He sits deep in thought. Not a sound in the room.
Then a knocking....
The man starts, rises to his feet, and stares about him with wide
eyes, as if unable to recognise his surroundings. He glances towards
the door, and a shudder of fear comes over him--are they coming to
torture him again?
Furiously he rushes to the door and flings it wide. "Come in, then!"
he cries. "Come in--as many as you please! Rags or finery, sane or
mad, in--in! I've hung my head long enough! Bid them begone--and they
come again--well, come in and have done. Bring out your reckoning,
every one. Here's what's left of me--come and take your share!"
But he calls to the empty air. And his courage fails as he looks
into the blank before him--as a warrior seeking vainly for enemies in
ambush. Slowly he closes the door, and goes back again.
A knocking....
"Ghosts, eh? Invisible things? Come in, then--I'm ready."
And he faces about once more.
Again the knocking--and now he perceives a little bird seated outside
on the window-sill, peeping into the room.
"You, is it? Away--off to the woods with you! This is no place for
innocent things. Or what did you think to find? Greedy, evil eyes, and
groans, and hearts dripping blood. To the woods, and stay there, out
of reach of all this misery!"
But the bird lifts its head, and looks into his eyes.
"Do you hear? Away, go away!"
He taps at the window-pane himself. The bird flies off.
* * * * *
Once more cold fear comes over him; his pulses halt in dread.
"Not yet--not yet--no! One by one, to tear me slowly to pieces.
Shadows of vengeance, retribution, following everywhere; burning eyes
glaring at me from behind, fear that makes me tremble at every sound,
and start in dread at every stranger's face. And if I forget for a
moment, and think myself free, one of them comes again ... ghosts,
ghosts...."
He sat down heavily.
"Why do they follow me still? Is it not enough that I have lived like
a hunted beast so long? Because I loved you once? And what did we
swear to each other then--have you forgotten? Never to think of each
other but with thankfulness for what each had given! We were rich, and
poured out gold with open hands--why do you come as beggars now? And
talk of poverty--as if I were not poorer than any of you all! Or do
you come to mourn, to weep with me over all that we have lost?
"But still you come and ask, and ask, as if I were your debtor, and
would not pay. Mad thought! I was your poet, and made you songs of
love. Life was a poem, and love red flowers between. What use to tell
me now that the poem was a promise, the red flowers figures on a
score that I must pay? Go, and leave me in peace! I cannot pay! You
know--you know I have pawned all I had long since--all, to the last
wrack!"
His own thought filled him with new horror; drops of sweat stood out
on his forehead.
"And you, that have suffered most of all--what had I left for you?
You, a princess among the rest, the only one that never looked up to
me humbly, but stepped bravely to meet me as an equal. Yours was the
hardest lot of all--for I gave you the dregs of my life, rags that a
beggar would despise...."
Suddenly he felt an inward shock; his heart seemed to check for a
moment, then went on beating violently; the blood rushed to his head.
Again the check, followed by the same racing heart-beat as before....
Instinctively he grasped his wrist to feel his pulse. A few quick
beats, a pause, then on again--what is it?
The fear of death was on him now, and he sprang up as if thinking of
flight. Gradually the fit passes off; he stands waiting, but it
does not return, only a strange feeling of helplessness
remains--helplessness and physical fear. He sits down again.
"Was that you, Life, that struck so heavy a blow? Have you come for
your reckoning, too? Like an innkeeper, noting this and that upon the
score, and calling for payment at last? I should know you by now--I
have seen a glimpse of your face before....
"'Tis a heavy book you bring. Well, what shall we take first? That?
Yes, of course--it was always the heaviest item with us. My father ...
what was it mother told of him? And his father before him....
"Look back, you say? Back along the tracks I made long ago? Good--I
look; you go about your business in the proper way, I see. If you had
come with sermons, and talk of sin and heaven and hell, I'd leave you
to preach alone--none of that for me. I know ... that love is in our
flesh and blood, drawing us like a magnet--in our day, none draws back
a single step of his way for the fear of sin and hell--there is always
time to repent and be forgiven later on! But your book shows our acts
on this side, and what comes of them on that--and we stand with bowed
heads, seeing how all is written in our own blood."
He stared before him, as if at something tangible and real.
"Yes, there's the book, and there is my account. All these strokes and
lines--what's that? Something I can't make out. Here's my road, there
are my doings--that I understand. And here are all that I've had
dealings with. But this mess of broken lines ... this way and that...?
Ah, consequences! Is that it? Well, well.... All these run together
at one point--that's clear enough--myself, of course. But these
others running out all ways, endlessly.... What's that you say? More
consequences, but to others!
"No, no! Not all that! Something of the sort I was prepared for--but
all that? Is it always so in your book--is everything set down?"
"All that leaves any trace behind--all acts that make for any
consequence!"
"All? But man is a free agent--this does not look like freedom."
"Free to act, yes, but every act knits the fine threads of
consequence--that can decide the fate of a life!"
"No--no! Close the book--I have seen enough! Who cares to think of a
book with lines and threads of consequence, when fate is kind, and all
seems easy going? I laughed at those who wasted their youth in prayer
and fasting. And I laughed at the laws of life, for I could take Love,
and enjoy it without fear of any tie--I was proud to feel myself free,
to know that none had any claim on me--no child could call me father.
But now, after many years, come those who speak of ties I never
dreamed of. Here was a mother showing me a child--I had never touched
her that way, yet you come and tell me there are laws I know nothing
of. And when I beg and pray of you to grant me a child for myself
and for her to whom it is life and death, you turn your back, and
cry scornfully: 'Laugh, and take Love, and enjoy--you have had your
will!'"
Again the terrifying sense of physical distress--of something amiss
with heart and pulse. He sat waiting for a new shock, wondering if,
perhaps, it would be the last ... the end....
The door opened.
"Olof! Here I am at last--am I very late?... Why, what is the matter?...
Olof...!"
Kyllikki hurried over to him. With an effort he pulled himself
together, and answered calmly, with a smile:
"Don't get so excited--you frightened me! It's nothing ... nothing....
I felt a little giddy for the moment, that was all. I've had it before
--it's nothing to worry about. Pass off in a minute...."