Stories by Foreign Authors: Polish, Greek, Belgian, Hungarian
General
Stories by Foreign Authors: Polish, Greek, Belgian, Hungarian
Short stories -- Translations into English
As she spoke she took off the top of the stove and put the pot on the
fire, much to its delight, for it began to hiss like the rocket sent
off from the market-place the day before in honor of the election of a
new mayor. Then Nelle wetted her finger and snuffed the candles, and
the flame which had been flickering unsteadily at the end of the black
wick burned brightly again and lit up the little room with a beautiful
quiet light.
The room was very small and was something like a big cask cut in half,
with its curved wooden ceiling, and its stave-like wooden panels. A
coating of shiny, brown tar covered the walls; in places, especially
over the stove, it was black as ebony. The furniture consisted of a
table, two chairs, a chest which served as a bed, and near the chest a
white wooden box with two shelves. On these two shelves lay linen,
caps, handkerchiefs, women's dresses, and men's jackets, all smelling
somewhat of fish. In one corner hung the nets, together with tarred
capes, boots, oilskin hats, and enormous sheepskin gloves. Strings of
onions encircled a picture of the Virgin, and some twenty dried
herrings with shining bellies were strung by their gills on a thread
under an enameled clock.
All this could be seen by the light of the two candles, whose flicker
made the shadows dance on the ceiling; but the fairest thing to see was
beautiful dark Riekje sitting near the fire. She had broad shoulders, a
plump neck, and strong arms; her cheeks were round and sunburnt, her
eyes of a dusky brown, her lips full and red; and as for her black
hair, which was coiled six times round her head, the coils were heavy
as the towing ropes used on the banks of the river. Though so gentle
and quiet, she was often lost in sombre fancies; but when Dolf was
near, her face lit up with smiles and her teeth were bright as a wet
oar's blade shining in the sun. Then she no longer gloomed; the cloud
which veiled sad memories was lifted, bright hopes irradiated her face,
every line in which sparkled like whitebait in the meshes of a net.
Then it was that she would turn to her "beau garcon" and clap her
hands. The flame which escaped through the stove door caught her cheeks
at that moment, and they were red as salmon; the dark eyes fixed on her
work were bright as living coal. Yet two other things shone like her
eyes; the pendant hanging to the gold ring in her ear, and the silver
ring which she wore on her finger.
"Are you comfortable, Riekje?" asked Nelle, from time to time. "Do your
straw-lined sabots keep your feet warm?"
"Yes, maman Nelle, I am as happy as a queen," she answered, smiling.
"As a queen, you say," replied Nelle. "You will be like a queen, soon,
my girl, for you are going to eat some of my apple keikebakken. There
comes Dolf over the planks, bringing us flour, eggs, and cream; you
will have something to say about my pancakes, Riekje."
She opened the door, for a heavy step could be heard on the bridge of
the boat.
II.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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