Pan Part 2

Edwarda told about the Englishman. An old man, an eccentric, who talked aloud to himself. He was a Roman Catholic, and always carried a little prayer-book, with red and black letters, about with him wherever he went.

"Was he an Irishman then?" asked the Doctor.

"An Irishman...?"

"Yes--since he was a Roman Catholic."

Edwarda blushed, and stammered and looked away.

"Well, yes, perhaps he was an Irishman."

After that she lost her liveliness. I felt sorry for her, and tried to put matters straight again. I said:

"No, of course you are right: he was an Englishman. Irishmen don't go travelling about in Norway."

We agreed to row over one day and see the fish-drying grounds...

When I had seen my visitors a few steps on their way, I walked home again and sat down to work at my fis.h.i.+ng gear. My hand-net had been hung from a nail by the door, and several of the meshes were damaged by rust; I sharpened up some hooks, knotted them to lengths of line, and looked to the other nets. How hard it seemed to do any work at all to-day!

Thoughts that had nothing to do with the business in hand kept coming and going; it occurred to me that I had done wrong in letting Edwarda sit on the bed all the time, instead of offering her a seat on the bench. I saw before me suddenly her brown face and neck; she had fastened her ap.r.o.n a little low down in front, to be long-waisted, as was the fas.h.i.+on; the girlish contour of her thumb affected me tenderly, and the little wrinkles above the knuckle were full of kindliness. Her mouth was large and rich.

I rose up and opened the door and looked out. I could hear nothing, and indeed there was nothing to listen for. I closed the door again; aesop came up from his resting-place and noticed that I was restless about something. Then it struck me that I might run after Edwarda and ask her for a little silk thread to mend my net with. It would not be any pretence--I could take down the net and show her where the meshes were spoiled by rust. I was already outside the door when I remembered that I had silk thread myself in my fly-book; more indeed than I wanted. And I went back slowly, discouraged--to think that I had silk thread myself.

A breath of something strange met me as I entered the hut again; it seemed as if I were no longer alone there.

VI

A man asked me if I had given up shooting; he had not heard me fire a shot up in the hills, though he had been out fis.h.i.+ng for two days. No, I had shot nothing; I had stayed at home in the hut until I had no more food in the place.

On the third day I went out with my gun. The woods were getting green; there was a smell of earth and trees. The young gra.s.s was already springing up from the frozen moss. I was in a thoughtful mood, and sat down several times. For three days I had not seen a soul except the one fisherman I had met the day before. I thought to myself, "Perhaps I may meet someone this evening on the way home, at the edge of the wood, where I met the Doctor and Edwarda before. Perhaps they may be going for a walk that way again--perhaps, perhaps not." But why should I think of those two in particular? I shot a couple of ptarmigan, and cooked one of them at once; then I tied up the dog.

I lay down on the dry ground to eat. The earth was quiet--only a little breath of wind and the sound of a bird here and there. I lay and watched the branches waving gently in the breeze; the little wind was at its work, carrying pollen from branch to branch and filling every innocent bloom; all the forest seemed filled with delight. A green worm thing, a caterpillar, dragged itself end by end along a branch, dragging along unceasingly, as if it could not rest. It saw hardly anything, for all it had eyes; often it stood straight up in the air, feeling about for something to take hold of; it looked like a stump of green thread sewing a seam with long st.i.tches along the branch. By evening, perhaps, it would have reached its goal.

Quiet as ever. I get up and move on, sit down and get up again. It is about four o'clock; about six I can start for home, and see if I happen to meet anyone. Two hours to wait; a little restless already, I brush the dust and heather from my clothes. I know the places I pa.s.s by, trees and stones stand there as before in their solitude; the leaves rustle underfoot as I walk. The monotonous breathing and the familiar trees and stones mean much to me; I am filled with a strange thankfulness; everything seems well disposed towards me, mingles with my being; I love it all. I pick up a little dry twig and hold it in my hand and sit looking at it, and think my own thoughts; the twig is almost rotten, its poor bark touches me, pity fills my heart. And when I get up again, I do not throw the twig far away, but lay it down, and stand liking it; at last I look at it once more with wet eyes before I go away and leave it there.

Five o'clock. The sun tells me false time today; I have been walking westward the whole day, and come perhaps half an hour ahead of my sun marks at the hut. I am quite aware of all this, but none the less there is an hour yet before six o'clock, so I get up again and go on a little.

And the leaves rustle under foot. An hour goes that way.

I look down at the little stream and the little mill that has been icebound all the winter, and I stop. The mill is working; the noise of it wakes me, and I stop suddenly, there and then. "I have stayed out too long," I say aloud. A pang goes through me; I turn at once and begin walking homewards, but all the time I know I have stayed out too long. I walk faster, then run; aesop understands there is something the matter, and pulls at the leash, drags me along, sniffs at the ground, and is all haste. The dry leaves crackle about us.

But when we come to the edge of the wood there was no one there. No, all was quiet; there was no one there.

"There is no one here," I said to myself. And yet it was no worse than I had expected.

I did not stay long, but walked on, drawn by all my thoughts, pa.s.sed by my hut, and went down to Sirilund with aesop and my bag and gun--with all my belongings.

Herr Mack received me with the greatest friendliness, and asked me to stay to supper.

VII

I fancy I can read a little in the souls of those about me--but perhaps it is not so. Oh, when my good days come, I feel as if I could see far into others' souls, though I am no great or clever head. We sit in a room, some men, some women, and I, and I seem to see what is pa.s.sing within them, and what they think of me. I find something in every swift little change of light in their eyes; sometimes the blood rises to their cheeks and reddens them; at other times they pretend to be looking another way, and yet they watch me covertly from the side. There I sit, marking all this, and no one dreams that I see through every soul. For years past I have felt that I could read the souls of all I met. But perhaps it is not so...

I stayed at Herr Mack's house all that evening. I might have gone off again at once--it did not interest me to stay sitting there--but had I not come because all my thoughts were drawing me that way? And how could I go again at once? We played whist and drank toddy after supper; I sat with my back turned to the rest of the room, and my head bent down; behind me Edwarda went in and out. The Doctor had gone home.

Herr Mack showed me the design of his new lamps--the first paraffin lamps to be seen so far north. They were splendid things, with a heavy leaden base, and he lit them himself every evening--to prevent any accident. He spoke once or twice of his grandfather, the Consul.

"This brooch was given to my grandfather, Consul Mack, by Carl Johan with his own hands," he said, pointing one finger at the diamond in his s.h.i.+rt. His wife was dead; he showed me a painted portrait of her in one of the other rooms--a distinguished looking woman with a lace cap and a winsome smile. In the same room, also, there was a bookcase, and some old French books, no less, that might have been an heirloom. The bindings were rich and gilded, and many owners had marked their names in them. Among the books were several educational works; Herr Mack was a man of some intelligence.

His two a.s.sistants from the store were called in to make up the party at whist. They played slowly and doubtfully, counted carefully, and made mistakes all the same. Edwarda helped one of them with his hand.

I upset my gla.s.s, and felt ashamed, and stood up.

"There--I have upset my gla.s.s," I said.

Edwarda burst out laughing, and answered:

"Well, we can see that."

Everyone a.s.sured me laughingly that it did not matter. They gave me a towel to wipe myself with, and we went on with the game. Soon it was eleven o'clock.

I felt a vague displeasure at Edwarda's laugh. I looked at her, and found that her face had become insignificant, hardly even pretty. At last Herr Mack broke off the game, saying that his a.s.sistants must go to bed; then he leaned back on the sofa and began talking about putting up a sign in front of his place. He asked my advice about it. What colour did I think would be best? I was not interested, and answered "black,"

without thinking at all. And Herr Mack at once agreed:

"Black, yes--exactly what I had been thinking myself. 'Salt and barrels'

in heavy black letters--that ought to look as nice as anything...

Edwarda, isn't it time you were going to bed?"

Edwarda rose, shook hands with us both, said good-night, and left the room. We sat on. We talked of the railway that had been finished last year, and of the first telegraph line. "Wonder when we shall have the telegraph up here."

Pause.

"It's like this," said Herr Mack. "Time goes on, and here am I, six-and-forty, and hair and beard gone grey. You might see me in the daytime and say I was a young man, but when the evening comes along, and I'm all alone, I feel it a good deal. I sit here mostly playing patience. It works out all right as a rule, if you fudge a little.

Haha!"

"If you fudge a little?" I asked.

"Yes."

I felt as if I could read in his eyes...

He got up from his seat, walked over to the window, and looked out; he stooped a little, and the back of his neck was hairy. I rose in my turn.