Olof was a sleep-walker, though he never dared to confess it even to
himself. There was something mysterious and terrifying in the thought.
A soul that cannot rest, but goes forth when others sleep, on errands
of its own; the body follows, but without consciousness. The eyes are
open, but they see only that which the soul is pleased to notice on
its way. It will climb like a squirrel to the roof, walk along narrow
ridges at a giddy height. It will open windows and lean out over black
depths, or play with keen-edged weapons as if they were toys. And the
onlooker, in his waking senses, shudders at the sight, realising that
it is the soul stealing forth on its nightly wanderings.
So it had been with Olof for a long time now--almost from the time
when Kyllikki first became his.
The scene of their bridal night was forgotten; neither ever hinted at
what had passed. They had tried to fuse with each other in the deep
and beautiful relationship which had its roots deep in the soul of
both, and in the earnest striving that was to clear and cultivate the
ground on which their future should be built.
Olof was proud of his wife; she moved with the beauty of a summer
Sunday in their new home--calm and clear-eyed, ever surrounded by
a scent of juniper or heather. And he was filled with gratitude,
respect, and love for her--for her tender and faithful comradeship.
Then, like a bird of night on silent wings, came this walking in his
sleep.
It had happened many times without his knowing it. And still he
refused to believe it, though he had more than once been on the point
of waking to full consciousness. And he was glad that Kyllikki seemed
to suspect nothing--for she said no word. He dreaded most of all the
hour when she should wake and speak to him reproachfully: "Are my arms
not warm enough to hold you; can your soul not find rest in my soul's
embrace?"
Of late, the mere thought of this had made him restless. And to guard
against it, he had thrown himself with redoubled energy into his
work, as if life depended on the ditching and draining of a marsh.
And gradually there grew out of this a new and far greater project, in
which the entire neighbourhood would share.
* * * * *
It was in the quiet hour of dusk, when Olof had just come home from
his work, and the walls of the room seemed whispering expectantly.
Silently as the dusk, Kyllikki stole into his opened arms, her eyes
asking what he had to tell, and pouring out her own thoughts and
feelings.
Olof laughed, but did not try to meet the innermost depth of her eyes;
after a little, he ceased to look at her at all, but turned his gaze
far off, as if looking out over the work of the day.
A little while passed thus.
Almost unconsciously Olof lifted one hand and loosened the plaits
of his wife's hair, letting the long tresses fall freely over her
shoulders. Smiling and looking into far distance, he passed his hand
through the soft waves, and wrapping the ends about his fingers,
clasped her waist.
"My own love," he whispered, gazing at her as through a veil, and
bending to touch her lips.
And as they kissed, Kyllikki felt his arm tremble. Tenderly she looked
into his eyes, but started in wonder at their strange expression--they
seemed wandering far off.
And the dark forebodings that had long oppressed her filled her now
with a sudden dread. The more she looked at him, the more she felt
this fear--at last it was almost more than she could bear.
It was as if the soul that looked out of his eyes had suddenly
vanished, leaving only a body that stiffened in a posture of embrace.
She trembled from head to foot, her whole body seemed turned to ice.
Suddenly she tore herself away, and sank down on a seat; Olof stood
without moving, as if turned to stone.
In a single moment, something terrible had passed between them, which
neither dared to speak of, but which showed plainly in their eyes. A
gulf seemed to have opened before their feet, filled with strange and
horrible creatures, all waving tentacles and ghastly staring eyes.
Kyllikki covered her face with her hands as if to shut out the sight.
"Olof--your soul, your soul ..." she moaned, like a little child.
Olof stood as hovering on the verge of sleep and waking. But at sight
of her trembling figure he seemed to come to himself, and tried to
break loose from the spell.
"Kyllikki...!" he said imploringly.
She sat up, sobbing, and gazed at him as at one whom she did not know.
"Kyllikki, poor child!" he said brokenly, and sat down by her side.
But his own voice sounded strange in his ears, and he could say no
more--he felt as if he were a ghost, not daring to speak to a living
human creature.
At sight of his unspoken misery, Kyllikki felt her own dread rise up
stronger than ever.
"I knew the suffering would come," she said mournfully. "So many have
had their place in your heart that I could not hope to fill it all
myself at first. But I love you so, and I felt so strong, I thought
I could win my way into it little by little until it was all mine ...
and now...." She broke off, and fell to sobbing anew.
Olof would have given anything to speak to her then, but found no
words.
"And it is so terrible to see it all and be helpless," she went on.
"You are a wanderer still--and I cannot hold you ... you leave me--for
those that wait for you...."
"O Heaven!" cried Olof in agony. "Kyllikki, don't--don't speak like
that. You know I do not care for any other--would not be with any
other but you."
"But you go--even against your will. And they come towards you
smiling. I am all alone--and they are so many. And they must
win--for I can give no more than one woman can. But they are for ever
whispering to you of what a woman can give but once in her life--each
in her own way...."
"Kyllikki!" Olof broke in imploringly.
But she went on unheeding, pouring out her words like a stream in
flood-time.
"And they hate me because I thought to keep you for myself alone. And
while you lie in my arms, they come smiling and whispering and thread
their arms between us and offer you their lips...."
"Kyllikki!" he cried again, and grasped at her hand like a drowning
man.
"And then--then it is no longer me you hold in your arms, but those
others; not my lips, but theirs, you kiss...." She tore her hand away,
and broke out weeping anew.
Olof sat as if turned to stone. The thing was said--it was as if a
secret curse was for ever dogging his footsteps, and spreading poison
all around.
Kyllikki's despair gathered and grew like an avalanche. What a blind
self-deceit their life had been! How they had hoped and dreamed--with
a gulf of naked hopelessness on every side!
"If only I had--what I have hoped for these last two years, then I
could bear it all. For that--none could rob me of that! But now--I
know why it has not come. And now there is no hope even of that!"
And she groaned aloud.
Olof felt as if a dagger's thrust had pierced the tenderest nerve
of an already aching wound. He had tried to comfort her, though he
himself had long since lost all hope. The fault could only lie with
him--and now he understood! He felt himself crushed by a weight of
despair, and sat there staring before him, without a word.
Kyllikki grew calmer after a while, and looked up. The silence of the
place came to her now for the first time, and with it a new dread.
She turned to Olof, and at sight of his face, drawn with despair, and
darkly shadowed in the gloom, she realised what her words must have
meant to him.
"Olof--dear!" she cried, taking his hand. "What have I done? I did not
mean to reproach you. It might be my fault as well--it must be mine
more than yours...."
But Olof sat motionless as before, save for a shiver that now and then
passed through his frame.
And Kyllikki, seeing him thus, felt her own trouble fade; a wave of
unspeakable tenderness and affection came over her.
"Don't--Olof, you must not be miserable for that," she said earnestly.
"Oh, how could I ever say it--how could I be so thoughtless and
selfish and cruel...?"
"No," said Olof--"it was not that. You could not help it. You were my
conscience, that is all--as you must ever be, or you would not be the
friend you are."
"Don't say that, Olof--it was just that I forgot. We are friends--and
the one thing that can make and keep us friends is to toil and suffer
together--Olof, _together_!"
Gently she drew closer to him, and threw her arms about him.
"Don't you see?" she went on softly. "It's all because I love you so.
I want you for myself, all for myself. I will not let you go--no, you
shall look at me. I will drive them away, all of them, if they try to
come between us; oh, I am strong enough, I know. You are mine, Olof,
do you hear? All mine--mine.... Oh, why do you sit there so? Speak to
me, Olof!"
Her passionate earnestness burned like bright flames about him,
gradually warming his heart to life again.
"Kyllikki, how good you are!" he said, and his eyes glistened as he
spoke. "You are all I have in life--without you, I should be lost. If
only--if only I could be sure of one thing...."
"What is it--tell me, Olof...?"
"That--that you do not despise me, but trust me, that you believe I
only care to be yours."
"Trust you?--indeed I do," said Kyllikki. "I know we are both striving
toward the same end. But there are enemies that are always on the
watch. We must beat them--and we will! And I am yours--all yours--as
the night when you said good-bye to Kohiseva. And you are mine--all
mine ... and then, Olof--then it will come--the one thing I must have
to live for...."