“Well, perhaps you may be right as far as that goes, that it's not the
wedded life dreamers have dreamed of, still....”
But it was no good talking to Falkenberg in that style; he understood
never a word.
When we stopped work at noon, I took up the talk again.
“Didn't you say once if he wasn't decent to her there'd be trouble?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, there hasn't been trouble.”
“Did I ever say he wasn't decent to her?” said Falkenberg irritably.
“No, but they're sick and wearied of each other--that's what it is. When
one comes in, the other goes out. Whenever he starts talking of anything
out in the kitchen, her eyes go all dead and dull, and she doesn't
listen.”
We got to work again with the ax, each thinking his own ways.
“I doubt but I'll need to give him a thrashing,” said Falkenberg.
“Who?”
“Lukas....”
I got my pipe done, and sent Emma in with it to the Captain. The nail
had turned out fine and natural this time, and with the fine tools I
had now, I was able to cut well down into the thumb and fasten it on
the underside, so that the two little copper pins would not show. I was
pleased enough with the work.
The Captain came out while we were at supper that evening, to thank me
for the pipe. At the same time, I noticed that Falkenberg was right; no
sooner had the Captain come out than Fruen went in.
The Captain praised my pipe, and asked how I had managed to fix the
nail; he said I was an artist and a master. All the others were standing
by and heard his words--and it counted for something to be called an
artist by the Captain himself. I believe I could have won Emma at that
moment.
That night I learned to shiver and shake.
The corpse of a woman came up to me where I lay in the loft, and
stretched out its left hand to show me: the thumbnail was missing. I
shook my head, to say I had had a thumbnail once, but I had thrown it
away, and used a shell instead. But the corpse stood there all the same,
and there I lay, shivering, cold with fear. Then I managed to say I
couldn't help it now; in God's name, go away! And, Our Father which
art in heaven.... The corpse came straight towards me; I thrust out
two clenched fists and gave an icy shriek--and there I was, crushing
Falkenberg flat against the wall.
“What is it?” cried Falkenberg. “In Heaven's name....”
I woke, dripping with sweat, and lay there with open eyes, watching the
corpse as it vanished quite slowly in the dark of the room.
“It's the corpse,” I groaned. “Come to ask for her thumbnail.”
Falkenberg sat straight up in bed, wide awake all at once.
“I saw her,” he said.
“Did you see her, too? Did you see her thumb? Ugh!”
“I wouldn't be in your shoes now for anything.”
“Let me lie inside, against the wall,” I begged.
“And what about me?”
“It won't hurt you; you can lie outside all right.”
“And let her come and take me first? Not if I know it.”
And at that Falkenberg lay down again and pulled the rug over his eyes.
I thought for a moment of going down to sleep with Petter; he was
getting better now, and there was no fear of infection. But I was afraid
to go down the stairs.
It was a terrible night.
Next morning I searched high and low for the nail, and found it on the
floor at last, among the shavings and sawdust. I took it out and buried
it on the way to the wood.
“It's a question if you oughtn't to carry it back where you took it
from,” said Falkenberg.
“Why, that's miles away--a whole long journey....”
“They won't ask about that if you're called to do it. Maybe she won't
care about having a thumb one place and a thumbnail in another.”
But I was brave enough now; a very desperado in the daylight. I laughed
at Falkenberg for his superstition, and told him science had disposed of
all such nonsense long ago.