THE YULE GOAT BLEATS
1
Next day Per Anders dragged himself up, when it was getting late,
but he was not worth much. He went out time and again to see to the
boys, stood bare-headed and blue with cold, and fell foul of them:
had they stopped the threshing already? At Juvik they always worked
on to Thomas-mass Day, they knew that, didn’t they? “Don’t starve the
crofters,” he said, “but keep them at it.--Tomorrow or next day we
take the pigs, don’t forget that, it’s a silly way to let it bide any
longer.” And all at once he asked if they’d remembered to water the
horses. Then he crawled in, old and shrunken; from behind he looked
quite done for.
“I almost think that’s the last time the old man will get me by the
hair,” said Jens, when he had gone.
Per smiled and agreed, he was all complaisance today. Good child all
over, as Jens said.
Per Anders went and sat down beside Ane, who had her hands full of
needlework.--“You mustn’t bear me ill will, Ane,” he said at last;
“for making you go _twice_ west to the crofts. You know, you haven’t
broken your back with charity, Ane, in your time. Oh, I know, they
deserve a beating more than a feeding. They’re always the same, the
lazy dogs. But I don’t know. It feels so good; for oneself, I mean.
When you’re getting old and thin-blooded--you’re getting older too,
Ane. Up to now,” he said, smiling to himself--“up to now it was I that
was the older of us two.” Then he thought of something else: “He he!
Fire warning! What kind of vermin’s that?”
Ane looked up from under her kerchief: Faith, he hadn’t far to go now;
strange how time passed.
“But, you see, a poor devil must have something to believe in,” he
said, and then he left her.
In the evening he came after her to the door of the byre; she was there
looking after the beasts that were being fattened. He passed his hand
several times over the neck of the big wether: “Feel here, Ane, come
and feel. He’s just ready.” He wouldn’t give in till she had felt.
“Well, what do you say, Ane?”--“Oh, ay.”--“Won’t he make a grand wether
for a funeral ale? I couldn’t wish myself a better.”
“Such talk!” sniffed Ane and shut the byre door, and then they trudged
back. She saw how it irked him to walk. He noticed that and grumbled:
“Foot-gear nowadays, it’s just trash. Nothing but heels. No ‘Low heel
and deep tread,’ said Old Per Juvika, and that was a good saying!”
As he said that, he slipped on the ice and came down sitting. “Now
you’ll have your laugh all the same, won’t you?” he thought to himself,
looking at her.
Ane Juvika never laughed, except when somebody took a tumble, but then
she made up for it. She laughed now till she was black in the face, and
thought it was very sinful of her. Per Anders got on his feet again;
she offered to help him, but he shook her off. It was the first time he
had felt hurt by her laughter.
In the evening he sought out Per, who was up in the loft at work on
a new bed. Per Anders seated himself on the carpenter’s bench, right
in his way. He looked up at the roof-beams, over which lay a pile of
boards and other unused wood. He cleared his throat.
“Suppose it should happen, Per, that I dropped off one of these
days--but, mind you, I don’t mean to--then you’re to take those boards
for my coffin. Remember that.” He pointed them out, they were stout
deal boards. “For I mean to have boards that’ll last for a bit. I was a
fool to lend out my coffin--it’s not right to have to trust to others
to make a coffin for you. But you’re not much of a bungler, you’ll
manage it, I dare say. Make her strong, Per!”
He talked on for a while about this and that, then slipped off the
bench and out. At the door he turned; there was something he wanted to
say, but he couldn’t call to mind what it was.
That night he sat on the edge of his bed looking at Per; this went on
for a good while. He was breathing heavily, and his face was perplexed
and miserable; it looked as if he was talking to himself. Then he
climbed down and crept into bed. Per fancied he heard him mutter
something about Jens.
They all went to bed early that evening, for they were tired after the
night before, besides which the boys had to be up early to go to the
mill. They had put the home mill out of gear in the autumn--that was
the first thing to go wrong at Juvik, said Per Anders--and now they had
to go right up the sound to Björland with their corn.
Jens had gone out to the stable, and Per sat listening on the edge of
his bed: wasn’t he ever coming in? Per did not take his clothes off;
after a bit he went into the kitchen for a drink of water, and then he
took a turn to the stable. The horses had nearly finished their feed,
and Jens was gone. “This evening again ...” muttered Per, and then he
went in.
It was a starry night and calm, with a cold air from the east; the bogs
shone white and fine, and the forest wound about the slopes like a
mourning-band.
Valborg lay awake, but pretended to be asleep. She knew what was the
trouble; and, besides, she was not used to interfering with Per. She
knew him so little. Especially when his brother was in it, he never
opened his lips to her. But now he spoke, standing in the dark over by
the stove:
“He’s off to the crofts tonight again!”
Oh, they couldn’t be so sure of that, she demurred.
Oh yes, it was sure enough, he persisted. And all at once he hissed
through his teeth:
“Wenching! Wenching!--You ought to be _flogged_, lad, upon my soul you
ought!”
He went into the closet once or twice, to hear how his father was.
The old man lay in a broken, troubled sleep, coughing and tossing off
and on; he was struggling with something he wanted to say.
Hadn’t he better come to bed? Valborg ventured.
Oh yes, he was coming. “Just you lie down and go to sleep,” he charged
her.
When he heard she was asleep he lay down beside her with his clothes
on, outside the coverlet. He stayed awake. The tall clock stood there
ticking in its case, one-two, one-two, and the old man fought for
breath in the closet. One thing Per could never make out, and that was
whether his mother was asleep. Ay, or how much she knew or didn’t know.
It was long past midnight when at last he heard Jens at the outer
door--he opened it gently and stole into the passage. By that time Per
was there too, just as quietly.
The brothers knew each other in the dark; they stood face to face, as
though holding each other fast with their eyes. Per closed the door
well behind him. He seemed to notice that Jens was not scoffing now.
“Where have you been now, eh?” he asked in a low voice.
There was no answer.
“Haven’t you any shame at all?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Oh yes, Jens, it is. You know that.”
Again Jens said nothing, made to go upstairs. Per stood in his way:
“You may as well know it, Jens; if you bring home one of those from the
crofts--then _I_ shan’t be staying long at Juvik.”
He could see how Jens took it: as if a branch had struck him across the
mouth. For this was the last thing he looked for.
“No--no,” said Jens. “But as far as that goes--there’s no fear of that,
just.”
“Faw, it makes me sick!” said Per. He went back into the room.
“Ay, spit it out, then it’ll blow over,” said Jens, as he went up to
the loft.
“For sure, it’s wrong of him to carry on like this,” said Valborg; she
was so glad she hardly knew what she was saying.
“Oh, Jens--you needn’t worry about him. He’ll pull himself straight
again. _He_ knows what he’s about. He wasn’t born yesterday, you
needn’t think it.--If he only would.”
Valborg could feel how he was trembling when at last he came to bed.
Jens stretched himself in his bed and yawned: “Tomorrow we’ll have
God’s fine weather again, for all this!”
2
And so they had: clear sky and smooth water, and the Juvik brothers
rowed to the mill.
Jens was his usual self; he was always in good humour away from home.
He whistled or sang all the time, and now and again he mimicked one
or other of the neighbours. He knew all the folk of the parish, and
for every farm they passed there was one he could tell a story about.
Between whiles he made a spurt, and he was strong as a horse.
Per said nothing. He might be angry with Jens now and again; but he
never felt easy unless they got on well. He was glad Jens thought no
more of what he had said last night. For the last thing he wanted was
to be forced to leave Juvik; or to see Jens do so. The oars, as they
creaked in the rowlocks, sang in his ears: “Don’t let him go! Don’t let
him go!”
And all of a sudden Jens spoke out, straight from his heart:
“Take us one by one, Per, we’re two wretched creatures. But put us
together and we’re a pair of stout fellows, we are that; both in good
and in evil!”
Per did not answer, but Jens felt that he put more back into his
rowing; they simply lifted the boat on their oars.
But Per was not so cheerful, as it happened. There was something in his
mind--something new and strange: “The elder shall serve the younger.”
Or, rather, he saw quite clearly what he had to do. For who should take
the lead, if not he? But Jens was a queer brother to have.
“Now I’ve got it. And now it’s gone”--it slipped out before he knew
what he was saying.
Jens wanted to know what it was. “It’s nothing, really. But I get
thinking about things sometimes.”--“Ay, that’s natural,” said Jens.--“I
can hear so plainly what they’re saying to me. But it isn’t so straight
ahead.”--“No, we’re not rowing so straight either!” said Jens. After
that he kept his mouth shut and there was nothing more to be got out of
him....
There was a crowd at the mill, so they had to hang about waiting a
long time and a bit more; and the Juvik boat gave the miller some work
to do, she didn’t carry empty sacks, the saying was. On the way home
they met the sou’-wester, and pretty stiff it was, so they had to turn
back; for it’s no good holding on in bad weather with a boat-load of
flour. “And mind you, it’s unspent weather, this,” said Jens; “it’s
going to hold for a while.” It didn’t take them long to agree about
this, and then they went into the shop and had a quartern apiece--one
might just as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, they said. There
were several more who treated themselves to a quartern, and real good
stuff it was, so it came about that they drank a skinful. Before Jens
knew what he was doing, he lost his temper; there was a grin on him,
but he hit out--the others did the same, and then he boiled over, he
wouldn’t stand _that!_--he knocked them down one after another. He was
known as the Juvik Bear, and they shouldn’t call him that for nothing.
This time, though, they’d have grassed him, there were too many of
them; but then it was Per’s turn to fly into a rage, he turned purple
in the face, seized his ax, and dashed in. At that a good spirit seemed
to come over them, it swept away their liquor and all the rest of their
truculence, as they said afterwards--for what could they do against an
ax and a drunken wolf?--The end of it was that Per and Jens had another
quartern, and then they buried themselves in the hay somewhere and went
to sleep.
When they woke up, the wind had dropped; it was evening, and the Juvik
men started to row home. For it occurred to them, wasn’t it close on
Christmas?
Darkness came and settled among the fells. The sea was black and
smooth. A strangely still evening, the strokes of their oars called to
the rocks and the rocks answered; the mountains rose black above them.
The moon was in its first quarter, white and thin, its light fell only
on the mountain tops to the northward, a yellowish gleam, as though it
shone on a graveyard. They rowed and rowed. They had nothing to talk
about, and that makes a heavy passenger in the boat sometimes.--Farm
and croft they passed, lying along the shore without a sign of life.
Here and there the moonlight fell on the grey face of a rock, on a
frightened grey house or two that had awakened to so strange a day;
then came patches of snow and again the black mountains.
Night came on. Never before had they rowed like this in the depth of
night. Then all at once came a cry from the mountain side, the very
ground opened and said “Hoo!”
“Horned owl!” said Jens.
Per brightened up, it did him good to hear somebody speak at last, and
then he put his hand to his mouth and answered: “Hoo-ooh!” so that the
rocks rang. He was a master at mocking the horned owl, had once lured
him right up to the houses that way, and now he took it up at once and
answered farther down the cliff. It went on merrily for a time, they
rowed and hooted, and he followed them with his cries. But they soon
began to shiver in their clothes, for now he was close above them, they
couldn’t see him, but he sang louder and wilder than any bird they knew
of. They answered from bravado--“We’ll teach you to sing dirges, damn
you!” cried Jens, and his voice didn’t sound just right.
Then he came and perched on the top of their mast. A great black patch
came sailing down through the air, without a sound, like the wraith of
a dead man; a big head with bat’s wings.
“Haoo!” he sang out of his great open beak; they could hear how big and
ugly a mouth it was.
“That there--that’s no bird,” said Per, and he spat calmly.
“Go back to hell, where you come from!” screamed Jens, shaking the
rigging.
Blackie spread his wings, but sat still. He was even more uncanny now
that he was silent.
Jens took an oar and waved it in the air. It was no use. Now he hooted
again, in a _human voice!_ Per couldn’t help it, he answered. Then came
a cold sneering laugh, as you might hear from a madman possessed of the
devil.
And now there was an answer from among the hills, up on the Black Rock
at home, a long and lusty fleering, enough to make your hair stand on
end. The one on the mast took wing and flew to the crag--now they were
two in the boat and two up there! And now came the cry, just as they
were waiting for it: “Per and Jens!” it cried; “Per and Jens!”
The men rowed on in silence. They made fast the boat to a stone on the
hard at home, heaved the kedge over the stern, and went their way.
But then Jens turned round and rapped out an oath that they were not
going to _do_ this, no; the sacks were going up, if he had to carry
them all himself.--“I was just thinking the same,” said Per. The way
they did it was that Jens stood in the water with his sea-boots pulled
high and passed sack after sack to Per, and Per dumped them against the
boat-house wall; it went like chaff before a gale. But while they were
about it they might as well carry the flour into the boat-house, and
then they hauled up the boat.
They were now as calm as could be, took the food-box and the milk-pail
and went.
“He must have been the same one that was after the Skarsvoe fellows one
time,” said Jens--he didn’t really care what it was, but he stopped and
listened to the eastward.
“If only one could tell--what that kind of thing _means_,” muttered
Per. “But anyhow--if I’m thirsty, I’m going to drink, and if I’m wild,
I’m going to hit out; I don’t ask anybody’s leave!”--he felt he was
burning hot, and he walked on. “For if anybody has anything to say to
me, let him come and say it in plain words.” The Skarsvoe fellows,
ay, they got a scare that cured them; but they didn’t count for much
anyway, there wasn’t much life in them.
But what was that? There was somebody going up the road in front of
them, a little old man, round-shouldered and shrunken; but he left them
behind, disappeared in the darkness up the hill.
“Hm, hm!” said Per. “Is that the way it’s going?”
“Father can’t have long now,” said Jens. For it wasn’t meant for them,
this time.
They stepped out for home.
But Per Anders lay asleep in the closet, a little uneasy and short of
breath, but otherwise he didn’t look badly.
“Tomorrow he’ll be on his feet again,” said Jens; he came out with a
light heart.
Per followed him. “If only I knew what he wanted with me, that bird,”
he was thinking; for a bird he was and nothing else, but why couldn’t
he have stayed at home?
3
Per Anders did not get up next day. They soon saw what way it was going.
Jens and Per showed no sign. When they were alone together Jens made
fun of what had happened the night before: It _hadn’t_ really happened,
not a bit of it, that thing on the mast was all a lie--a stray horned
owl at the worst!--Yes? said Per; he hadn’t thought it anything else.
But Jens was smiling wherever he went: Per couldn’t fool him. He came
upon him time after time, standing lost in thought. “There he stands
as if someone had pulled his cap over his eyes, he doesn’t see a thing
but black darkness; and he thinks he must get to the bottom of that!
Well, I’m a lucky man, I am!” He said the same to Per when he joined
him in the smithy: “I’m a lucky man, I am, Per!”--he planted his fists
firmly on the bench.--“Yes?” Per looked up. He had never doubted it.
“But what about a man who doesn’t know whether he’s to go forward or
backward?” he said, looking down at his work. “Hears that something’s
talking to him, and yet can’t hear a word.”--Jens was already outside.
As Per was going into the house he ran into a woman with a pail in her
hand. He looked at her. She must be from the other side of the fiord.
His face stiffened, as it always did before a beggar. He called to
Valborg in the kitchen, and she came out. “Here’s one with a pail,” he
said. “You’ll have to throw her something, to stop her begging.” He was
there again when the woman came round the corner: “Isn’t he with you,
your husband? Well, then tell him to come to the smithy.” The man came;
it was the wood thief they had chased. “Where have you got your bag?”
asked Per. The man fumbled with his jacket and pulled it out. “Come
on”--and Per went to the storehouse. He filled the man’s bag and slung
it on his neck: it was all he could do to stand under it. Per turned
away, looking as if he was pretty angry, and the other had no chance to
say thanks. Then Per came back; he was laughing with his eyes screwed
up: “If you come stealing wood any more, you’ll get beaten. You rowed
like a man, last time you were out.”
Meanwhile the Christmas work went on as usual, the pigs bled, the beer
fermented, everything was ready that had to be ready, and then there
was washing of both clothes and bodies. And winter came, real whitest
winter with moonlight and good going for sledges. A load dropped from
the shoulders of each, one could breathe again like a new man. The
earth about one had turned friendly, and the sea too put on a bright
look, even the cold gave its bite for old times’ sake. The night was
not much to wrestle with any longer, it could not get in; a God’s word
if one had to go out, a scrap of prayer before one went to sleep, that
was all you needed.
The old man lay asleep most of the time. Then all at once he would be
wide awake, asking after the boys and what they were about, whether
the wood was brought in, or had they forgotten to water the horses.
At other times he started up from his doze and fought and panted; it
was so hard to get his breath, he was angry about it, couldn’t make it
out, it must be a spite! “It’s stopping all my works!” he wailed. Then
Ane had to come in and put him straight. “I’m not going to die in the
middle of Christmas, am I?” he said. On the morning of Christmas Eve he
asked if they had sent out the fresh-killed meat. Oh yes, they had been
to this place and that. Ah, but had they been to Aasel’s? They looked
at each other, but then Valborg answered: “Yes, Per’s just going.” Then
he raised himself in bed: “God bless you, even if you’re lying. You
mean well, Valborg.”--And Per had to go.
On Christmas Eve Per Anders was better. He didn’t get as far as the
bath-house, but Per had to fetch the razor and shave him, and he got a
new shirt on, and then he sat up in bed and ate his dinner, while the
others were at table; for he declared he couldn’t miss the halibut,
nor the porridge either. “Christmas is Christmas, even if it’s to be
my last,” he added. He had two big Christmas candles beside him, and
Little Anders knelt at his bedside and ate his porridge. “Oh ay,” he
said to the boy; “now it’ll soon be all over; with me. And with your
father too. Then it’ll be your turn, youngster. Eat away now; and let
me hear there’s to be a man of you. Are you afraid of the Yule goat,
eh?”--Oh no, Anders wasn’t afraid just then.
But when he appeared, the boy was properly frightened; a long, yellow
face came in front of the window, and it bleated enough to make his
flesh creep; it was a monstrous ugly beast and it upset others besides
Anders; the maids jumped out of their chairs and screamed, caught hold
of the nearest thing; and one of them snatched up the boy and held him
fast, a great stout wench with a pale little youngster in her arms.
“Jens!” called Per Anders from his bed. He called a second time, in a
tone that brought Jens slouching in.--“None of your child’s tricks
with me!” he warned him. “For if you’re not scared now, you’re going
to be; don’t forget that, Jens. For you’re not so much of a man as you
think you are. Oh no, don’t you believe it. It sounded like a death
call for me.”
He got no sleep that night, the food had done him no good. The others
did not sleep either; they sat up and kept the watch-night, as the
custom was. But Per was by his father’s bedside most of the time.
The old man was now going rapidly downhill, and this was not the last
night Per had to spend in the closet. Time after time they thought
the end was at hand. Ane hardly got a wink of sleep, she was always
with Per Anders, and he obeyed her like a child. “Lie down now,” she
said; “there, that’s it; now you’ll soon be better.”--“Shall I?” he
answered, surprised and happy. But it wasn’t long before she had to
come back. Per bent over him: “You must see that mother needs some
sleep too.”--“Does she now?--ay, ay. But shan’t I be well again soon,
heh?” He couldn’t bear the others to see how ill he was. “You mind your
own business and I’ll look after mine,” he said to Per.
One day in the holidays he was talking about wanting to see his
daughters. “What’s become of the children?” he asked as he lay dozing.
Once or twice he thought they were there, and chatted with them off and
on. “You’re in a bad way, Little Ane,” he said. “You didn’t make much
of it. Ay, ay, ay! I know all about that. But it’s no good: you must
mind yourself!--Is that you, Aasel? Just you drive your squirrel off
to the woods and come and stay here--do you think you have enough meal
to last you through the winter, heh?”--Then he turned to Ane, calm and
collected: “You’ll have to send for the girls; it’s such a comfort to
have them all here together, a house full of them.”
Messages were sent both to Haaberg and to the Wick, and on New Year’s
Day they came. It was like a regular feast at Juvik.--Aasel had all
her little boys with her, the husband brought her to the hard and
rowed home again; Ane came just at the same time, alone in a skiff. It
took her a little while to notice Aasel, and then she wasn’t any too
friendly.
Per Anders had been in a bad way, his chest pained him so he could
hardly keep from crying out; he said nothing about it, but he was hot
and flushed and not always in his right senses.
When at last he saw it was Ane who had come, he tried to sit up in
bed; but that was more than he could do. When Aasel came up with her
children, he brushed the sleep from his eyes as it were, smiled feebly
at the light, as a man does who has overslept himself, and then he
greeted them one by one, in a calm, firm voice, beginning with Aasel
and going down: “So _that’s_ Anders! and that’s Per, is it? and this
one’s Jens?--goodness me, what a lot of Juvikings!”
He tried to talk to them, but had to give it up. They could hear how
his chest cut short all his words. He let his eyes dwell on them again;
then he looked into the living-room, where Jens and Per sat playing
three-card loo.
It was a white day, and the strong light shone through the windows upon
the walls and all the faces, it brought a feeling of bright winter
air over fresh snow. The floor was newly scoured and strewed with
juniper, the walls bright, but familiar, with shelves and crockery and
cupboards, friendly faces for all who belonged here.
It was still both in the closet and in the room. It seemed so long
since they had been gathered together here, all of them. Only the clock
ventured to go as usual; there was nothing to stop her, she was old at
it.
At last the mistress bethought herself that her guests didn’t live
on Christmas brandy alone, they must have food. Jens got up and went
out. Then Ane Haaberg came back to the sick-bed, her face shining with
solemnity and self-satisfaction, blinking her eyes and drawing in her
breath. She sat down on the edge of the bed and took her father’s hand.
“Now, father, you’re not to be afraid any more for me. I shan’t--do
anything wrong!”
He pressed her hand, muttered something like thanks.
“No, for I’m not allowed to--to make an oath, from what they tell me.
Not I, but the others, they tell me. So you don’t have to worry.”
Per Anders turned his eyes upon her. Turned them away again. Then he
shook his head, very slightly.
“Ay, for it’s _redoubtable!_” said Ane.
He turned on his side, groaning a little, for he was in great pain, and
began to stroke the head of Anders, who was by his bedside most of the
time.
“Ah, Anders, Anders, I believe you’ll do well some day. Though I don’t
think you’re going to be master of Juvik either. And maybe you’ll have
a hard life of it, poor boy.” He was looking far beyond Anders, and
there was a strange, far-away mist in his eyes.
Then he lay back again, had a fit of coughing, and struggled with his
chest. Ane, the daughter, came with some medicine, wanted him to take
it. He waved her away: medicine had never passed his lips!
When the fit was over he lay smiling. “Sit down here, Aasel,” he said.
“It’s no trouble for me, you see, for luck’s always been with me--it’s
no trouble to die, you know, if it’s given you to die in moonlight
and clear weather. I know it now: it isn’t all nonsense either.--And
wasn’t it luck, too, that we made a drop in the still before
Christmas? Luck’s always been with me, she daren’t be anything else.”
He slept again and did not wake till next day. They were up all night,
the two daughters; but Ane was tired and slept most of the time, and so
did her mother. He talked and wandered in his sleep, and sometimes he
laughed; it was uncanny to listen to, and Aasel said afterwards that
she was all of a creep when he was at his worst. About midnight he
lay listening, took hold of the side of the bed, and raised himself:
“Listen to that ugly goat, how he bleats! Oh no, child, you don’t scare
me, you don’t!”--The moon shone in so brightly that the walls were
a-sparkle; it was so profoundly still and yellow outside, worse than
the blackest darkness.
Just as they were starting for home next day, Ane and Aasel, he tried
to collect himself and looked about him:
“What’s become of you, children? Come a wee bit nearer. One is left so
lonely at the last. Left lying all by oneself.--I’ve come away from the
folks round about. Left them behind in the dark. Let them stay there.
Come here, I say!”--They were all standing round the bed.
He looked from Per to Valborg: “Ay, ay, Per. Ay, ay, Valborg. You’ll
have to help each other along. Juvik’s a tough job. And--Per’s a tough
job too. It all looks so queer to me. You must be kind to him all the
same, Valborg. If _you’re_ too weak, then I don’t know....”
Then he turned away from Per, wouldn’t look at him any more. He was
losing ground fast.
“Oh no, there’s nobody here that’s able for Juvik. The family’s gone to
pieces, to my thinking.”
They guessed how it looked to him: they were not worth much, any of
them, and it’s hard to leave things like that.
“Aasel, where have you got to?” She bent down over him. “Ah, there you
are!” he smiled like a little child and felt for her hands. “You must
keep plenty of pigs and goats at Juvik, when you get so far. And then
you’ll have to drain the bog properly, that’ll be something to keep
them busy, your little men. And--er--then you must be good to Jens and
Beret, it won’t be so easy for them. That’s all. Right now--I take my
staff.”
He was asleep almost before he had finished speaking. Jens twisted his
face into a little grin and went out.
Ane and Aasel said good-bye and went their ways. They would soon come
back; they meant to look in again before he passed away.
4
It was not to be. The next night, towards morning, it was all over.
Most of the time he was talking, perhaps it was because he had never
talked too much before; but his talk was to himself, and there was
not much to be made of it. His mind was full of the old-time men; it
sounded as if he _was_ first one, then another of them.
He was Big Per, the one who drove the Ommundstrand man and his horse
through the ice; next minute he was Bear Anders: “Have you the pluck to
stay out all night by yourself waiting for the bear?” Then he lay for a
while sighing.--“That’s Greedy Per, that is,” he said. “Ah well, every
little helps; if it only comes the right way; bless me, yes. Herring
nets? What of it! I take everything that’s adrift in the fiord. If
you’re _going_ to steal, son, you don’t need to stand shilly-shallying,
you must take it as if it belonged to you. But now I’m a rich man--and
it’s to heaven I ought to be going. I know what I’ll do: I’ll take all
the stuff back! That’s a man’s work, that: restoring stolen goods!
Quiet there in the boat-house, I tell you--do you think I’m afraid of
the dark?--No, boy, that’s father, that is. That’s Anders himself.
Beat his wife, ay, who else should beat her? Tell me that! Now I’ve
paced the bounds, now we’ve rounded off Juvik--and now I’m drunk,
and now I’ll give them all a licking; I’m not drunk more than once a
year, am I?--he he he! That’s old Per Anders, that one, you can see
that, can’t you? Both Per and Anders, ay. Oh, I’m looking at you, folk.
I’m listening to you. Lord save us, how small and scared you are! Ay,
there’s danger, don’t you hear the goat? It’s me he’s bleating for, and
you jump out of your skins. Don’t you hear the racket over in the old
house? Don’t you hear somebody moving about outside here? There’s a
black fellow down in the boat-house. What did I see in the boat-house?
Nothing to do with you, children. You can’t stand the like of that.
But I tell you, they’d had their fling with him, a lot of those old
Juvikings. For _he’s_ a mighty one, he is; it’s no shame to get out of
the way of that fellow.--It’s all _gann_, I tell you!” he cried all of
a sudden--“I’ll stand up to it, you’ll see!
“But you, Per, you’re nothing but a child. You and Jens, you hardly
make one able-bodied man, the two of you together. A wee scrap of
unbelief, ay, is that anything to boast of? Are you clearing a trail
through the darkness, the same as I’ve done? Ha ha ha!”
The maids were afraid to go to bed that night. They sat in the
living-room and slept. For they heard the bleating outside. They heard
the rumpus over in the old house. Ane’s face was hidden away in her
kerchief; she was reading a verse of a hymn, or maybe it was the
Lord’s Prayer itself.
Then he started up, listening: “D’ye hear the goat?” But he lay back
again, with a smile: “Pooh! it’s naught but the ladder and the birch.
They won’t scare me!”
There was something ugly outside the house, they could tell that. And
there was a wicked one riding on the roof. It was a night of doom.
Per Anders had a dire fit of coughing and rattling of the throat; then
he said: “Come now, Ane. Give me my staff.”
“Pray to the Lord, pray to the Lord!” she whispered anxiously.
“M-m. If I never prayed to him before, why--”
That was the last he said. Ane opened the door, that the soul might
depart, and then she arranged the corpse in the way it should be. She
caught sight of the boy Anders, standing in the doorway. Valborg was
aware of him at the same moment, and they both asked: “What is it
you’re staring at, Anders?”
The boy pointed to the foot of the bed: “What was that man that was
standing there?”
“There?” They looked at each other; their knees gave way under them.
Valborg took the boy and put him to bed.
Jens and Per were standing outside the house awhile after. They didn’t
know whether to go to bed or what they should do; they didn’t seem
to know anything. They didn’t find anything to say either. They just
looked at the moon.
The clouds came sailing from the east, making westward for the sea.
They overtook the moon, which was going the same way, wrapped him
round, and wanted to take him with them. Then he turned about and made
for the east, dead against them, full speed ahead. He had a smile on
his yellow face, but east he would go, that was his whole object in
life.