“I know, of course, that it sounds terrible,” said Halfvorson, “but it
cannot be helped.” He was gay, in very high spirits. “I have had my eye
on you for a long time,” he said to the boy. “You have always something
you are tucking away when I come into the shop. But now I have caught
you. Now I leave witnesses, and now I am going for the police.”
The boy gave a piercing scream. “Will no one help me, will no one help
me?” he cried. Halfvorson was gone, and the old woman who managed his
house came up to him.
“Get up and dress yourself, Petter Nord! Halforson has gone for the
police, and while he is away you can escape. The young lady can go out
into the kitchen and get you a little food. I will pack your things.”
The terrible weeping instantly ceased. After a short time of hurry the
boy was ready. He kissed both the women on the hand, humbly, like a
whipped dog. And then off he ran.
They stood in the door and looked after him. When he was gone, they
drew a sigh of relief.
“What will Halfvorson say?” said Edith.
“He will be glad,” answered the housekeeper.
“He put the money there for the boy, I think. I guess that he wanted to
be rid of him.”
“But why? The boy was the best one we have had in the shop for many
years.”
“He probably did not want him to give testimony in the affair with the
brandy.”
Edith stood silent and breathed quickly. “It is so base, so base,” she
murmured. She clenched her fist towards the office and towards the
little pane in the door, through which Halfvorson could see into the
shop. She would have liked, she too, to have fled out into the world,
away from all this meanness. She heard a sound far in, in the shop. She
listened, went nearer, followed the noise, and at last found behind a
keg of herring the cage of Petter Nord’s white mice.
She took it up, put it on the counter, and opened the cage door. Mouse
after mouse scampered out and disappeared behind boxes and barrels.
“May you flourish and increase,” said Edith. “May you do injury and
revenge your master!”
II
The little town lay friendly and contented under its red hill. It was
so embedded in green that the church tower only just stuck up out of
it. Garden after garden crowded one another on narrow terraces up the
slope, and when they could go no further in that direction, they leaped
with their bushes and trees across the street and spread themselves out
between the scattered farmhouses and on the narrow strips of earth
about them, until they were stopped by the broad river.
Complete silence and quiet reigned in the town. Not a soul was to be
seen; only trees and bushes, and now and again a house. The only sound
to be heard was the rolling of balls in the bowling-alley, like distant
thunder on a summer day. It belonged to the silence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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