--I--
Martin Birck was a little child, who lay in his bed and dreamed.
It was twilight of a summer evening, a green and tranquil twilight,
and Martin went holding his mother’s hand through a big and marvelous
garden where the shadows lay dark in the recesses of the walks. On both
sides grew strange blue and red flowers, swaying back and forth in the
wind on their slender stalks. He went along holding his mother’s hand,
looking at the flowers in wonder and thinking of nothing. «You must
pick only the blue ones; the red ones are poisonous,» said his mother.
Then he let go her hand and stopped to pick a flower for her; it was
a big blue flower he wanted to pick, as it nodded heavily, poised on
its stem. Such a marvelous flower! He looked at it and smelled it.
And again he looked at it with big astonished eyes; it wasn’t blue,
after all, but red. It was quite red! And such an ugly, poisonous red!
He threw the naughty flower on the ground and trampled on it as on
a dangerous animal. But then, when he turned around, his mother was
gone. «Mamma,» he cried, «where are you? Where are you? Why are you
hiding from me?» Martin ran a little way down the walk, but he saw no
one and he was near to weeping. The walk was silent and empty, and it
was getting darker and darker. At last he heard a voice quite near:
«Here I am, Martin. Don’t you see me?» But Martin saw nothing. «Here
I am all the time. Why don’t you come?» Now Martin understood: behind
the lilac bush, that was where the voice came from. Why hadn’t he
realized that at once? He ran there and peeped; he was sure his mother
had hidden there. But behind the bush stood Franz from the Long Row,
making an ugly face with his thick, raw-looking lips, till he finished
by sticking out his tongue as far as he could. And such a tongue as
he had; it got longer and longer; there was no end to it; and it was
covered with little yellowish-green blisters.
Franz was a little rowdy who lived in the «Long Row» slantwise across
the street. The Sunday before he had spat on Martin’s new brown jacket
and called him «stuck-up.»
Martin wanted to run away, but stood as if rooted to the earth. He
felt his legs grow numb beneath him. Then the garden and the flowers
and the trees had vanished and he was standing alone with Franz in a
dark corner of the yard at home by the ash barrel. He tried to scream,
but his throat was constricted....
--II--
But when he woke, his mother was standing by the bed with a clean white
shirt in her hand and saying, «Up with you, little sleepyhead; Maria
is off to school already. Don’t you remember that the pear tree in the
yard is to be stripped today? You must hurry if you want to be there.»
Martin’s mother had blue eyes and brown hair, and at that time the
glance of her eyes was still bright and smiling. She laid the shirt on
the bed, nodded to him, and went out.
Maria was Martin’s big sister. She was nine. She went to school and
already knew what many things were in French.
But Martin still had slumber in his eyes and the medley of the dream in
his head, so that he couldn’t bring himself to get up.
The curtain was drawn back, and the sun shone straight into the room.
The door to the kitchen stood ajar. Lotta was laughing at the kitchen
window while she chatted with some one; it was sure to be Heggbom, the
porter. Finally Heggbom began to sing down in the yard with his rummy
voice.
«If I had King Solomon’s treasure chest
With money in heaps and masses,
I’d off to Turkey and never I’d rest
Till I’d bought me a hundred lasses.»
«What would you do with them all,» inquired Lotta; «you that can’t
manage even your own wife?»
Martin couldn’t hear what Heggbom answered, but Lotta began to laugh
with all her lungs. «Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?» she said.
Now the porter’s wife had come into the yard, it sounded as if she was
throwing out a tub of dish-water. With that she began to scold Heggbom,
and Lotta as well. But Lotta only laughed and slammed the window.
Martin lay half awake, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. There was
a crack that was just like Mrs. Heggbom if one looked at it right.
The clock struck nine in the neighboring church, and when it had
stopped striking, the clock in the hall began. Martin jumped out of bed
and ran to the window to see if the pears were still on the tree.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Children in tree]
The pear tree in the yard was beloved by the children and cats. It was
old and large, and many of its boughs were already dry and dead, but
the others still furnished blossoms and greenery every spring and fruit
every autumn.
Heggbom’s boys were sitting up in the tree, throwing down pears after
having first stuffed their pockets full, while below the other children
fought for every pear that fell from the tree. In the midst of the
troop stood Mrs. Lundgren, broad of build and loud of voice, trying
to enforce a fair distribution, but no one paid any attention to her.
A little way off stood little Ida Dupont, with great eyes, her hands
behind her back, not venturing into the turmoil. Mrs. Lundgren did not
get any pears for her because she was ill-disposed toward Mr. Dupont,
who was a violinist in the royal orchestra.
Martin became eager; he threw on his clothes in a hurry and came down
by the steps.
Lotta screamed after him, «Aren’t you going to wash and comb your hair
before----»
But Martin was in the yard by this time. Mrs. Lundgren at once took him
under her protection.
«Throw down a pear to Martin, John. Hold up your cap, little boy, and
you shall have a pear.»
A pear fell into the cap. But now Martin couldn’t find his penknife to
peel the pear.
«Give me the pear; I’ll peel it for you,» said Mrs. Lundgren.
With that she took the pear, bit into it with her big yellow teeth,
and tore off a piece of the skin. Martin opened his eyes very wide and
grew red in the face. Now he didn’t want to have any pear at all.
Mr. Dupont lay at his window in his shirt sleeves, smoking a pipe,
with a red skull-cap on his head. He now leaned out and laughed. Mrs.
Lundgren got angry.
«That’s a spoiled child,» she said.
John now triumphantly held up the last pear, and the children hurrahed
and shouted, but he stuffed it into his trousers pocket. But then
Willie found still another, and this was the very last. He caught sight
of Ida Dupont standing with tears in her eyes over by the wall, and
at that he gallantly tossed his pear into her apron. Then there was
another hurrah; the pear tree was stripped.
Now Mrs. Heggbom came out:
«Lord in heaven what a clatter, and Heggbom lying at his death! Down
out of the tree with you, you little ragamuffins!»
Heggbom had been sick in bed awhile ago, and his wife’s imagination
often turned back to that comparatively happy time.
The boys had come down from the tree. Their mother took John by
the hair and Willie by the ear to lead them in. But Mrs. Lundgren
felt somewhat huffed; she had to a certain extent presided over
the tumult. Furthermore, she enjoyed scolding and therefore did not
miss the opportunity of showing Mrs. Heggbom with some sharpness the
unsuitability of making such a disturbance. The latter let go her boys
so as to set her arms akimbo, and there was a big set-to. Listeners
streamed up, and all the kitchen windows were opened wide.