THE RAG AND BONE MAN
All who knew Lars Peter Hansen agreed that he was a comical fellow.
He was always in a good temper, and really there was no reason why
he should be--especially where he was concerned. He belonged to a
race of rag and bone men, who as far back as any one could remember,
had traded in what others would not touch, and had therefore been
given the name of rag and bone folk. His father drove with dogs and
bought up rags and bones and other unclean refuse; when a sick or
tainted animal had to be done away with he was always sent for. He
was a fellow who never minded what he did, and would bury his arms
up to the elbows in the worst kind of carrion, and then go straight
to his dinner without even rinsing his fingers in water; people
declared that in the middle of the night he would go and dig up the
dead animals and strip them of their skin. His father, it was said,
had gone as a boy to give his uncle a helping hand. As an example of
the boy's depravity, it was said that when the rope would not
tighten round the neck of a man who was being hung, he would climb
up the gallows, drop down on to the unfortunate man's shoulder, and
sit there.
There was not much to inherit, and there was absolutely nothing to
be proud of. Lars Peter had probably felt this, for when quite young
he had turned his back on the home of his childhood. He crossed the
water and tried for work in North Sea land--his ambition was to be a
farmer. He was a steady and respectable fellow, and as strong as a
horse, any farmer would willingly employ him.
But if he thought he could run away from things, he was mistaken.
Rumors of his origin followed faithfully at his heels, and harmed
him at every turn. He might just as well have tried to fly from his
own shadow.
Fortunately it did not affect him much. He was
good-natured--wherever he had got it from--there was not a bad
thought in his mind. His strength and trustworthiness made up for
his low origin, so that he was able to hold his own with other young
men; it even happened, that a well-to-do girl fell in love with his
strength and black hair, and wanted him for a husband. In spite of
her family's opposition they became engaged; but very soon she died,
so he did not get hold of her money.
So unlucky was he in everything, that it seemed as if the sins of
his fathers were visited upon him. But Lars Peter took it as the way
of the world. He toiled and saved, till he had scraped together
sufficient money to clear a small piece of land on the Sand--and
once again looked for a wife. He met a girl from one of the
fishing-hamlets; they took to each other, and he married her.
There are people, upon whose roof the bird of misfortune always sits
flapping its black wings. It is generally invisible to all but the
inmates of the house; but it may happen, that all others see it,
except those whom it visits.
Lars Peter was one of those whom people always watched for something
to happen. To his race stuck the two biggest mysteries of all--the
blood and the curse; that he himself was good and happy made it no
less exciting. Something surely was in store for him; every one
could see the bird of misfortune on his roof.
He himself saw nothing, and with confidence took his bride home. No
one told him that she had been engaged to a sailor, who was drowned;
and anyway, what good would it have done? Lars Peter was not the man
to be frightened away by the dead, he was at odds with no man. And
no one can escape his fate.
They were as happy together as any two human beings can be; Lars
Peter was good to her, and when he had finished his own work, would
help her with the milking, and carry water in for her. Hansine was
happy and satisfied; every one could see she had got a good husband.
The bird that lived on their roof could be none other than the
stork, for before long Hansine confided in Lars Peter that she was
with child.
It was the most glorious news he had ever had in his life, and if he
had worked hard before he did even more so now. His evenings were
spent in the woodshed; there was a cradle to be made, and a
rocking-chair, and small wooden shoes to be carved. As he worked he
would hum, something slightly resembling a melody, but always the
same tune; then suddenly Hansine would come running out throwing
herself into his arms. She had become so strange under her
pregnancy, she could find no rest, and would sit for hours with her
thoughts far away--as if listening to distant voices--and could not
be roused up again. Lars Peter put it down to her condition, and
took it all good-humoredly. His even temperament had a soothing
effect upon her, and she was soon happy again. But at times she was
full of anxiety, and would run out to him in the fields, almost
beside herself. It was almost impossible to persuade her to return
to the house, he only succeeded after promising to keep within
sight. She was afraid of one thing or another at home, but when he
urged her to tell him the reason, she would look dumbly at him.
After the child's birth, she was her old self again. Their delight
was great in the little one, and they were happier even than before.
But this strange phase returned when she again became pregnant, only
in a stronger degree. There were times, when her fear forced her
out of the house, and she would run into the fields, wring her hands
in anguish. The distracted husband would fetch the screaming child
to her, thus tempting her home again. This time she gave in and
confided in him, that she had been engaged to a sailor, who had made
her promise that she would remain faithful, if anything happened to
him at sea.
"Did he never come back then?" asked Lars Peter slowly.
Hansine shook her head. And he had threatened to return and claim
her, if she broke her word. He had said, he would tap on the
trap-door in the ceiling.
"Did you promise of your own free will?" Lars Peter said
ponderously.
No, Hansine thought he had pressed her.
"Then you're not bound by it," said he. "My family, maybe, are not
much to go by, scum of the earth as we are. But my father and my
grandfather always used to say, there's no need to fear the dead;
they were easier to get away from than the living." She sat bending
over the babe, which had cried itself to sleep on her knees, and
Lars Peter stood with his arms round her shoulder, softly rocking
her backwards and forwards, as he tried to talk her to reason. "You
must think of the little one here--and the other little one to come!
The only thing which can't be forgiven, is unkindness to those given
to us."
Hansine took his hand and pressed it against her tearful eyes. Then
rising herself she put the child to bed; she was calm now.
The rag and bone man had no superstition of any kind, or fear
either, it was the only bright touch in the darkness of his race
that they possessed; this property caused them to be outcasts--and
decided their trade. Those who are not haunted, haunt others.
The only curse he knew, was the curse of being an outcast and
feared; and this, thank the Lord, had been removed where he was
concerned. He did not believe in persecution from a dead man. But he
understood the serious effect it had upon Hansine, and was much
troubled on her account. Before going to bed, he took down the
trap-door and hid it under the roof.
Thus they had children one after the other, and with it trouble and
depression. Instead of becoming better it grew worse with each one;
and as much as Lars Peter loved his children, he hoped each one
would be the last. The children themselves bore no mark of having
been carried under a heart full of fear. They were like small
shining suns, who encircled him all day long from the moment they
could move. They added enjoyment to his work, and as each new one
made its appearance, he received it as a gift of God. His huge fists
entirely covered the newly born babe, when handed to him by the
midwife--looking in its swaddling clothes like the leg of a boot--as
he lifted it to the ceiling. His voice in its joy was like the deep
chime of a bell, and the babe's head rolled from side to side, while
blinking its eyes at the light. Never had any one been so grateful
for children, wife and everything else as Lars Peter. He was filled
with admiration for them all, it was a glorious world.
He did not exactly make headway on his little farm. It was poor
land, and Lars Peter was said to be unlucky. Either he lost an
animal or the crop was spoiled by hail. Other people kept an account
of these accidents, Lars Peter himself had no feeling of being
treated badly. On the contrary he was thankful for his farm, and
toiled patiently on it. Nothing affected him.
When Hansine was to have her fifth child, she was worse than ever.
She had made him put up the trap-door again, on the pretense that
she could not stay in the kitchen for the draught, and she would be
nowhere else but there--she was waiting for the tap. She complained
no longer nor on the whole was she anxious either. It was as if she
had learned to endure what could not be evaded; she was
absent-minded, and Lars Peter had the sad feeling that she no longer
belonged to him. In the night he would suddenly realize that she was
missing from his side--and would find her in the kitchen stiff with
cold. He carried her back to bed, soothing her like a little child,
and she would fall asleep on his breast.
Her condition was such, that he never dared go from home, and leave
her alone with the children; he had to engage a woman to keep an eye
on her, and look after the house. She now neglected everything and
looked at the children as if they were the cause of her trouble.
One day when he was taking a load of peat to town, an awful thing
happened. What Hansine had been waiting for so long, now actually
took place. She sent the woman, who was supposed to be with her,
away on some excuse or other; and when Lars Peter returned, the
animals were bellowing and every door open. There was no sign of
wife or children. The poultry slipped past him, as he went round
calling. He found them all in the well. It was a fearful sight to
see the mother and four children lying in a row, first on the
cobble-stoned yard, wet and pitiful, and afterwards on the
sitting-room table dressed for burial. Without a doubt the sailor
had claimed his right! The mother had jumped down last, with the
youngest in her arms; they found her like this, tightly clasping the
child, though she had not deserved it.
Every one was deeply shocked by this dreadful occurrence. They would
willingly have given him a comforting and helping hand now; but it
seemed that nothing could be done to help him in his trouble. He did
not easily accept favors.
He busied himself round and about the dead, until the day of the
funeral. No one saw him shed a single tear, not even when the earth
was thrown on to the coffins, and people wondered at his composure;
he had clung so closely to them. He was probably one of those who
were cursed with inability to cry, thought the women.
After the funeral, he asked a neighbor to look after his animals; he
had to go to town, said he. With that he disappeared, and for two
years he was not seen; it was understood that he had gone to sea.
The farm was taken over by the creditors; there was no more than
would pay what he owed, so that at all events, he did not lose
anything by it.
One day he suddenly cropped up again, the same old Lars Peter,
prepared, like Job, to start again from the beginning. He had saved
a little money in the last two years, and bought a partly ruined
hut, a short distance north of his former farm. With the hut went a
bit of marsh, and a few acres of poor land, which had never been
under the plow. He bought a few sheep and poultry, put up an
outhouse of peat and reeds taken from the marsh--and settled himself
in. He dug peat and sold it, and when there was a good catch of
herrings, would go down to the nearest fishing hamlet with his
wheelbarrow and buy a load, taking them from hut to hut. He
preferred to barter them, taking in exchange old metal, rags and
bones, etc. It was the trade of his race he took up again, and
although he had never practised it before, he fell into it quite
easily. One day he took home a big bony horse, which he had got
cheap, because no-one else had any use for it; another day he
brought Soerine home. Everything went well for him.
He had met Soerine at some gathering down in one of the fishing huts,
and they quickly made a match of it. She was tired of her place and
he of being alone; so they threw in their lot together.
He was out the whole day long, and often at night too. When the
fishing season was in full swing, he would leave home at one or two
o'clock in the night, to be at the hamlet when the first boats came
in. On these occasions Soerine stayed up to see that he did not
oversleep himself. This irregular life came as naturally to her as
to him, and she was a great help to him. So now once more he had a
wife, and one who could work too. He possessed a horse, which had no
equal in all the land--and a farm! It was not what could be called
an estate, the house was built of hay, mud and sticks; people would
point laughingly at it as they passed. Lars Peter alone was thankful
for it.
He was a satisfied being--rather too much so, thought Soerine. She
was of a different nature, always straining forward, and pushing him
along so that her position might be bettered. She was an ambitious
woman. When he was away, she managed everything; and the first
summer helped him to build a proper outhouse, of old beams and
bricks, which she made herself by drying clay in the sun. "Now we've
a place for the animals just like other people," said she, when it
was finished. But her voice showed that she was not satisfied.
At times Lars Peter Hansen would suggest that they ought to take
Granny and Ditte to live with them. "They're so lonely and dull,"
said he, "and the Lord only knows where they get food from."
But this Soerine would not hear of. "We've enough to do without
them," answered she sharply, "and Mother's not in want, I'm sure.
She was always clever at helping herself. If they come here, I'll
have the money paid for Ditte. 'Tis mine by right."
"They'll have eaten that up long ago," said Lars Peter.
But Soerine did not think so; it would not be like her father or her
mother. She was convinced that her mother had hidden it somewhere or
other. "If she would only sell the hut, and give the money to us,"
said she. "Then we could build a new house."
"Much wants more!" answered Lars Peter smilingly. In his opinion the
house they lived in was quite good enough. But he was a man who
thought anything good enough for him, and nothing too good for
others. If he were allowed to rule they would soon end in the
workhouse!
So Lars Peter avoided the question, and after Granny's visit, and
having seen her and Soerine together, he understood they would be
best apart. They did not come to his home again, but when he was
buying up in their part of the country, he would call in at the hut
on the Naze and take a cup of coffee with them. He would then bring
a paper of coffee and some cakes with him, so as not to take them
unawares, and had other small gifts too. These were days of
rejoicing in the little hut. They longed for him, from one visit to
another, and could talk of very little else. Whenever there were
sounds of wheels, Ditte would fly to the window, and Granny would
open wide her sightless eyes. Ditte gathered old iron from the shore
as a surprise for her father; and when he drove home, she would go
with him as far as the big hill, behind which the sun went down.
Lars Peter said nothing of these visits when he got home.