“I already have one. Pushkin’s poetry! Besides, it’s not our custom to take payment from guests. That’s probably why we insist on knowing who they are.”
Something was going on in his head. A knot at the jawbone moved on either side of his face.
“You seem unfriendly and unhappy,” he said bluntly.
“I don’t mean to be. But you’re hiding from-me.”
“It’s not exactly easy to communicate with you…. Except when you’re playing music. And then one doesn’t talk to you.”
She ignored the irony.
“You said — before you left — that you were courting me. Was that just nonsense?”
“No.”
“What did you mean?”
“That’s hard to explain under cross-examination like this. You’re used to getting answers from people, aren’t you? Objective answers about objective things? But courting a woman is not objective. It’s an emotional challenge. That requires tact and time.”
“Do you use tact and time when you sit talking with Niels in the office?”
Leo laughed, showing all his teeth.
“That’s all I wanted,” she snarled, and rose from her chair. “You may leave!”
He bowed his head, as. if wanting to hide his face. Then suddenly he looked up and said pleadingly:
“Don’t be so angry. Play for me instead, Dina!”
She shook her head but walked over to the instruments anyway. She let her hand glide over Lorch’s cello, keeping her eyes fastened on the man.
“What do you talk about with Niels?” she asked abruptly.
“You want to know everything? Have complete control?”
She did not answer. Just kept gliding her hand over the instrument in large, slow circles. Followed the lines of the cello’s body. It made a soft sound in the room. A whisper from beyond.
“We talk about Reinsnes. About the store. About keeping accounts. Niels is a modest man. Very lonely … But you know-that, of course. He says Mistress Dina is headstrong and examines everything.”
There was a pause. Dina did not reply.
“This morning we discussed the idea of building an addition to the store to make it more modern. With better light. More space for merchandise. And we talked about establishing contacts in Russia, in order to get merchandise not readily available in this country.”
“You discussed Reinsnes with one of my people but not with me?”
“1 thought you had other interests.”
“What kind of interests?”
“Children. Household.”
“Then you don’t know much about an innkeeper’s responsibilities! I prefer that you discuss Reinsnes with me, not with my people! By the way, why are you so interested in Reinsnes?”
“Communities like this interest me. It’s a complete world, which is both good and bad.”
“Don’t you have similar communities where you come from?”
“No, not exactly the same. People who don’t own property are less free. The common people have no reason to feel strong loyalty, as they do here. These are hard times in Russia.”
“Is that why you came here?”
“Among other reasons. But once I helped put out a fire at Reinsnes….”
He came closer. The scant daylight furrowed his somber face.
They stood with the cello between them. He laid one hand on the instrument too. Heavily, like a sun-warmed stone.
“Why was it so long before you came back?”
“Did it seem like a long time to you?”
“It’s not just how it seemed to me. You said you’d come before winter.”
He appeared to be enjoying himself.
“You remember my words so precisely?”
“Yes,” she snarled.
“Then surely you can be good, now that I’ve come,” he whispered. Close to her face.
They looked each other in the eye. A long time. Probed intently. Measured their strength.
“How good does one have to be, with Barabbas?” she asked.
“It doesn’t take much…”
“Like what?”
“A little friendliness.”
He took the cello from her and leaned it against the wall. Carefully. Then he grasped both her wrists.
Somewhere in the house, something broke. The sound was followed immediately by Benjamin’s crying.
He saw something stir briefly in her eyes. Then they glided together against the wall. He had never imagined she was so strong. Her mouth, her open eyes, her breath, her large generous bosom. She reminded him of the women at home. But she was harder. More determined. Impatient.
They were a knot against the dark wall. A stubborn, moving knot in Jacob’s tableau.
Then Leo held her away from him and whispered:
“Play, Dina! So you can save us.”
She whimpered softly, like an animal. Burrowed herself in his chest for a moment. Then she reached for the cello, carried it to the chair, and spread her thighs to receive it.
The bow rose toward the gray daylight.
The tones came. Rushing with no particular beauty at first. Then her arm became confident and gentle. She was inside the music. And Jacob retreated.
Leo stood with his arms at his sides and looked at her breasts, which were pressed against the instrument. Her long fingers, which occasionally trembled to give fullness to the tones. Her wrist. Her leather trousers, which revealed firm, generous thighs. Her cheek. Then her hair fell forward and hid her face.
He walked across the room and out the door. But he did not close it. Nor his own door either. An invisible line was drawn on the wide floorboards. Between the guest room and the master bedroom.
Chapter 15
I stretch out my hands to thee;
my soul thirsts for thee like a parched land. Selah.
— Psalms 143 : 6
Mother Karen had packed boxes and baskets to be brought to the three cotters’ farms and other needy families.
She had them delivered by horse or boat, or sent word when people came to the Reinsnes store to buy things they needed for the holidays.
Oline served refreshments in the kitchen. It was warm and cozy there, and orderly down to the smallest detail,
Lapp boots made from reindeer hide, overcoats, and heavy snow boots were placed near the large, black iron stove. They had to be thawed, dried, and warmed for the homeward journey. There was always warm water in the newly polished container at the back of the stove. It cast its glow on the kettles and wooden bowls- when the stove’s iron rings were removed to place the coffeepot directly on the fire.
People had come and gone the entire week. Eaten and drunk. Walked down to the store, sat near the stove on boxes, barrels, and stools, and waited for transport.
Closing hours were out of the question now. The store was open as long as people were there. It was as simple as that.
Niels and the store clerk ran busily back and forth. And they constantly had to remove the rings to put on the coffeepot. The water simmered for a while, then splashed noisily through the spout. With all the sputtering and steam, someone would realize it was time to pull the pot off the fire and add ground coffee.
On the floor near the stove was a flat stone on which to set the pot. As the coffee steeped, its aroma filled the nostrils of those who came in from the cold and darkness and sea spray.
The blue-flowered cups with gold edges, six in number, were rinsed lightly after the previous customer and then refilled. An occasional unground coffee bean might float like a brown bark boat at the edge of the cup as a poor frozen fellow warmed his hands on the cup and raised the bitter nectar to his lips. Often, brown sugar and cookies were served too.
A few customers received a dram behind a closed door. But liquor was not offered freely at Reinsnes. That was as it should be, Niels said.
In Oline’s blue kitchen, liquor was never served to anyone except Oline herself. Now and then she allowed herself a stiff shot of brandy in her
coffee, to thin her blood.
Only a few people came to the parlor for Mother Karen’s sherry.
Dina rarely received guests herself. When visitors came to Reinsnes, she let others extend hospitality.
Niels liked the weeks before Christmas. There was maximum turnover of their best merchandise. He had a habit of wrinkling his forehead deeper as business got better.
And this Christmas Eve the wrinkles were unusually deep, as he examined the half-filled shelves and checked the empty storage spaces in the store and warehouse. He assumed the air of a ruined man.
When Anders came in, whistling and wearing a holiday shirt, Niels mournfully told him he feared they did not have enough flour left for the Lofoten trip.
Anders laughed. He regarded his brother’s worries about empty bins and shelves with good humor. But sometimes he wondered why the profits were not greater. Because their customers were numerous and reliable. And those whom they equipped for fishing trips were, almost without exception, dependable people who delivered fish or money as promised when they returned.
After the last customer had left and everything was closed, Niels went to lonely Mass. In the warehouse office, behind locked doors and drawn curtains.
He neatly packed his offerings in two thick envelopes, which he placed on the table. Then he screwed down the wick on the oil lamp and moved toward the altar with one of the envelopes.
The washstand was made of solid oak with a heavy marble top. On it stood an enamel bowl and soap dish.
Solemnly, he applied his whole body weight and shoved the washstand aside. The loose floorboard lay there faithfully, looking at him with its many knots and dents.
Moments later, he lifted a tin box in the dim light, opened it, and made a new offering.
Then he put everything back in place.
Afterward, Niels took the money he had recorded in the ledger and locked it in the iron chest in the corner.
Finally, he stood in the middle of the room, took a puff on his pipe, and looked around. Everything was very good. It was a holiday.
Just one thing worried him. His map of America had disappeared. It had been lying on the table. And now it was gone!
He had searched everywhere. And asked Peter, the store clerk. Who insisted he had not seen or heard anything.
Niels knew he could never bring a wife to Reinsnes as long as Stine and the child were there. This sad realization had forced him to make a major decision. To get a map of America. And now it had disappeared.
Crisp unleavened bread softened in meat juices and sweetened with syrup was always on the table at five o’clock on Christmas Eve. Along with aquavit and beer. Everyone tried to finish their tasks by then.
Niels was at the table this year. Thanks to the Russian, he could show the courtesy of eating with the others.
Besides, there was the question of the map. Perhaps he could tell by people’s expressions who had taken it.
The table was set for everyone in the dining room. Nobody ate in the kitchen on Christmas Eve. A custom that Mother Karen had introduced when she came to Reinsnes.
But people did not feel as comfortable in the dining room. They scarcely dared to talk to each other, for fear of seeming impolite or saying the wrong thing.
Leo and Anders lightened the atmosphere by clowning with the children. People had a reason to laugh. Something in common.
Platters were carried in and out. The steam from the warm food moistened everyone’s skin and blended with juices from inside their bodies.
Mother Karen sat by the lighted Christmas tree. A holiday fragrance permeated the entire house. Braided paper baskets held raisins, ginger cookies, and sugar candy. Which could not be touched until Mother Karen gave the word.
After the meal, sitting in the armchair at the head of the table, she had read the Christmas Gospel. First in Norwegian. Then in German, to please Mr. Leo, she said.
Benjamin and Hanna were nearly bursting with eagerness for the packages and sweets. To them, the Christmas Gospel became not only twice as long but an unreasonable punishment from God.
Later they would have a saying between them: “Now she’s going to read in German too!”
Dina was a broad river flowing through the room. In her royal-blue velvet dress with a damask breastpiece. She looked directly at people and appeared almost friendly. When she played the Christmas carols she seemed to caress the keys.
Leo led the singing. He wore a black vest and a white linen shirt with full sleeves, lace cuffs, and a silver brooch at the neck.
As always on Christmas Eve, a pair of flickering, tribranched Epiphany candles stood on the piano. The silver platter under the candleholders sparkled. During the evening it became covered with melted wax, which created a small landscape beneath the candles.
The Epiphany candles were Stine’s work. One pair for Hanna and one for Benjamin. Although Mother Karen explicitly said they were in honor of Jesus.
Since a shoemaker had been at Reinsnes before Christmas, it was not hard to guess what was in the packages from the Reinsnes owners. Soon all the servants were trying on shoes.
Leo got up and sang a Russian jingle about all the busy shoes in the world.
Benjamin and Hanna sang, too. Russian gibberish. Painfully off key and very serious.
Mother Karen, elegant in starched lace collar and a fine coiffure, grew tired after a while. Suddenly Hjertrud walked through the room and stroked Mother Karen’s white, wrinkled cheek. And the old woman half closed her eyes and dozed for a moment.
Oline let others serve her this evening. She had an open sore on her ankle. It had worsened during the busy Christmas preparations. Stine had applied a salve of boiled honey and spices. But it did not help.
Leo had said she should sit down and let others wait on her until she was well again. Since then, Oline’s eyes had followed Leo. Just as they had once followed Jacob.
Stine exuded an air of great calm. Now and then she looked at Niels, as if he were a newly scrubbed floor. She seemed reflective and deeply satisfied. Her eyes were darker, her face more golden than usual. Her tight braids were twisted into a bun. But this did not hide the fact that Stine had an exceptionally beautiful neck.
Johan’s memories of Christmas Eve were all connected with Reinsnes, except for his years as a theology student. He was filled with these memories. Ingeborg lighting the candles, Mother Karen reading aloud from the Bible. Jacob’s face, which was always ruddy from drinking with the workers before the evening festivities.
Tonight he had felt childlike and weak when Mother Karen took Benjamin and Hanna on her lap. He was ashamed of himself and compensated by being particularly friendly toward everyone, especially the two children.
He saw that Dina’s spirit had settled upon Reinsnes for good while he was away. She influenced Anders and Niels. Beneath her gaze, they became puppets. Mother Karen was the only person left to him.
Anders was a smiling brother this evening. For the most part, he sat listening to Mother Karen, Johan, and Leo. Now and then he glanced at Dina. Once, he nodded to her, as if they shared a secret. Clearly, this man did not have a guilty conscience about anything.
Niels made a few brief stops in the main parlor. But in between he had other things to do, which nobody asked about. Sometimes he passed around cigars, or filled glasses. But his words were locked up tightly. His eyes were restless shadows over the people in the room.
I am Dina, Hjertrud stands weeping in the sheriff’s parlor tonight. She has hung garlands and angels and has read from the black book. But it does not help. Holiday celebrations make some people bad. So Hjertrud weeps and hides her ruined face. I put my arms around her and count shoes.
Now and then Dina’s eyes met Leo’s. The hardness was gone. As if she had forgotten that he came too late. Forgotten the conversation in the master bedroom earlier that day.
Mother Karen went to bed. The children slept. Fitfully, with perspiring foreheads, after all the cakes and goodies and the fear-tinge
d delight of being six and eight years old and celebrating Christmas Eve at Reinsnes. All the stories about Christmas elves, all the hands and laps. The voices, the music, the presents.
The servants had finished their work early and gone to bed. The girls in the rooms above the kitchen and the men in the servants’ quarters. Oline guarded the kitchen hallway against nighttime suitors. She slept with the kitchen door ajar.
Oline’s sleeping sounds were like a nighttime instrument. The day they were silenced, Reinsnes would lose its most important timepiece.
Niels had left the house. Nobody gave a thought to whether he was in the cottage, where he had two rooms, or in the office.
Nobody, that is, except Stine. But she gave no outward sign. Kept her thoughts under her dark, smooth hair without troubling anyone. She undressed slowly before the mirror and examined her body in the dim candlelight. After having first drawn a curtain in front of the sturdy bench bed where the children were sleeping.
The evening had brought nothing new into her life. Except one thing. She had begun to demand her child’s inheritance. Slowly, but surely. And so she put a map of America in the bottom drawer of her dresser for safekeeping.
She had learned some things by watching Dina. What you did, you did. Without asking anyone’s advice, if you could manage alone.
Anders, Johan, Leo, and Dina remained in the smoking parlor.
Dina leaned back on the chaise lounge and toyed with one of the heavy silk tassels attached to the armrest. She smoked a mild Havana cigar. And blew unfeminine but very expert smoke rings over their heads.
Anders described preparations for the fishing trip to the Lofoten Islands. He planned to send just one boat initially. Then, if fishing was good, he would outfit the other boat. He was sure he could get the necessary crew. According to all predictions, the fishing should be excellent. Would Leo like to join them?
Leo seemed to consider the idea, then replied slowly. He did not think he was suited to that sort of work. Besides, he had to go to Trondheim.
Dina studied him.
“May I ask what you need to do there?”
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