THE SPECTACLE MAN
A fire burned in the grate when the children, clinging together,
creeping close to one another, came slowly into the cottage.
And yet Magnus was missing. He insisted that he couldn’t very well
leave the goat out there alone. Really he thought it only right that
Andy should receive the first blow among strangers. One was naturally
uncertain about what could happen in an altogether unknown place.
Maglena’s ideas had gradually become his too, so he stayed calmly
outside while the rest trudged away in.
‘Close the door!’ thundered a coarse voice.
If Andy at this moment had made half a movement toward the door, the
whole flock would have dashed out headlong, away from a roof over their
heads, warmth, and the hope of food, so frightened were they.
The roaring voice came from some one over by the hearth, who, exactly
as Maglena had foreseen, surely had one eye at the back of his head.
Yes, it looked almost as though both eyes were there, for big black
spectacles shone in the middle of the head. He had fiery red hair and
did not seem to need to turn around or even move to see who had come in.
But the children stood absolutely quiet, like a terrified flock of
bewildered little lambs. All of them stared at the gleaming black eyes
in the red head, and at the man’s hairy arms, bare to the elbow, which
rose and fell with something glittering and sharp which he held in his
coarse clenched hands.
‘It’s a Turk we’ve come to!’ whispered Maglena, her teeth chattering
with fear.
‘Then he’ll eat us up! I’ll go out and see what Magnus is doing to
Golden Horn, I will,’ said Per-Erik. He pushed the door open quietly
with his foot and glided out more hastily than he had come in.
Anna-Lisa was about to follow him; but she saw some cold mush on a
plate on the hearth, and the sight of that somehow held her fast.
Maglena and the little girls clung to Andy until he was almost lifted
from the ground. He whispered to them to be quiet--they ought to know
what was expected when you first come in; to stand at the door and be
quiet until spoken to.
But Martha-Greta, the smallest little girl, mother’s golden heart as
she had been so lately, could not be quiet. She was frightened, and she
was hungry, and she felt miserable in every way.
‘Mother!’ she screamed. ‘Ata-Eta ’ants to go to mother!’
And now all dams burst. She shrieked as though some one were sticking
her with knives. It was the most enticing signal to Brita-Carrie, who
had an even stronger voice than the smaller sister’s.
Maglena’s lips began to tremble suspiciously. She who, better than the
others, had known to what sort of people they were coming, she who
had foreseen these awful horrible people who had eyes at the back of
their heads, she became wild with fright at seeing these eyes stare
and stare, still, shining, black. She had known before that that
‘back-eyed’ man _was_ a Turk who could not think of anything pleasanter
than to take small children to slaughter and salt down for other Turks
to eat.
So Maglena could not hold out any longer either, but gave forth a
quivering cry not unlike the little girls’ shrieking.
Anna-Lisa--yes, it seems strange to tell this, for she was a big girl
in her eleventh year. Maybe the day’s burdens had been too heavy for
her or else that plate of cold gray mush she saw before her, without
hope of reaching it, caused it. At any rate, the sad truth is that even
she joined in the not especially harmonious choir which she, for the
sake of a change, enlivened with shrill, piping sobs.
Andy turned pale, he turned red. It is awful the way shrieking and
wailing can be catching. No one had ever heard it said that a man in
his thirteenth year could begin to--begin to----! No, even if he had
walked a whole winter’s day without food, dragged small sisters on
a heavy sled, and been in agony because of what he had brought them
into. Not even if he had been tortured with an agony of terror over the
approaching greedy wolves, and now lastly felt the shame of coming
with the whole flock to beg for food for them all and himself and
also--for a bed---- But still!
Andy was angry at the tears that wanted to come and at the disgusting
sobs which began to shake him. He clenched his fists and bit his teeth
to control what a man, who had many little ones to guide and take care
of, must control.
‘Children! But, children--are you crazy? We are with strangers! They’ll
drive us out if you keep on like that!’
Was it likely that the ‘children’ would be quiet after such a
trembling, half-sobbing warning? If Andy looked like that, and if he
sounded so queer and ready to cry, then there was real danger.
Oh, oh, what a wailing clamor arose!
‘Where are these people from who have such a dreadful way of greeting?
Good-day and God’s Peace is more customary.’
The Spectacle Man turned slowly around. Now all the children became
silent with astonishment. Can you imagine, he had eyes even on the
other side of his head, in his face like ordinary people, and he looked
at them with a heavy but not at all evil expression!
‘Who has had so little sense as to let out such little folks now in a
hard year, and when the wolf sneaks around the corners?’
Andy stepped forward as far as he was able with the heavy train of
small legs.
‘No one has let us out. We have come ourselves, because the little
house was empty of both father and--mother----’
Andy’s voice began to tremble alarmingly.
‘But your community must have some way of taking care of the poor. This
parish will just have to see that such a crowd gets back there.’
‘It is a hard year. Every one at home is poor. No one wants the little
girls except for the money--and mother was so careful of them.’
Andy was silent again--swallowed and swallowed--clenched his teeth.
‘So that’s the way of it.’
The Spectacle Man spat and whistled.
‘But you must have a poor-house, in the Name of Peace?’
He turned away round on the chair--the children began to tremble at the
coarse rumbling voice.
‘They’re always quarreling there, every one; the children wouldn’t
learn what mother wanted them to know. There wouldn’t be any one to
keep after them to remember what mother taught them. And then crazy
Lars is there, he talks shamefully; and leprous Barbara is there too.’
‘So that’s the way of it--and here I am alone in the house. They have
gone--all of them have gone. So that’s the way of it. And now maybe you
thought you’d get something here----’
A tremulous sigh shook the group as if from a single breast.
‘So that’s the way of it. Well, I have some cold mush and herring; yes,
you can put that on the grill there and fry it. And ale; you can have
ale with your mush, for you see I got a jug from the juryman when I
left to-day. And maybe there’s a little sirup left in the jar to mix
with it too. Such little folk maybe have nothing against sirup.’
A bright smile of relief flew like a ray of sunshine over the little
pale faces that, a while before, had been so troubled.
‘A little coffee too. Oh, well, that’s possible. Coffee, but without
cream or milk, for see--milk, you see, children, that you don’t have
when you sit in a back shanty and make shoes for the whole parish; then
you live on other drinks.’
The Spectacle Man stood up with a groaning sound. He leaned heavily
on a thick knotted stick he had beside him. It was plain that he had
rheumatism and it was hard for him to move. Besides, it was easy to see
that he was without a woman’s help in the cottage. In the firelight
could be seen how the sweepings were piled up in the corners. Herring
bones and potato shells were left on the table. In the one-time white
painted bed along one wall, the straw stuck out through the ragged
cover. The sheepskin pelt was worn bare, and the yellow striped
pillow-case on the bolster had certainly not been in the wash for many
a long day. The Spectacle Man, with much puffing, brought out salt
herring and bits of bread from the old blue corner cupboard with red
roses on the doors. He even took down a coffee-mill into which he put
roasted coffee from a birch-bark box.
‘Maybe I could grind it,’ said Anna-Lisa timidly. Already she stood
several steps nearer the plate of mush.
‘Then I’ll go out for a little more wood for the fire,’ added Andy.
Without waiting for an answer he was outside.
‘Please let me put the herring on the grill--I used to at home,’ said
Maglena eagerly.
‘Div me a b’oom an’ I ’weep the f’oor,’ piped Brita-Carrie, who
hungrily watched the herring begin to frizzle and sputter on the grill.
‘Ata-Eta ’weep f’oor too,’ eagerly from the smallest two-year-old, who
stretched out her hand for something to sweep with.
The Spectacle Man burst out into a grunting laugh. Who’d ever seen such
a little maid!
Andy came in with his arms full up to his nose, of wood from the
hillside where he had seen it when he came in.
Per-Erik and Magnus followed at his heels. They pushed the door shut
against Golden Horn, who for a second peeped in through the crack, but,
when she was left outside, gave forth a heartrending bleat.
Andy dropped the wood on the floor. He stood with downcast eyes; he had
completely forgotten, in all the strangeness about him, that a goat too
accompanied them.
And the Spectacle Man was angry.
What sort of a notion was this! Who had ever heard of dragging goats
along in the winter-time when one went out---- He was about to say
‘begging.’ But something in Andy’s earnest, steady eyes held him back.
‘The goat wouldn’t have minded being put up at auction, would it?’
‘Golden Horn is used to being with the children, and since she had kids
she milks so well. The little girls would have given out long ago if it
hadn’t been for her. I promised mother when she died that Golden Horn
should go with us. Mother knew that a goat can do a lot of good when
you don’t have any food for the little ones--and so I took Golden Horn
with us.’
‘She wouldn’t be happy with any one else either,’ assured Maglena
proudly.
‘Yes, and for that matter I’ve brought fodder along for Golden Horn, so
no one has to worry about that,’ said Magnus importantly, and strode
forward. He had stood and looked at the Spectacle Man, who for him,
who had seen him from the front at once, was an ordinary person with
eyes where they ought to be. Eyes which, especially for one who, like
Magnus, had looked at them by stealth, were only kind. Not like the
voice, which was coarse and frightening.
‘So that’s the way of it--still more little folk. Here one and there
another--two, three, four, five before. Are there just as many left
out there that are just as bold as these last two? They have carried
fodder for the goat! Cluck, cluck----’
It sounded as though the man were laughing.
‘Where does the little man think of keeping the goat to-night, if there
is only one--or maybe you have taken fodder enough for twenty goats?
Well, break the news right away if you have several.’
‘No-o, we have only one,’ assured Magnus with a wide, earnest glance up
at the peering eyes.
‘Do you keep her in bed or on the hearth, eh?’
‘It’s all the same to her. When it was real cold in the straw on the
floor where we boys slept, we took Golden Horn with us there. She
seemed to make it warm!’
‘Yes, and there she didn’t have to freeze outside. That’s what worried
you most,’ interposed Maglena.
‘So that’s the way of it--the goat needs to have a bed made for her.’
‘No-o, she doesn’t mind, ’cause she lies down, anyway, even if there
isn’t a bed,’ assured Magnus. ‘She’s never particular, is Golden Horn.’
‘Cluck, cluck.’ The Spectacle Man’s shoulders shook. ‘Maybe you’ll ask
her to step in and make herself at home with what we have to treat on.’
Magnus went to the door in greatest glee.
‘Please step in, Golden Horn, and make yourself at home.’
In stepped Golden Horn with head held high. She looked around among
the children, sighted Anna-Lisa who was whipping sirup in a bowl,
tripped up to her, and gave her a little push with her horns.
‘Goodness gracious, child! She wants to be milked. It’s that time
now--and the way we’ve pulled at her all day.’
A tender, caressing murmur rose among the children.
‘Good Golden Horn, nice doll, little pearl.’
They fell on their knees around her on the floor, stroking and petting
her as they had never caressed mother or each other.
‘She thinks we’re hungry, of course, the little girl.’ Maglena drew the
goat’s slender nose over her thin cheek.
‘So that’s the way of it--she thinks of such things too,’ clucked the
man who also gave the goat a caress over the back.
‘Yes, and now she has come with cream for the coffee we’re going to
have. It’s ready now,’ smiled Anna-Lisa, for whom the dream about the
cold mush seemed more and more a reality.
She lifted the three-legged coffee-pot from the flame in the grate;
and, as the custom was, added a couple of good pinches of salt and
poured in a little cold water to hasten the settling.
Andy and Maglena had cleared off the table. The mush plate and old mush
remains from the box out on the steps were set forth with the sirup
drink. The herring, which smelled freshly fried and was so salty that
it sputtered, was there too, and bread, truly as much as they could eat.
It was with great devotion that the children with folded hands read
grace before such a feast.
The Spectacle Man blew his nose and limped around the room, murmuring,
‘So that’s the way of it. There would have been just so many, but all
are gone.’
‘Isn’t Madam Goat going to be at the table?’ he questioned when he
bumped against Golden Horn, who stood meditatively by the fire and
chewed her cud.
‘Yes, if she may. She eats peelings and bones and everything that’s
left over. Here you are, Golden Horn!’
Magnus pushed down everything they could get along without and let the
goat eat at the same time that he himself ate.
Suddenly the little girls rolled down on the floor, sound asleep.
The Spectacle Man had gone out. Anna-Lisa poured coffee into unmated
but gorgeous cups which she had found in the cupboard.
It did feel good to get the nice warm coffee inside one after the cold
but still so welcome food.
The man came back with his arms full of straw. ‘I guess this will be
enough for both folks and animals.’
He spread out the straw on the floor, far enough away from the fire to
be out of reach of the sparks.
Golden Horn showed her appreciation by immediately nipping off some of
the empty ears and then proudly and gracefully stalking into the straw
and lying down for the night.
Andy remained at the table with bowed head and thanked God for the
food. Then he stood up, took the little girls one after the other,
peeled off their scarfs and shawl rags and laid them in the straw bed
with their heads against the goat’s warm fur.
‘So that’s the way of it--cluck, cluck.’ The Spectacle Man stood and
stared at the little ones there on the straw. Dear, sweet children they
were, with light curly hair, delicate little faces, though so pale, so
thin, with frost-bitten little noses.
He drew the cover from his own bed and wanted to put it over them. But
Andy held him back.
‘Please don’t; don’t take away from yourself. We have the sheepskin
robe out on the sled and the clothes we take off.’
‘I have a skin in the little room too. Take this one.’
The Spectacle Man went through a door behind the fireplace into what
was no doubt the ‘little room.’ He came out again with a really fine
skin over his arm. He stood a long time looking at the little flock of
children in the straw. They slept heavily in the same position in which
they had thrown themselves down. Pale little things, but so innocently,
tranquilly sleeping that it seemed to him that some of God’s angels
were in the house keeping watch over them.
Golden Horn lay in the middle of the group, chewing with half-closed
eyes and a disdainful superior attitude.