Norway -- Fiction; Norwegian fiction -- Translations into English
So week after week passed, with digging and mining and mason's work.
It was a big well, and made a nice job; the priest was pleased with it.
Grindhusen and I began to get on better together; and when he found that
I asked no more than a fair labourer's wage, though much of the work
was done under my directions, he was inclined to do something for me in
return, and took more care about his table manners. Altogether, I could
not have wished for a happier time; and nothing on earth should ever
persuade me to go back to town life again!
In the evenings I wandered about the woods, or in the churchyard reading
the inscriptions on the tombstones, and thinking of this and that. Also,
I was looking about for a nail from some corpse. I wanted a nail; it was
a fancy of mine, a little whim. I had found a nice piece of birch-root
that I wanted to carve to a pipe-bowl in the shape of a clenched fist;
the thumb was to act as a lid, and I wanted a nail to set in, to make it
specially lifelike. The ring finger was to have a little gold ring bent
round.
Thinking of such trifles kept my mind calm and at ease. There was no
hurry now for me about anything in life. I could dream as I pleased,
having nothing else to do; the evenings were my own. If possible, too,
I would see and arrive at some feeling of respect for the sacredness
of the church and terror of the dead; I had still a memory of that rich
mysticism from days now far, far behind, and wished I could have some
share in it again. Now, perhaps, when I found that nail, there would
come a voice from the tombs: “That is mine!” and I would drop the thing
in horror, and take to my heels and run.
“I wish that vane up there wouldn't creak so,” Grindhusen would say at
times.
“Are you afraid?”
“Well, not properly afraid; no. But it gives you a creeping feeling now
and then to think of all the corpses lying there so near.”
Happy man!
One day Harald showed me how to plant pine cones and little bushes. I'd
no idea of that sort of work before; we didn't learn it in the days when
I was at school. But now I'd seen the way of it, I went about planting
busily on Sundays; and, in return, I taught Harald one or two little
things that were new to him at his age, and got to be friends with him.
VIII
And all might have been well if it had not been for Frøkenen, the
daughter of the house. I grew fonder of her every day. Her name was
Elischeba, Elisabeth. No remarkable beauty, perhaps; but she had red
lips, and a blue, girlish glance that made her pretty to see. Elischeba,
Elisabeth--a child at the first dawn of life, with eyes looking out upon
the world. She spoke one evening with young Erik from the neighbouring
_gaard_, and her eyes were full of sweetness and of something ripening.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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