her voice was gray--gray with tears and indignation. In a moment I was in the living room.

The stranger was Solem. Another meeting with Solem. He was everywhere. Our eyes met.

"I think you were asked to leave?" I said.

"Take it easy, take it easy," he said, in a kind of half-Norwegian, half-Swedish. "I trade in hides; I go round to the farms buying up hides.

Have you got any?"

"No!" she cried out. Her voice broke. She was completely distracted, and suddenly dipped a ladle into a pot that was boiling on the stove: Perhaps she was on the point of flinging it at him....

At this juncture, Nikolai entered the house.

He was a slow-moving man, but his eyes suddenly quickened as he took in the situation. Did he know Solem, and had he seen him coming to the farm?

He laughed a little. "Ha, ha, ha," he said, and went on smiling--left his smile standing. It looked horrible; he was quite white, and his mouth seemed to have stiffened in a smiling cramp. Here was an equal for Solem, a s.e.xual colleague, a stallion in strength and stubbornness. And still he went on smiling.

"Well, if you haven't any hides--," said Solem, finding the door. Nikolai followed him, still smiling. In the yard he helped Solem raise his burden to his back.

"Oh, thank you," said Solem in an uncomfortable tone. The bale of furs and skins was a large one; Nikolai picked it up and put it on Solem's back, swung it to his back in a curious fas.h.i.+on, with needless emphasis. Solem's knees gave way under him, and he fell on his face. We heard a groan of pain, for the paved yard was hard as the face of the mountain. Solem lay still for a moment, then he rose to his feet. His face had struck the ground in falling, and the blood was running down into his eyes. He tried to hoist his burden higher up his back, but it remained hanging slack. He began to walk away, with Nikolai behind him, still smiling. Thus they walked down the road, one behind the other, and disappeared into the woods.

Well, let us be human. That fall to the ground was bad. The heavy burden hanging down so uncomfortably from one shoulder looked bad.