Niels was busy somewhere else and did not hear the’ order. But others heard it. The sails arrived, and the hay was forced to subside.
* * *
Hours went by, but no one noticed. The Prince Gustav lay lonely and forsaken in the sound.
Hanna and Benjamin ran around absorbing everything with open minds and wondering eyes. Their legs were caked with mud and their best clothes were filthy. But nobody noticed that.
When everything seemed under control and only an occasional thin column of smoke from the timbers on the ground reminded one that this could have been a catastrophe, Dina let her eyes leave the barn roof. She turned her sore, battered body and set down her bucket.
Her shoulders sank, as if someone had knocked her breath away. Her back curved.
She tossed her hair from her face, like a horse that wants to see the sun. Above she found a wide break in the clouds, and saw blue sky.
Then she met an unfamiliar gaze.
I am Dina. My feet are stakes in the ground. My head is weightless and receives everything. The sounds, the smells, the colors.
The pictures around me are moving. The people. The wind. A stinging smell of soot and burned trees. At first it is only the eyes, without a head or body. Like part of my weariness. A place to rest.
I have never seen such a person. A pirate No ! He comes from Hjertrud’s book! He is Barabbas!
Where have I been all this time?
Chapter 10
O that you were like a brother to me,
that nursed at my mother’s breast!
If I met you outside, I would kiss you,
and none would despise me.
I would lead you and bring you
into the house of my mother, and into the chamber
of her that conceived me.
I would give you spiced wine to drink,
the juice of my pomegranates.
— The Song of Solomon 8 : 1-2
His eyes were very green. In a face with strong features and a day-old beard. His nose thrust into the world confidently, using wide nostrils as a plow.
She did not need to lower her head to meet his gaze. His tanned face had a long white scar across the left cheek. One might well say it was both ugly and frightening.
His mouth was large and serious. The bow curved up and outward beautifully. As if its creator had wanted a gentle overall expression.
His brown shoulder-length hair was greasy, and wet with perspiration. His shirt had surely once been white but was soaked through and spotted with soot. One sleeve was ripped in the seam and hung on his arm as if it belonged to a beggar.
A broad belt around his waist held up his wide leather pants. The man was thin and bony like a convict. His left hand was gripping an axe.
This was Barabbas who had been set free. Now he looked at her. As if he were about to chop …
Tomas and the stranger had swung their axes together. The one because he knew much was at stake. For Reinsnes. For Dina.
The other because he happened to be stranded on this headland and found a fire he enjoyed battling.
“We did it!” he said. He was still breathing heavily after the combat. His large chest heaved like a blacksmith’s bellows.
Dina stared at him.
“Are you Barabbas?” she asked gravely.
“How do you mean?” he asked, equally grave. She could hear he was not Norwegian.
“I see you’ve been released.”
“Then I must be Barabbas,” he said, and extended his hand.
She did not take it at first. He did not move.
“I’m Dina Gronelv,” she said, finally shaking his hand. It was sweaty and dirty after the work. Wide knuckles and long fingers. But the palms were as soft as hers.
He nodded, as if he already knew who she was.
“You’re not exactly a blacksmith,” she said, nodding toward his hand.
“No, Barabbas is no blacksmith.”
The murmuring and talking around them had become more cheerful, and it concerned just one thing. The fire!
Dina tore herself from his gaze and slowly turned to the people. There were about thirty in all. In a voice filled with amazement, she shouted:
“Thank you! Thank you one and all! Now it’s time for food and drink! Tables will be laid in the servants’ hall and the dining room. Everyone is invited. Make yourselves at home!”
At that point, Johan came over to Dina. He was smiling broadly.
“This is quite a homecoming!” he said, and pressed her close for a moment.
“That it is! Welcome, Johan! As you see, we’re still alive.”
“This is Mr. Zjukovski. We met on the boat,” he added, gesturing toward the man.
The stranger offered his hand again, as though he had forgotten they had already shaken hands. This time he smiled.
No, Barabbas was no blacksmith.
Later that evening the wind died down. People went indoors. But the Prince Gustav still lay at anchor. Already many hours delayed.
A fire watch was organized. To play it safe. They hoped it would not rain, for the hay’s sake.
Anders and Tomas would go to Strandsted the following day to buy building materials and hire extra workers. The barn would soon have a new roof.
The sheriff and Dagny did not arrive until after the fire was under control. He scolded good-naturedly because they had not bought insurance on the buildings and equipment. Dina calmly replied that she would consider it for the future. They did not quarrel, because the pastor and the theologian were present.
Mother Karen tripped about like a ptarmigan. Remarkably, her hips and legs were much better than they had been for a long time.
Oline suddenly had been left alone with everything, because the kitchen maids were busy passing buckets of water outside. On the other hand, she got several extra hours to do the work.
And Oline was used to managing by herself.
The meat turned out perfectly. Although she had often rushed nervously between the kitchen and the huge baking oven in the cookhouse where the calf was roasting.
It had been carried into the main house in a barrel during the worst rain, just before the Prince Gustav whistled.
And while the fire raged, only arthritic Mother Karen had time to help Oline bring the meat back to the cookhouse.
They both had realized immediately that there would be no festive dinner for a while.
Oline had basted the calf with fat and drippings, so it would not become dry. Then she stoked the oven carefully and lovingly.
She could not make the gravy until the last minute. And first she needed to calm down. You could not make smooth gravy with a racing heart.
Before roasting the calf, she had cracked the ribs and tied the slit belly securely closed around the kidneys. The kidneys were her pride. They would be served too. Cut with a very sharp knife and offered as a delicacy.
The crushed juniper berries lay on a thin board, adding their fragrance to the room. Juniper berries should actually be served with game. But Oline’s roast was more than meat from a calf. Juniper berries and miraculous spices went with it.
In the pantry, stemmed crystal bowls filled with cloudberries and currant jelly stood waiting, covered with cloths. The prunes lay in water on the back of the stove. Properly soaked and softened. She had removed each pit with trembling hands, while running between the window and the table.
The new potatoes were still small. They had been scrubbed by the maids the previous evening. Had stood overnight in buckets of fresh water in the cellar. They would be cooked in four large kettles just before dinner.
The maids had taken the buckets to fight the fire long ago. And had hastily dumped the potatoes into a wooden baking trough.
Now that the danger was over, Oline grumbled about the baking trough. It was sacred. It should never be used for anything but dough. If you were careless about how you used a dough trough, trolls might cast a spell on it, or wild yeast or something even worse might g
et into it.
“But there’s been a fire, after all!” she sighed in resignation, and plumped the new potatoes into the kettles where they belonged.
When the blaze was finally under control and Johan properly welcomed, people dressed for festivities for the second time that day.
Some of the men had only one shirt. And perhaps they had remembered too late to remove it during the fire. But they rubbed out the worst spots and left the rest. As long as they had washed the soot and dirt from their bodies, the stained clothing would be a badge of honor.
Oline put the finishing touches on her masterpiece and ordered that tables be set for the Prince Gustav crew and passengers who had helped fight the fire.
Mother Karen decided that the captain, the first mate, the machinist, and Johan’s friend from the trip would eat in the dining room. All the others would eat in the cottage. They set several long planks on sawhorses, covered them with snowy sheets, and decorated them with field flowers.
Oline was dripping with perspiration and in the best possible humor. Her hands worked rapidly and meticulously.
Spirits were already high when the food arrived. For rum had been set on the tables. The crew had been exceptionally generous. They had rowed ashore with items one mentioned by name, as well as those one consumed quietly.
Nobody spoke of the steamboat’s continuing north sometime.
* * *
The men helped with the serving as though they had never done anything else.
Mother Karen had not ordered wine or other strong drink to be served in the cottage. But the rum went a long way, apparently. It was like the widow of Sarepta’s pitcher. It flowed hospitably, and you could never drink it dry.
Many trips were made to the blessed steamboat, however. And the men all returned from their errands with lumps in their work blouses or jackets.
After a while, the mood became extremely lively. The stories flew back and forth across the table. Ending with grunts and laughter.
The pastor, who regretted that his wife was not well enough to accompany him, sat at one end of the table.
Despite the summer heat, Dagny wore a velvet suit with a narrow waist and high lace collar. The latest fashion, just arrived from Bergen.
Dina looked several times at the brooch in the collar. It had been Hjertrud’s.
Mother Karen sat at the other end of the table, with Johan between her and Dina.
A Swedish couple of noble birth were on a pleasure trip in Nord-land. They had to be brought from the ship and entertained, even though they had not helped to put out the fire. The husband sat next to Mother Karen, Due to the seating changes when the officers and others from the ship arrived, the stranger Zjukovski came to sit across from Dina.
Silver and crystal gleamed under the chandelier.
It was twilight in August. Daisies, bluebells, and ivy and rowan leaves were spread on the white tablecloth. Tall glasses enthroned their noble contents. The food and the aromas made people friendly, almost inviting, toward each other. They were not all acquainted, but they had two things in common. The food and the fire!
Mother Karen set her face in an amiable net of wrinkles. Smiled and conversed. This was Reinsnes as it once had been! When there were parties! When there were festive tables and the smell of veal or game. Mother Karen realized how content she was to have things like this again. She was glad she had taught Stine to be a hostess at Reinsnes. You could not instruct Dina in household tasks. And Reinsnes needed a hostess who could do more than play music and smoke cigars. This evening Mother Karen saw that Stine had done her work well.
You could not deny that the Lapp girl was clever and intelligent.
She had a winning way about her, whereas Dina repelled people.
Dina looked at Barabbas. He had put on a clean shirt. His hair was still damp. His eyes were greener in the lamplight.
Dina had invited Zjukovski to use one of the guest rooms. He accepted with a bow.
When she heard him go downstairs again with Johan, she stole into his room. It smelled of shaving soap and leather.
His roomy cowhide travel bag had been left half open. At first she just looked inside it. Then she began lifting the clothes and small items. Suddenly her hand found a book. With a thick, well-worn leather binding. She opened it. It appeared to be Russian. On the title page was a slanting, angular signature:
Leo Zjukovski
ALEXANDER PUSHKIN was printed in large, ornate type. That was probably the author of the book. The title of the book was incomprehensible as well.
It was the same strange backward writing as on boxes and crates containing Russian merchandise.
“I don’t understand,” she said aloud. As if she were angry that she could not tell what kind of book it was.
She held the book to her nose and sniffed it. The smell of damp paper that has traveled a long time. The strange smell of a man. Slightly sweet, but acrid at the same time. Tobacco, dust. Sea!
Jacob emerged from the wall. He needed her this evening. She muttered a few curses, to make him go away. But he did not leave. Ran around her. Begged for mercy. His odor filled the room. She held her hand in front of her, wanting him to disappear.
Then she replaced the book exactly where she had found it. Straightened up. Panting. As if she were doing heavy work.
Listened for steps on the stairs. Had an alibi if he should return. She wanted to put new candles in the candlesticks for the evening. He would not know this was not usually her task. She had set the basket of candles on the floor.
Jacob stayed close to her until she lifted the basket and left the room. In the circle of light from the hall lamp he let go of her bare arm. Dragging his useless foot, he withdrew to the dark corner by the linen cupboards.
“We saved the barn roof! Without your help!” she snarled savagely, and went downstairs to the dining room.
I am Dina, who is floating. My head moves by itself in the room. The walls and ceiling open. The sky is an immense dark picture of velvet and broken glass. In which I am floating. I want to! And I do not want to!
During the first course, the Swedish countess remarked that it was strange to see such a beautiful garden this close to the North Pole. And the lovely paths among the flower beds, strewn with crushed shells! She had noticed them before dinner too. It must be strenuous, time-consuming work to create a garden like that in such a harsh environment.
Mother Karen’s mouth tightened, but she politely replied that it could be difficult and sometimes the rosebushes froze in severe winters. She would like to show the countess the herb garden the next day. That was a specialty at Reinsnes.
Then they drank a toast to the young theologian. And one to the barn and the hay. Which, by God’s mercy, they had saved from the flames.
“And the animals! God bless the animals!” Mother Karen added.
So they drank to the crops and the animals. And they were still on the first course!
The Swedish nobleman praised Oline’s fish soup. And insisted that Oline come to the dining room to receive his tribute. The fish soup was the best he had ever tasted. And he had eaten fish soup all over the world on his travels.
French fish soup! Had anyone tasted French fish soup?
Mother Karen had tasted it. And with that, she was able to tell about her three years in Paris. She jingled her filigree bracelet and gestured mildly with both hands.
Suddenly she quoted poetry in French, as a youthful rosiness came to her cheeks.
Her white, well-groomed hair, which had been rinsed in juniper water and primped with a curling iron for the occasion, gleamed like the silverware and the candelabrum.
When Oline Anally came, after having tidied herself a little and removed her outer apron, everyone was far beyond the fish soup.
The nobleman repeated his speech about the soup, albeit somewhat uninspired now. And since he had the floor, he spoke about the main course too. He waxed so loquacious that Oline curtseyed and declared she needed to leave.
There was an uncomfortable pause.
Zjukovski loosened his bow tie. It was warm in the room, even though the windows to the garden were open.
Night moths went astray and entered behind the delicate lace curtains. Captured by the light. One flew into the flame in front of Dina. A tiny puff. And it was over. A charred remainder, like dust on the tablecloth.
She raised her glass. The voices around them disappeared. He raised his glass, too, and nodded. Nothing was said. Then they picked up their knives and forks simultaneously and began to eat.
The roast veal was pink and juicy. The cream gravy lay like velvet on the white porcelain. The currant jelly trembled at the edge of the plate.
Dina placed the jelly firmly on the meat. The new potatoes were so well scrubbed that no skin remained. Just the soft, mealy roundness. She inserted her silver fork and cut a small piece of a potato. Let it glide slowly through the gravy. Combined it with some jelly and raised it to her mouth. She met his eyes as he did the same.
For a moment, a piece of pink meat was between his lips. It shone in his teeth. Then he closed his mouth and began to chew. His eyes were a dead-calm sea across the table.
She gathered both his irises on her fork and put them in her mouth. Let her tongue slide over them. Carefully. The eyeballs tasted salty. They were not to be chewed or swallowed. She just let them calmly roll toward her palate and stroked them with tip of her tongue. Then she brought them to the front of her mouth, opened her lips, and let them go.
He chewed with quiet enjoyment while his eyes resumed their proper places. His face had an intense radiance. As if their mutual enjoyment were pouring through his skin. His eyes settled in their sockets. And winked at her!
She winked back. Gravely. Then they continued eating. Tasted each other. Chewed. Not too greedily. The one who lost self-control was the loser.
A sigh escaped her. For a moment she forgot to chew. Then she smiled without knowing it. It was not her usual smile. It must have survived for years. Since the days when she sat on Hjertrud’s lap and felt her hair being caressed.
Dina's Book Page 21