Dina's Book

by Herbjorg Wassmo

  “Fire!” said Tomas again.

  She turned her head and stared at him as if he did not belong there. Tomas looked at her in amazement. His mouth curled into a slight smile.

  At last he had the upper hand. For the first time. He aimed and fired. The shot was so powerful it lifted the whole hare from the ground. Its small body twisted before their eyes. And fell with a gentle thud.

  Then everything was silent. Powder smoke settled on them. Dina turned away. Bits of white fur lay among all the scattered red pieces of flesh. Tomas put the rifle on his shoulder. The smell of blood was pungent and inescapable.

  When she turned around, the man stood looking at her. With a knowing smile.

  She was a lynx that sprang at the throat of a large prey.

  The mountain pass thundered when the man’s solid body hit the ground with the large woman on top of it.

  As they rolled over and over, she tore at his clothes and bit his neck. Only after he gathered his wits did Tomas begin to protect himself. They were both breathing hard.

  In the end, he lay quietly beneath her, and submitted to her handling. She uncovered his organ and rubbed it with cold hands as she murmured disconnected words he did not understand. At first he doubled up, grimacing with pain. Then he closed his eyes and accepted it.

  Soon his organ stood erect and greeted her with an eager, glowing head. She had trouble finding herself in all her clothing. Finally, she took his knife from its sheath and slashed her clothes.

  The flashing blade gave Tomas a sudden start. But she just sat on him heavily and opened herself for his spear. Then she rode him. Wildly.

  She raised herself on her knees and then relaxed her legs with a snarl, putting all her weight on him.

  He felt her warm groin embracing him. Frosty air entered now and then as she raised herself. Nails of ice pierced holes in him.

  He grasped her hips with bloody hands and held her tight. Tight.

  Her hair fell over her face like a dark forest. The evening sky blinded him the one time he tried to look at her. The shattered hare was the witness. Red and white.

  When everything was over, she collapsed. Lay on top of him heavily.

  Warm wet drops fell slowly onto his face. They trickled down his neck. He did not move. Not until her weeping became audible. Then he fumbled through her hair and found one eye. An open channel in the ice.

  He raised himself on his elbow, and his mouth sought her forehead. Then he broke down too.

  The snow had melted under him, and his clothes were wet. Suddenly the cold struck him from every direction.

  The trembling in his body spread to hers in long, cold shudders. It was hours since the sun had plunged into the mountains. The crusted snow formed icy nails in their gloves.

  They wandered home hand in hand, until they were so near the house that they might meet someone unexpectedly. Then their hands separated. Nothing had been said.

  He carried the ptarmigan. She carried the rifle. The barrel, pointed calmly to the ground, moved in rhythm to her steps.

  When they entered the courtyard, Tomas cleared his throat and said he would prefer to say it had been a fox. He had trapped a black fox the year before. Which he had sold to some Russian traders for a fine price. Ten speciedaler was good extra income.

  She did not respond.

  The moon had risen. It was late.

  Hjertrud was not there. Could not be conjured from the corners for even the slightest instant.

  But Jacob was gnawing and grinding like a mill. About five o’clock in the morning, she took the hare, which was hanging beneath the eaves outside the servants’ quarters, sharpened a knife, and skinned what remained of the animal. There was no other solution.

  She made a slit so the membrane broke and the skin slid off. Albeit unwillingly. The dead body curled up its bluish limbs when she let go. As if still trying to protect itself from the inevitable.

  She cut off the legs and began to dismember the carcass. Unaccustomed to this work, she did not proceed quickly. As each piece was removed and the object in her hands looked more and more like an ordinary piece of meat from any animal, the ear-splitting scream diminished.

  The wind whistled around the corners of the building. The knife crunched against cartilage and bone. The scream got weaker and weaker. Until at last, Hjertrud stood beside her and her head was normal and everything became blessedly quiet.

  Finally, she put the hare in cold water. It was encased in a bluish membrane that sent rainbows into her eyes. Right through the water.

  She put a lid on the kettle containing the hare and set it on the wooden table in the entryway. Cleaned the tabletop. Covered the blood and skin so that animals and birds could not reach it.

  Her hands had suffered from the work and the icy water. She dried them warm and wandered around the house for a while as daybreak came. Then she undressed slowly and went to sleep as the estate awakened.

  Chapter 6

  Love the sojourner therefore; for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt.

  — Deuteronomy 10 : 19

  Reinsnes had overcome its lethargy. You could not put your finger on anything specific. But Mother Karen thought it started when Dina finally got caught in the net called responsibility. And she took care to praise her.

  “You’re such a capable merchant’s widow, Dina!” she might say. Without mentioning that an estate also needed a housewife.

  Mother Karen was getting old. She had moved to a bedroom behind the main parlor. Could no longer manage the stairs.

  They hired a good carpenter, who knocked down a wall between two small rooms. Which gave Mother Karen space for both her bed and her bookcases….

  She needed these pieces of furniture, as well as an old high-backed baroque-style chair.

  The key to the bookcases was always in the lock, but no one other than Mother Karen ever touched it.

  The room was papered and painted in light colors. Dina gave Mother Karen good help with the redecorating. In fact, for a while there was actually some closeness between the two women.

  Dina’s practical manner, and her ability to get the work done quickly, delighted Mother Karen. And she thought, as so often before:

  If only Dina were as strong and practical about everything at Reinsnes!

  Or she murmured to herself:

  “If only Dina would marry a proper fellow!”

  Benjamin grew and began to explore Reinsnes. Extended his paths to reach all the way down to the warehouses and the store and up to the summer barn on the heath. Stubborn as a willow bough, he trudged off with Stine’s little Hanna. To explore the world outside the white courtyard. A deep furrow constantly between his eyebrows.

  He had never learned to say Mama or Mother. And he had no one to call Father. But there were many laps that welcomed him.

  Each had a name. And its own smell.

  He could sit with his eyes closed and still know whose smell he was inhaling. Everyone existed just for him. That people also had other tasks did not worry him. Someone was always there when he needed anything.

  Stine was best. She smelled like salty seaweed and ripe blue. berries. Had the aroma of clothes that have hung outside at night. Her hands were calm, gentle animals. Brown, with well-clipped nails.

  Her dark, wiry hair lay flat on her temples. Did not curl on her forehead when she perspired, as Dina’s hair did. Stine’s sweat was the best of all. It was open spice drawers. Better than the wild strawberries behind the garden.

  Mother Karen had kind eyes and many stories. Her words came like a mild wind. She resembled her flowers. They grew in pots on the windowsill and drooped a little in the winter.

  Dina was as distant as a storm far out at sea. Benjamin rarely looked for her. But her eyes told him to whom he belonged.

  She did not tell stories. But sometimes she held his neck. Tightly. Still, it felt good.

  She set him on the horse, but only when she had time to walk alongside and hold the bridle. She spoke
calmly to Blackie. But her eyes were on Benjamin.

  They said Hanna was Stine’s child, but she really belonged only to Benjamin. She had plump fingers and eyes like scalded almonds. When she blinked, long straight eyelashes trembled on her cheek.

  Now and then Benjamin’s chest ached when he looked at Hanna. It felt as though someone had ripped him inside. He could not decide whether it was good or bad. But he felt it.

  One day a painter came ashore with his easel, a wicker trunk, and a canvas bag filled with tubes and brushes.

  He wanted to greet the mistress of Reinsnes, whom he had met at Helgeland some years ago. Asked the captain to wait while he was rowed back and forth. It would take only a few minutes….

  An hour after departure time, when everyone was impatient to sail, the captain sent word to the artist.

  He was requested to send the man’s baggage ashore. And Prince Gustav steamed north without the painter. For he sat transfixed in the smoking parlor, listening to Dina’s cello.

  Dina had played her cello in the parlor for guests several times during the last year.

  The ice-colored summer evening made the islands in the sound hang suspended in midair.

  The painter called it a shimmering wonder. An optical illusion. He must stay until the next steamer, because the light at Reinsnes was like silk and alabaster!

  But many steamers would pass before he made the final brush stroke.

  This remarkable man became the new Lorch. Although he was Lorch’s complete opposite.

  He arrived like a thundering volcano one day in June. Spoke Swedish with a foreign accent and brought his own rum in an earthen jug with a tap.

  His chalk-white hair and beard framed a tanned face with innumerable wrinkles. His nose protruded into the world like an impressive mountain range.

  His dark, close-set eyes gazed from deep in his head. As if he were withdrawing them from the evil and stupidity of this earth in order to save them for a better existence.

  His mouth was as red as a young girl’s and had large, sensual lips. The corners constantly turned upward.

  His hands looked as though they had been tarred. Dark brown. At once strong and sensitive.

  He walked in the blazing sun wearing a black felt hat and a leather vest. In lieu of pockets, the vest had a slash on the upper right side, in which to put paintbrushes or a pipe as needed.

  Pedro’s laughter echoed throughout the house and beyond. And he spoke six languages. At least that was what he claimed.

  Mother Karen discovered that his proficiency in German and French was quite limited. But she did not expose him.

  He introduced himself as Pedro Pagelli. No one had the least faith in what he said about his origins. For his tales and his family tragedies shifted characters and content depending on the moon’s phase or which people were sitting around the table. But what a storyteller!

  Sometimes he descended from gypsies in Romania, other times from noble Italian military men. Sometimes he was a Serbian whose family had been split by war and treachery.

  Dina tried to make him drunk to discover the truth. But it appeared the man had learned these incredible stories so thoroughly he believed them himself.

  They drank many bottles of wine, both in the smoking parlor and in the summerhouse at night. But nobody got the true story.

  They did get paintings, however. Pedro painted them all. And he made a portrait of Jacob from another picture. It was so lifelike that Mother Karen clasped her hands in delight and offered a good Madeira.

  One day when Pedro and Dina were at Andreas Wharf to get some canvas that had arrived with the steamer, he became lost in wonder at the cones of light that poured through the open loading doors on the top floor.

  “Hjertrud comes in there,’’ said Dina all of a sudden.

  “Who is Hjertrud?”

  “My mother.”

  “Is she dead?” he asked.

  Dina looked at him in astonishment. Then her face brightened. She took a breath and continued:

  “For a long time she walked on the beach. But now she’s here! She comes in the cranehouse door and leaves through the herring nets hanging on the first floor. We walk down the stairs together before she disappears…”

  Pedro nodded eagerly. Wanted to hear more.

  “What did she look like? Was she tall? As tall as you? What colors was she?”

  That evening Dina showed him sketches of Hjertrud. She told him about the folds in her skirt. About the cowlick on the right side of her head …

  He became so fascinated with Hjertrud that he moved to the warehouse and painted her among the fishing nets, large as life. Captured her facial features on the canvas.

  While he painted her, he talked with her.

  The day Pedro was completing the portrait of Hjertrud, Dina appeared unexpectedly.

  “You have the eyes of a woman who’s guarding her soul,” he murmured to the picture with satisfaction.

  At first Dina stood behind him like a pillar. He did not hear her breathing and took that as a good sign.

  All of a sudden, there was a thundering sound behind him and the floorboards shook. He turned in alarm.

  Dina sat on the battered floor, howling.

  A forlorn and furious wolf. With no inhibitions or shyness. The wolf sat on its haunches in bright sunlight and wept its terrifying song.

  At last, she seemed to realize she had gone utterly beyond civilized behavior. She stopped crying and laughed.

  Pedro knew what every true clown knows. Humor is the most faithful supporting actor in a tragedy. So he let her complete both phases. Just threw her a paint-stained rag so she could wipe most of the tears from her face.

  He calmly continued painting until he had made the final brush stroke. By then the blue dusk had turned misty white and the sounds in the courtyard were a faint hum. Shadows transformed the corners into sketches on old parchment. They were filled with smells.

  Hjertrud’s perfume clung to everything. She had a whole face again.

  Hjertrud was hung on the wall in the main parlor. Everyone who came to Reinsnes remarked on it. Even Dagny.

  “A brilliant work of art!” she said graciously, and asked Pedro to do a portrait of the sheriff’s family.

  Pedro bowed and thanked her. He would be delighted to paint the sheriff’s wife. As soon as he had time …

  He painted Dina with her cello. She had a greenish body and was not wearing clothes. The cello was white….

  “It’s the light,” Pedro explained.

  Dina looked at the painting in surprise. Then she nodded.

  “Someday I’ll exhibit this work in large galleries in Paris,” he said dreamily. “It’s called: ‘Child Who Tones Down Her Sorrow.’ “

  “What’s sorrow?” she asked.

  The man gave her a quick glance and then replied:

  “To me, it’s all the pictures I can’t see clearly … but must carry with me anyway.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “It’s the pictures one carries.”

  I am Dina, Jacob always walks beside me. He is large and silent and drags the foot they had no chance to remove. The smell is gone. Jacob does not disappear, as Hjertrudsometimes does. He is a steamboat without steam. He drifts with me. Calmly. Heavily.

  Hjertrud is a crescent moon, sometimes waxing, sometimes waning. She floats outside me.

  Pedro and Dina did not tell anyone about “Child Who Tones Down Her Sorrow.” They suspected it was inappropriate for good people’s eyes.

  They wrapped the painting in old sheets and put it in the alcove where Jacob used to sleep. Behind the old chaise lounge.

  Pedro could not tolerate the winter cold and snow. He shriveled up. Became old and feeble, like a sick horse.

  When spring came, they feared he would die from his fever and coughing. Stine and Oline practically force-fed him with nourishing food.

  The food alone almost killed him at first. But little by little, he revived and was able to sit in bed, painting. Th
en they knew the worst was over.

  Mother Karen read to him from the newspapers, from Johan’s letters and whatever else she could find.

  But he did not want to hear anything from the Bible.

  “The Bible is holy,” he growled somberly. “Leave it alone when heathens are in the room!”

  He did not specify who was a heathen. Mother Karen chose not to take it personally.

  Benjamin often stood in the doorway of the guest room and stared at the old man with many colors on a board in front of him. Watched the pipe smoke, entranced. It curled toward the ceiling between the man’s coughing spells.

  The boy kept staring until he was beckoned to the bed, where a heavy hand patted his head.

  Two lively eyes met his. Benjamin smiled expectantly.

  The man coughed, knocked ashes from his pipe, made a few brush strokes, and began to tell stories.

  Benjamin liked it best when Pedro stayed in bed. Then he knew he had him.

  And Dina could not steal him. Because Dina avoided sickrooms.

  Pedro stayed through September of the second year. Then the steam. boat took him away.

  One whistle blast, and he was gone. With his felt hat and leather vest, with his paints and his wicker trunk. And the rum jug with a tap. Which had been filled to the brim in the cellar at Reinsnes. They did not begrudge him that travel provisioning.

  I am Dina. Everyone has gone. “Child Who Tones Down Her Sorrow” is gone. I have taken down Hjertrud from the wall. Her eyes have gone away. I can’t look at a picture without eyes. Sorrow is the pictures one can’t see but must carry anyway.

  Chapter 7

  Can papyrus grow where there is no marsh?

  Can reeds flourish where there is no water?

  While yet in flower and not cut down,

  they wither before any other plant.