Dina's Book

by Herbjorg Wassmo

  He was handsome on one side, ugly on the other. The scar divided him in two. Its curve split his cheek with a deep furrow.

  Dina’s nostrils twitched, as if someone had tickled her with a straw. She put down her knife and fork. Raised her hand to her face and brushed one finger across her upper lip.

  The sheriff’s voice interposed. He asked Johan if he had applied for a parish.

  Johan looked down at his plate in embarrassment and said his life would scarcely be of any interest to the travelers. But the sheriff thoroughly disagreed.

  Fortunately, the dessert arrived. The cloudberries were topped with swirls of whipped cream. They were the year’s best. Tomas had picked them on nearby marshes for this dinner.

  The party preened itself with enjoyment. The first mate told how he was once forced to attend a wedding in Bardu. They had not been served even a bite of meat. And no dessert at all. Each meal had consisted of milk and bread in a dish and cream pudding. And dried mutton. So salty that only the host could cut it. They were afraid someone would ruin the knife!

  Mother Karen’s face stiffened, and she said it was unlike people in Bardu to scrimp so on food.

  But that did not help. Even the pastor laughed.

  Tomas had not sampled the seamen’s keg.

  He was one of the few who did not have time to change into clean clothes before dinner. Needed to get the animals back in the barn, and to organize a fire watch and make sure the guards stayed somewhat sober.

  Anders and Niels had quickly disappeared into the main house.

  And he had not seen them since. So all the responsibility fell on him.

  * * *

  By the time he arrived at the cottage, the meal had already been cleared away and people sat companionably with pipes, coffee, and rum.

  Suddenly it was too much for him. He felt exhausted and exploited.

  Dina had come over to him after the fire was out. Just briefly. Had given him an amiable thump on the back as usual. “Tomas!” she said. That was all.

  That had been enough for him at the moment. But when she did not appear again, did not speak to him, did not thank him in the presence of others, then everything got complicated. Everything.

  He knew he had done more than anyone else to save the barn. Had been the first on the roof with an axe. Were it not for him, things could have been much worse.

  He suddenly felt something like hate toward her. And toward the tall stranger who had helped him chop down the burning roof.

  Tomas asked the sailors about him. But all they knew was that he spoke with an accent and appeared on the passenger list with an un-Christian name. Like a Chinese! He had boarded in Trondheim. Always sat reading and smoking, or talking with Johan Gronelv. He was headed far north and east. Maybe he was a Lapp or from even farther east? But he spoke good Norwegian.

  Tomas had seen how the man stood behind Dina when he came down from the roof. It hurt him that she shook his hand twice. It hurt him even more when he learned that the stranger was invited to eat in the main house with the fine folk. He was dressed like a seaman, after all.

  Tomas did his tasks with a clenched jaw. Then he went and asked Oline if she needed any help. Carried extra wood and water into the kitchen and stayed.

  Sat at the end of the table and let her serve him food. Blamed it on being too tired to take part in things at the cottage.

  He ate slowly and thoroughly. As though his thoughts controlled each mouthful as it was chewed and went into his stomach.

  “There’s no soup left,” Oline grumbled. “The Swedish count ate a whole firkin!”

  She had never heard of fine folk with such poor manners that they asked for extra servings of the first course. It could not be much of an estate that Swedish fellow owned.

  Tomas nodded listlessly. Sat hunched over the table.

  Oline gave him a sidelong glance as she squirted whipped cream on the guests” cloudberries. When the last dessert was readied, she dried her hands meticulously with a towel. One finger at a time. As if the cream were dangerous.

  Then she made a quick trip into the pantry and returned with a glass of the finest red wine.

  “Here!” she said abruptly. Set the glass roughly in front of Tomas and went back to her work.

  Tomas tasted the wine. And to hide that he was touched by her thoughtfulness, he burst out:

  “Damn!”

  Oline muttered brusquely that she had known for a long time where Benjamin learned his ungodly expressions.

  Tomas gave her a weak smile.

  The kitchen was warm and safe. The steam, the food smells, and the hum from the parlors made him drowsy.

  But one spot inside his head was wide awake and watchful.

  Dina did not appear in the kitchen….

  Stine left with the children. Boys’ stubborn voices mingled with Han-na’s ill-tempered sounds for awhile. But gradually it grew quiet upstairs.

  Dagny, Mother Karen, and the countess drank their coffee in the parlor.

  Dina stretched out on the chaise lounge in the smoking parlor, smoked a cigar, and filled her wineglass herself. The count looked at her in amazement at first, then continued his conversation with the men.

  After a while the pastor gave Dina a mild look and said:

  “Mistress Dina must come and help us tune the organ!”

  He had a great ability to overlook things about Dina that did not seem entirely proper. As if he knew she had more important qualities.

  He often said that you had to accept people in Nord land the way you accepted the seasons. If you could not stand them, you should stay inside awhile and compose yourself.

  The pastor’s wife lived according to that rule. So she did not have the strength to come to Reinsnes for Johan’s homecoming party.

  “The pastor knows I’m no organ expert, but I’ll try,” Dina replied.

  “You did well the last time,” said the pastor.

  “It depends on one’s ear,” said Dina dryly.

  “That’s true. And you are exceptionally musical! You have much to thank … What was his name? The tutor who taught you to love music?”’

  “Lorch,” said Dina.

  “Yes, of course. Where is he now?”

  “On his way to Reinsnes. With his cello,”’ she said. Barely audibly.

  “That’s interesting news! Very good news!” said the pastor. “When is he expected?”

  Dina did not answer, because the count diverted the pastor’s attention.

  Sitting in a circle of the older men, Johan was the natural focal point. But he did nothing to foster this himself. His quiet voice was interested and attentive. Unconsciously, he kept brushing back his unruly dark hair with his right hand, A moment later, it was on his forehead again.

  He had changed during these years. Not just outwardly. His speech had a foreign flavor. He used Danish words and intonations. And he acted as though he were a guest in some unknown merchant’s house. Did not seem to recognize anything. Did not run his hand across anything. Did not rush from room to room to see everything again. Aside from helping to fight the fire, he had not yet been anywhere except the main house.

  Anders asked Johan about the situation in Denmark. Had he been involved in the political and nationalistic student gatherings in Copenhagen?

  Johan seemed ashamed to say no.

  “The Danes must be overjoyed since the battle at Isted. The sweet taste of victory over the Germans!” said Zjukovski.

  “Yes,” said Johan. “But adding Slesvig to Denmark is unnatural They’re two different languages and cultures.”

  “But this was King Frederick’s dream, wasn’t it?” said the Russian.

  “Yes, and the nationalists’ too,” Johan replied.

  “I heard it was Czar Nicholas who decided the outcome,” said Dina.

  “Yes, he threatened to fight the Prussians if they didn’t leave Jutland,” said Zjukovski. “But the new military draft in Denmark also had an effect.”

  Th
ey continued to discuss. Denmark’s flourishing political development.

  “You’re very informed about politics,” the sheriff said to ZjukovskL

  “One hears a little here and there.” The Russian smiled.

  “Most people in Denmark aren’t as knowledgeable as you are” Johan observed admiringly.

  “Thank you.’

  Dina had been watching the men while they talked.

  “Mother Karen was afraid Johan would get caught in the war and the demonstrations before he could get home.”

  “I’m not interested enough in such things,” said Johan lightly. “A theologian can’t rouse anybody to action.”

  “Don’t say that,” said the pastor. “Anyway, now you’re here.”

  “All theologians aren’t the same,” said Johan, chagrined. “I could hardly be considered a political power. But of course, that’s not true of you.”

  “Well,” said the pastor good-naturedly. “I don’t want worldly power either.”

  “But in fact, you do. If I may say so?” Dina interjected.

  “What do you mean?” asked the pastor.

  “When the authorities do something you think is unfair, you say so. Even if you have nothing to do with it.”

  “Yes, that certainly happens…”

  “And you often get what you want?” continued Dina gently.

  “That also happens,” the pastor replied with a satisfied smile.

  The conversation moved to safe ground again. And the sheriff talked at great length about disputes and legal action at the last Assembly.

  Anders was the one most surprised about Johan. He found no trace of the boy he had known at Reinsnes. Excused him because he had been so young when he left. And because so many people were present.

  At the table, Anders noticed that Mother Karen found it somewhat difficult to have her cleric progeny home again. She struggled to find topics of conversation with him.

  Johan was polite and friendly enough. But he had become a stranger.

  The pastor smoked a short pipe and then left for home, with many apologies and blessings. He would save the music until next time, he said.

  Dina accompanied the pastor to the door. As she returned through the main parlor, she struck several chords on the piano. Tentatively.

  The stranger was there immediately. He leaned against the instrument and listened.

  Dina stopped playing and gave him an inquiring look.

  Suddenly he began to sing a melancholy folk song in Russian.

  Dina quickly grasped the melody and accompanied him by ear. When she made a mistake, he repeated the notes for her.

  The strange, exotic song was filled with sorrow. All of a sudden, the tall man began to dance. As Russian seamen often did when slightly drunk. With arms outstretched to each side. Lithe hips and bent knees.

  The rhythm grew wilder and happier. The man danced so close to the floor it should have been impossible to stay on his feet. Stretched his long legs to the side and bent them beneath him again. Faster and faster.

  He exuded immense vitality. He was serious and concentrated. But at the same time playful.

  A grown man who was playful! The scar shone exceptionally white on his flushed skin. He was Janus, with two faces. Whirled round and round, revealing a marred and an unmarred cheek.

  Dina watched the man’s movements as her fingers danced. Firmly and lightly.

  Mother Karen, Dagny, and the countess interrupted their cultured conversation. One after another, the men in the smoking parlor rose to see and hear. Stine stood by the door with four children behind her.

  Benjamin’s eyes and mouth were wide open. He went into the parlor, without permission.

  Hanna and the sheriff’s two sons stood shyly in the doorway.

  A broad smile filled the room. It leaped like a shaggy little animal from person to person. To have a lighthearted mood in the parlors at Reinsnes was amazing. There had been such long intervals between happy times in the past years.

  The music could be heard in the kitchen and throughout the house.

  A deep male voice singing a strange, flowing melody and words they did not understand.

  Tomas shifted uneasily. Oline listened with her mouth open. The parlormaid came to the kitchen. Giggling and excited.

  “They want more punsj! The foreign fellow is singing Russian songs and leaping up and down like a madman, with his knees bent! He yodels and slaps his heels! I never saw such a thing! And he’s going to sleep in the south guest room. Dina gave orders. To fill the carafe and the pitcher on the washstand. And lay out clean towels.” Tomas felt a fist knock the breath out of him with a single blow.

  Zjukovski stopped dancing as abruptly as he had begun. Bowed gallantly when everyone applauded, took a few deep breaths, and returned to the smoking parlor to relight his cigar.

  His forehead was covered with beads of sweat. But he did not wipe them away. Just raised his eyebrows slightly and loosened his neckband.

  Jacob brushed against Dina’s arm. He was not in good humor.

  Dina pushed him away. But he kept a firm grasp on her as she walked over to Zjukovski. He had seated himself in the empty chair beside the chaise lounge.

  She shook his hand and thanked him for the entertainment. The air was phosphorescent between them. It drove Jacob wild.

  Later, when everything had returned to normal and the travelers were talking about the wonderful light in Nordland, Zjukovski boldly leaned forward and placed his hand lightly on Dina’s.

  “Dina Gronelv plays well,” he said simply.

  Jacob’s aversion to the man hit Dina between the eyes. She pulled her hand away.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “She’s also very good at organizing a fire brigade…. And she has such beautiful hair!”

  He spoke very softly. But in a tone that blended with the travelers’ conversation about Nordland weather.

  “People complain because I don’t pin up my hair,” she replied.

  “Yes, I can believe that,” was all he said.

  The children and Stine had gone upstairs again.

  It began to get late. But light still filtered through the lace curtains and potted plants.

  “You said your stepmother was musical, and she’s shown that this evening. But you mentioned she played the cello,” Zjukovski said to Johan.

  It was the first time anyone had called Dina a stepmother. She opened her mouth as if to say something. But closed it again.

  “Yes,” said Johan eagerly. “Play the cello for us, Dina!”

  “No, not now.”

  She lit a new cigar.

  Jacob was extremely satisfied with her.

  “When did you tell him I played the cello?” she asked.

  “On the ship. That’s what I remembered about you,” replied Johan.

  “Yes, you probably don’t remember much,” she murmured.

  Leo Zjukovski looked from one to the other. Niels raised his head. Not a sound had come from him all evening. But at least he was present.

  “What do you mean?” asked Johan uncertainly.

  “Oh, nothing. Just that you’ve been away for a long time…” She straightened her shoulders and asked if anyone wanted to take a stroll before bedtime, now that the weather had cleared.

  They stared at her in bewilderment. Leo Zjukovski was the only one who rose from his chair. Johan looked at them. As if this were an interesting detail. Then he reached toward the cigar box that Anders had opened and was passing around.

  It was his first cigar that evening.

  Tomas took more fire watches than were originally scheduled.

  Once, as he went from the cottage to the barn, he saw Dina and the stranger strolling on the white crushed shells near the summerhouse.

  True, the stranger walked with both thumbs hooked in the arm-holes of his vest and at a good distance. But they disappeared into the summerhouse after a while.

  Tomas seriously considered going to sea. But ther
e were so many things to take into account. For one thing, the fire watch was his responsibility. Then there were his aged parents. And his young sisters.

  In the end, he sat on his knees in the haymow, with straw sticking to his clothes. He had made a decision. He would talk to her. Force her to see him. He would get her to go hunting with him!

  The pastor’s outrigger had sailed far enough away for the dancing to begin on the wharf.

  Tomas went to Andreas Wharf to send the next man on fire watch.

  Then he returned to the kitchen. Helped Oline store leftover food in the cellar. Brought up more wine. Carried in water and firewood.

  Oline turned from her work a few times and looked at him.

  “Thea and Annette are down at the wharf … dancing,” she said tentatively.

  He did not reply.

  “You don’t dance much, Tomas?’”

  “No.”

  “Is something bothering you?”

  “Oh, one gets so tired,” he said easily.

  “Do you feel like talking, now that we’re finished for the day?”

  “Aww,” he said, embarrassed.

  He cleared his throat all the way to the water barrel with an empty bucket. Filled the bucket to the rim and then the container at the back of the stove. The logs lay neatly stacked in their corner. The kindling box was filled with brushwood.

  “Come and sit down,” said Oline.

  “Aren’t you going to bed?”

  “There’s no rush tonight.”

  “I guess not.”

  “Let’s see, do you like coffee with brandy?”

  “Yes.”

  They sat at the big kitchen table, lost in their separate thoughts.

  The weather had cleared. Now the wind was only a memory and a soft whisper. The August night was full of spices and blue light. They filtered through the open window.

  Tomas stirred the sugar thoroughly in his cup.

  Chapter 11

  Set me as a seal upon your heart,

  as a seal upon your arm;

  for love is strong as death,

  jealousy is cruel as the grave.

  — The Song of Solomon 8 : 6