Despite his definite ideas about what kind of person his father had married, he sometimes awoke at night in a strange stupor. And little by little reconstructed his dreams. About riding a dark horse. The dreams might vary a bit, but they always ended with the horse tossing its large head as it became Dina’s dark, defiant face. The flowing mane was her black hair.
He always awoke with a start and felt ashamed. Got up and washed himself in cold water, which he poured slowly from the porcelain pitcher into a chaste white bowl with a blue border.
Afterward, he dried himself carefully with the cool, smoothly ironed linen towel and was saved. Until the next time the dream awakened him.
Being a newlywed was a full-time job for Jacob. People never saw him — on the wharves, in the store, or in the drinking parlor. He drank wine with his wife and played dominoes and chess.
At first everyone just smiled. Nodded and said hello. But after a while the people at Reinsnes began to feel bewildered and uneasy.
It started with Mother Karen and spread as quickly as a grass fire.
Was the man bewitched? Would he ever put his hand to honest labor again? Would he waste all his time and energy on marital duties in the canopy bed?
Mother Karen reproached Jacob. Her eyes were downcast, but her voice was all the more determined. Surely he didn’t want Reinsnes to fall apart? This was worse than the way he acted after dear, departed Ingeborg’s sudden death. Then he had spent most of his time in the drinking parlor or roaming the shipping channel. But this was turning him into the laughingstock of the parish. They were laughing at him!
“As well they should,” parried Jacob, and laughed himself.
Mother Karen did not laugh. The muscles in her face tightened.
“You’re forty-eight years old,” she admonished.
“God is many thousand years old, and He’s still alive!” Jacob chuckled and went whistling up the stairs.
“I’m in such a wonderful mood these days, Mother dear!” he called down to her.
Soon afterward they could hear cello music from upstairs. But what they did not see was that Dina wore only her corset, was naked below, and held the cello between her strong, tensed thighs. She played very seriously, as if she were playing for the pastor.
Jacob sat by the window with folded hands and watched her. He saw the picture of a saint.
Many light-years ago, the ubiquitous sun had planned to splinter the air between them. In the cone-shaped beam of light, dust particles stood like a slumbering wall. They did not dare to lie down and sleep.
Jacob announced that he wanted to take Dina to Bergen that summer. The first cargo boat had already sailed. But Jacob’s pride, the newest vessel, named after Mother Karen, was to leave at the end of June. Preparations for the trip had been under way since the wedding.
Mother Karen took Jacob aside again and explained that such a voyage was no place for a young woman. Besides, Dina needed to learn some basic things about housekeeping and proper behavior. The mistress of Reinsnes must be able to do more than play the cello!
Jacob thought those things could wait, but Mother Karen insisted.
Jacob gave Dina the sad news and gestured helplessly with his hands. As if Mother Karen’s word was law.
“In that case, I’m going back to Fagerness!” Dina announced. Jacob had learned that Dina always kept her word.
He returned to Mother Karen. He explained and begged. Until she relented.
It soon became clear to Jacob, Mother Karen, and everyone on the estate that Dina had no intention of learning to run a large home. She went riding, played the cello, ate, and slept. Once in a while she came home with a coalfish on a birch branch, without anyone having realized she had been out in the rowboat.
Mother Karen sighed. The only duty Dina performed gladly was raising the flag when vessels approached.
One had to be content with the thought that, as long as Mother Karen remained in good health, things would continue as always.
Before long, it was reported that the young wife at Reinsnes climbed to the top of the tallest tree in the garden to get a better view of the steamboat or to examine the mountains through binoculars. No one had heard of such things before.
People began to question her family background. Her mother had become a saint the day she escaped her pain and her scalded body and died. So they excluded her as a source of unfortunate traits.
But the sheriff’s family got subjected to scrutiny and investigation, which brought to light the wildest stories. He was said to have both Lapps and gypsies among his forebears. And apparently some shipwrecked Italians had dallied with a woman in his family years ago. Everyone could imagine what effect that had on the offspring. Yes, the punishment came now, many generations later.
Nobody could identify with exact names or places those who had had such a fateful effect on the sheriff’s daughter. But that was not necessary.
A young woman who climbed trees after she was married, who paraded in nothing but her underclothes at her own wedding, who did not learn to read anything but Bible verses until she was twelve, who rode astride a horse and without a saddle — she must be the legacy of her forebears’ misdeeds!
That she rarely exchanged a word with anyone and always appeared in unexpected places was sufficient proof that she was a “gypsy” now, in any case.
* * *
Johan heard all these stories. They bothered him, and he was eager to leave home and begin his studies.
Mother Karen helped him assemble what he would need. It was no small task. She packed the items herself and gave orders in every direction.
For two months, she gathered all sorts of things for the boy. Finally, three large trunks stood on the wharf, ready to be lowered into the longboat that would take him to the steamer.
Late one evening, as Johan sat in the summerhouse, he saw a figure walking among the trees in the garden. His whole body broke out in a cold sweat.
At first he thought he had been dozing, but then he realized she was real enough.
It had rained. The branches were dripping. The bottom of her chemise was heavy with moisture and clung to her hips.
He was trapped! With no chance of escape. And she came straight toward the summerhouse. As if she knew he was there. Hidden by hops and lilacs.
She sat down on the bench beside him, without a word.
Her aroma overpowered his brain. At the same time, he shuddered with disgust.
She swung her naked legs onto the garden table and whistled an unfamiliar melody. While she gave him a serious, scrutinizing look. The June light was dim in the summerhouse. Still, he knew he could not hide his reactions from her.
He rose to leave. But her long legs on the table blocked his way. He swallowed,
“Good night,” he finally managed to say, hoping she would lower her feet.
“I just got here,” she said contemptuously. And made no move to let him pass.
He was a package someone had forgotten.
Suddenly she reached out her hand and stroked his wrist.
“Write when you go south! Tell about everything you see!”
He nodded dully and sank to the bench beside her again. As though she had pushed him.
“Why are you going to be a pastor?” she asked.
“It’s what Mama wanted.”
“But she’s dead.”
“That’s exactly why…”
“Do you want to be a pastor?”
“Yes.”
She sighed deeply and leaned against him. He felt her breasts through the damp, thin linen and got goose pimples all over his body. He could not move.
“Nobody told me to be a pastor,” she said with satisfaction.
He cleared his throat and pulled himself together with great difficulty.
“Women don’t become pastors.”
“No, fortunately.”
It started to rain again. Cautious small drops that fell in gossamer waves toward the lush green grass. The smells of
earth and moisture filled their nostrils. And blended with the aromas of Dina. Which were deeply deposited, for all time. Wherever the scent of woman is found.
“You don’t like me,” she suddenly declared.
“I never said that!”
“No. But it’s the truth.”
“It’s not….”
“Oh?”
“You’re not … I mean … Father shouldn’t have such a young wife.”
She laughed quietly then, as if she had thought of something she did not want to say.
“Shhh,” he said. “People might wake up.”
“Do you want to go swimming in the bay?” she whispered, shaking his arm.
“Swimming! No! It’s nighttime!”
“Does that matter? It’s warm outside.”
“But it’s raining.”
“So what? I’m already wet.”
“They might wake up … and …”
“Do you have someone who’ll miss you?” she whispered.
Her whispers took a stranglehold on him. Bent him to the ground. Sent him into the air. Among the mountains. Knocked him onto the bench again with a clenched fist.
Later he could not distinguish between what had actually happened and what was his dream of the horse’s head.
“But Father…”
“Jacob is sleeping!’’
“But it’s light out….”
“Come on! Or are you a scared rabbit?”’
She got to her feet and leaned close to him as she passed. Turned once and stood motionless for a second or two.
Her face had a sad expression that did not fit with her voice or her movements. She walked into a wall of wetness that absorbed her body and made her invisible. But there was no question which direction she had taken.
He was soaked to the skin when he reached the bay beyond the flag knoll. She stood among the beach rocks, naked. Waded into the water a few steps. Leaned over and picked up something from the bottom. Examined it carefully.
Then! As though feeling his gaze on her hips, she turned and stood erect. She had the same sad expression as in the summerhouse.
He wanted to think that was why he joined her. Removed his shirt and trousers. Embarrassed and excited at the same time. And waded out to her. The water was cold. But he did not feel it.
“Can you swim?”
“No; how do you do it?” he said, and could hear how stupid that sounded.
She came closer. A thundering pressure against his temples threatened to drown him, although he stood only knee-deep in water.
He suddenly realized how ridiculous he looked in his white underwear. Trembling.
She came over to him and held his waist and began pulling him into deep water. He let himself be drawn. Let himself be led so far that their bodies floated to the surface. Let himself be taken beyond the drop-off.
She moved for them both. With calm, rhythmic movements of her legs and lower body. Powerless, he let her keep him afloat. Keep them both afloat.
The icy water, the gentle mist, her hands that changed their grip and held him first in one place, then in another.
The horse from his dream! Dina, whom his father had married. She slept in the master bedroom, in his father’s bed. And in the midst of it all, she was another being.
He wanted so much to tell her about the black hole in the churchyard. That had swallowed Ingeborg. And about the father who staggered around half drunk after the funeral.
But he had not learned the necessary words. They were so hazy and warm. Like this night.
He could have told her about the things he should have said to Ingeborg before she died. And about Christmases at Reinsnes. When Mother bustled back and forth. With flushed cheeks. About the needles that stuck him when he lost his mother’s attention because his father entered the room.
He could have described to her the sadness that always overwhelmed him when he left home. Although that was what he wanted. To get away from home.
Dina became a Valkyrie from Mother Karen’s mythology book. A being that kept him afloat. Who secretly understood everything he could not say.
Out in the deep water, Johan let go. His revulsion for Dina drowned. Her nakedness wrapped itself like a membrane around him.
I am Dina, who is holding a shiny fish. My first fish. Must take it off the hook myself. The hook got bent. My fish is not badly hurt. I will throw it into the water again. Then it must manage on its own. It is a blue day.
They had nothing with which to dry themselves. He attempted an uncertain role, that of a gentleman. And offered his shirt as a towel.
She refused.
They dressed in the rain, shivering and serious.
Suddenly, as if he were ready to board the steamboat for school, she said:
“Write to me!”
“I will,” he promised, glancing anxiously at the path to the house.
“I never went swimming with anyone before.”
That was the last thing she said before running up the path.
He wanted to call after her. But did not dare. She had already disappeared among the trees.
All the trees were dripping. He hung his desperation on the branches. And everything fell to the ground in wet drops.
“How did you learn to swim, if you never went swimming with anyone?” said the drops. Again and again.
For he did not dare to shout it to her. Someone might hear….
He hid himself in it. Hid the lust that still lay on the ebb tide beach and floated among the seaweed. In the question: “How did you learn to swim?”
But in the end, that was not enough. He crept under a huge rock that had been his secret refuge all through childhood. There he took
his stone-hard organ in his hand and went at it. Without thinking about God.
From that day on, Johan began to hate his father. Deeply and intensely. Still without consulting his God.
Jacob awoke when Dina entered the bedroom.
“Where have you been, for God’s sake?” he said when he saw the wet figure.
“Swimming.”
“At night?” he exclaimed in disbelief.
“There aren’t so many people around at night,” she said. She left her clothes in a heap on the floor and crawled into bed.
He was warm enough for two.
“Well, my little witch,” he teased, half asleep. “Did you see the draug, that headless ghost who foretells drownings?”
“No, but I saw the draug’s son!”
He laughed softly and sighed about her being so cold. Jacob saw no sorrow. He did not know she could swim.
Chapter 7
Can a man carry fire in his bosom and his clothes not be burned?
Or can one walk upon hot coals and his feet not be scorched?
— Proverbs 6 : 27-28
Dina went to Bergen that summer.
Mother Karen realized that Dina’s training would not be accomplished overnight, after all And once the cargo boat was under way, she had to admit she had longed for the peace and quiet. But it was difficult for her when Johan left immediately afterward.
Dina was an unrestrained child who needed to be tended.
More than once she bothered the crew and hindered the work on board with her notions.
Anders took everything very calmly and good-naturedly.
First, Dina brought the sheepskin from the small aft cabin onto the deck. And there she sat, playing cards and singing worldly songs with a foreign fellow who had been hired at the last minute and who strummed a stunted version of a string instrument. The kind Russian seamen played.
The swarthy fellow spoke broken Swedish and claimed he had roamed the world for many years.
He had arrived from the north on a Russian ship one day and gone ashore at Reinsnes. There he had waited for a cargo boat to take him farther south.
Jacob shouted to the helmsman a few times, ordering him to quiet things down out there. But it did little good. He felt like an old sourpuss. And he could not sta
nd that role.
Finally, he came out and joined the commotion.
Jacob ordered the vessel to land at Grott0y the following evening. There they received a warm welcome and good lodging.
Grottoy estate had recently become a stopping place for the Prince Gustav, and the owner had big plans for building a new house, store, and post office.
Among the guests was an artist who was painting portraits of the master and his family. Dina immediately focused her attention on the easel. She scampered around like an animal, sniffing the oil paints and the turpentine. She hung on the painter’s every move and practically crawled into his lap.
Her utter naturalness embarrassed people. The servants whispered about the young wife from Reinsnes. And they shook their heads over Jacob Gronelv. He certainly had his hands full….
Dina’s familiarity with the artist turned Jacob into a furtive watchdog. He felt ashamed of her indecent behavior.
He tried to even the score in bed. Set himself on top of her with all the strength and righteousness of a wounded, jealous husband.
But such loud coughing came from the other side of the thin wall that he had to stop.
Dina put her hand over his mouth and whispered, “Shhh.” Then she raised her nightgown and sat astride her mistrustful Jacob. And led them, more or less silently, into the realms of bliss.
When they set sail again, she remained quietly in the cabin. And Jacob’s world became brighter.
They headed toward Bergen, with no further skirmishes.
The throngs of people on the Bergen wharf! The fort, the houses, and the church. The carióles. Carrying elegant men and women holding parasols.
Dina’s head seemed to be mounted on the hub of a wheel. She clicked along the pavement in new traveling shoes. And stared intently at each coachman who sat straight and proud with a whip resting against his knee.
The carriages looked like whipped-cream cakes, heaped with light summer dresses, capes, and ruches. And lace parasols. Which completely cut off their owners’ faces and heads.
There were gentlemen too. Elegantly attired in dark suits and derbies, or young and dashing, with light-colored suits and straw hats on their foreheads.
Dina's Book Page 9