They joined a convoy of four cargo boats heading south to Bergen. Then two swifter-sailing vessels caught up with them from farther north. Three more joined the flock in Vest Fjord. The weather was calm, with a northeast wind.
The mood was excellent. Each man had his tasks, and each had his section of the cargo to protect. With midnight sun, they did not need to sail only during the day. The crew worked shifts around the clock.
The merchandise from Reinsnes lay heavily between the ribs of the ship. Forty bushels of feathers and down. Cleaned, packed, and prepared by Stine. Five kegs of cloudberry preserves, gathered by the farmworkers, cooked and sweetened by Oline. Carefully watched in the cellar all winter. To make sure that mold or vermin did not depreciate it. Fifty reindeer pelts and two barrels of reindeer meat, which had been bartered or bought from Lapps who came to Reinsnes looking for food. Tomas sent ptarmigan and fox pelts. And there were seventy-five barrels of cod-liver oil and 16,836 pounds of dried fish.
Dina often stood on deck, watching the mountains and the small islands glide past. She had sloughed off an outer skin. The wind laughed to her, and all the things that had irritated or infuriated her at Reinsnes were drowned cats in the vessel’s wake.
“People should live like you, Anders! It puts one in a good humor!” she shouted from the cabin doorway, as Vest Fjord widened and suddenly became a sea.
Anders turned and squinted toward her in the bright sunlight. His large, stubborn chin protruded more than usual. Then he continued what he was doing.
He and Dina shared the cabin and the table, and they downed a few mugs together. There was a responsible easiness between them. He was remarkably unembarrassed about having a woman in the cuddy. Made no fuss about it. But was sensitive to a woman’s ways. He always knocked on the door and waited until he received an answer. And he was careful to hang his working clothes outside, under the cabin’s eave.
The first time Dina had sailed with Anders, he was relegated to the crew’s quarters. She and Jacob had rolled across stretches of open sea. And did not even notice that the winds were more than brisk on Vest Fjord. This time, Jacob had to remain on deck. While Dina observed Anders’s stubborn jaw and gentle mouth. With the keen senses of a wolf bitch.
Chapter 8
He delivers the afflicted by their affliction, and opens their ear by adversity.
— Job 36 : 15
The fog lay like a sheepskin cap over the seven mountain tops. Anton knew which warehouse was their destination. Smells and sights assaulted them, familiar and enticing. During the past months the crew had pushed all that away for a while. Now it pressed in on them. A spring tide of old excitement — and pleasant memories.
The men did their work while enjoying the sight of the Promised Land. The wharves! The city! The ships and cargo boats lay close together. Lively shouted commands carried across the Bergen harbor and could be heard above the rumble of wagon wheels on the cobblestones.
Now and then the block and tackle whined solemnly above the open unloading doors at the warehouses. The old buildings stood side by side. Majestic and natural, like an ancient landscape, they leaned toward one another all along the harbor. The gray Bergen fortress was a giant that had lain down for the rest of its life. In full view of high and low. Immovable. Kin to the mountain itself.
Even before the Mother Karen found a mooring, small boats glided alongside it.
Bold, cheerful Bergen women came to sell their pastries and pretzels. Amid laughter and shouts, they were helped onto the deck.
They clutched their baskets in both hands. And it looked almost as if they would rather throw themselves in the sea than let go of a single pretzel without payment. But once the purchases were made, broad smiles emerged beneath the kerchiefs and bonnets. And plenty of post-trading pastries and respectable flirting followed.
One woman who stepped over the railing was quite young. In her pale-green cotton dress and gaudy blue silk bonnet adorned with purple rooster feathers, she overshadowed all the elegant Bergen ladies.
Dina shuddered at the sight. And she and Anders exchanged a laughing glance when Anton went out of his way to please the young pastry vendor.
The sunshine was a newly minted coin in a glittering pouch. The men had changed into white shirts. Their hair was slicked down with water, -and they wore no caps.
Arriving in Bergen made it a holiday.
Dina wore a wide-brimmed hat and a green traveling outfit. For once, she had pinned up her hair. But some of it fell heavily, and a bit haphazardly, from beneath her hat.
Anders teased her about her fine clothes and hairdo.
“Now you look like a proper shipowner’s widow!” he said approvingly when she came out on deck.
“You’re going to make the prices for our fish go extremely high,” he added.
She gave him a bright look and hurried across a plank to the neighboring cargo boat and then ashore. But when they strolled along the wharves, she tucked her hand firmly under his arm.
Unfamiliar smells swept past her nose. Even the sea smell was different here. Mixed with the odors of decay and stinking gutters, fish and tar-sated ships. The small shops along the harbor bulged with assorted wares. And everything secreted this wild, mingled odor of the city.
Outside a wagonmaker’s workshop, an immaculately dressed man leaned on an umbrella in the hot sun and vented his anger at the proprietor. He pointed furiously at his horse, which stood by an unhitched wagon, munching hay from a feed bag, and berated the wagonmaker for giving him defective harness pins.
Dina tugged Anders’s arm and stopped, listening to the accusations. The wagonmaker began to defend himself. But he was less practiced than the other man.
Suddenly Dina walked over to them.
“You should use goat-willow harness pins,” she interjected.
The two men raised their heads, as if on command, and stared at her. Dina’s interruption so confused the gentleman that he lost his train of thought.
The wagonmaker, on the other hand, cleared his throat, made a slight bow, and politely said that she was undoubtedly correct….
“If s resilient. Goat willow, that is,” Dina commented, and walked over to examine the harness pin in the carriage fastenings.
The men stared. But found nothing to say. Their ability to speak had vanished into the bright air,
“The pin broke on a branch,” she said. She pulled out the splintered pieces and gave them to the wagonmaker.
He took them in his tar-stained hands. Dina nodded and walked back to Anders without turning around.
The silence continued after she left.
There were taverns nearby. And hotels and rooming houses.
A watchman roamed the street, shouting that he knew the best lodgings. He pronounced a few names with grand gestures and a deep, inviting voice. Clearly, he received some skillings for this work.
The fish market was a beehive of activity. The smells here were stronger than outside the manure cellar when the doors were opened to the spring sunshine. Fishwives shouted their prices. Shrill voices from ruddy faces. Ample bosoms with wool shawls crossed over them, despite the heat.
Class distinctions were more evident here than in church at home. The market women and unmarried girls in their colorful costumes outshone everyone else. Here and there, a white lace dress swayed under a wide-brimmed straw hat. Adorned with ribbons, rosettes, and baubles. Small, neat silk or leather shoes mingled with the clatter of wooden clogs and the shuffling of leather toe slippers on the cobblestones.
A loud voice repeatedly recommended smoked salmon and tongue for supper.
Farther on, they came to boulevards and large, luxurious homes. Wide driveways and well-clipped hedges.
Dina exuded a certain disdain as they walked. Anders could not really understand what caused it. But he was embarrassed whenever they met anyone.
All of a sudden, she laughingly began to tell him about the time she and Jacob stayed at a hotel that was reputed to be exce
llent.
There, they had amused themselves by making disparaging remarks about the porcelain washbowl, which was no larger than a potato basin. And about cream being spooned into their coffee rather than poured from a pitcher.
The owner had never even heard of egg cups.
Their polite but haughty complaints led to the rumor in the kitchen that they were British.
But Jacob absolutely refused to let anyone think such a thing. So he marched over to the barmaid and explained who they were.
The hotel staff immediately became more sociable. And on the last morning, the coffee was served with a pitcher of milk.
In the midst of this story, a coachman stopped his carriage and offered them a ride, for a price. She shook her head, and Anders said no, thank you.
They wandered up the steep streets, which gradually grew narrower. Dina’s shoes were stiff and warm, so when they found a bench under a tree they sat down. They had a view over the whole town. Anders explained and pointed. The Bergenhus fortress, with its tower and royal palace. Vágen harbor, with all the cargo boats and swaying booms. Innumerable ships lay at anchor outside the harbor. Two steamboats plodded toward the bright sky with churning paddle wheels and black smoke. A cargo boat glided into the harbor, dropped its sail, and silently slid into place in a row of other vessels.
Slowly they made their way down the hill, found a carriage, and hired a ride to the wharf. They had to watch the time. For they were going to meet Anton and have refreshments at Klevstuen, a favorite meeting place for merchants. It was a gesture they could not neglect.
“It’s important to follow the custom,” Anders said.
When they arrived at the harbor, Anders pointed out cargo boats from Kjerring0y, Husby, and Grott0y.
Directly behind the wharves stood a church with two towers, its jagged profile outlined against the sky.
“That’s Maria Church,” he said.
Their glances met. As if this were the first time they had seen each other.
“I’ve never traveled with anyone before!” he said in confusion.
“You mean, you’ve never traveled with a woman?”
“Yes. It’s different.”
“How so?”
“You see things I didn’t realize had meaning. You ask questions I didn’t know I could answer.”
“You’re a strange man!” she said firmly. “Niels was lucky to have you for a brother.”
* * *
The businessmen and innkeepers became middlemen between the Bergen merchants and those who shipped goods there.
Although Bergen prices rarely rose or fell dramatically, there was always some suspense about what news the ship charterers would bring home. They preferred to avoid having to haggle over prices, however.
It certainly happened more than once that fishermen were thoroughly deceived about measures and prices.
Merchants and cargo boat owners, on the other hand, learned the tricks of the trade. They had enough time and experience to wait for the best bid. And they knew which Bergen inhabitants it paid to do business with in the long run.
Cargo transporters were entertained at Klevstuen tavern. Porridge with syrup. Clay pipes and lively talk.
The merchant had a potbelly and an extra chin besides the one provided by the Lord. It tumbled over his frilled shirtfront when he gestured or laughed.
Dina recognized him from her trip with Jacob. They often mentioned his name at Reinsnes. Mr. Rasch. She had entered his name in the ledgers for years.
The last time Dina had seen him, he was with a buxom, domineering woman.
She had died from a mysterious illness that nobody understood, he told them. She just shriveled up like a forgotten summer apple. Some said it was due to nervousness and mental illness in the family. But the merchant knew of no such history and willingly expressed his opinion that slander and gossip caused people to reach such conclusions…. He himself thought it had something to do with her bile. At any rate, he had been a widower now for four years. His wife had come from a wealthy family in Hardanger and had a sizeable inheritance. But people exaggerated the amount, the merchant said.
Dina, Anton, and Anders had not heard about the inheritance, but they listened eagerly to all the gossip about what could befall a poor Bergen dweller these days.
There seemed to be no respect for anything in this world. People talked about sorrow and misery as if it were dirt! That was not right!
The merchant’s face grew flushed during this long monologue. His extra chin spread sorrowfully around his frilled collar. First to one side. Then to the other.
Dina stared unabashedly. But it appeared she had decided to like him.
He, for his part, remembered the young wife Dina Gr#nelv.
“That’s nothing to talk about,” he said quickly, giving her a flirtatious look.
Eventually Anders, Anton, and Dina were singled out from the rest of the guests and invited home with Mr. Rasch.
Just as Anders had predicted, punsj was served immediately. The merchant ordered Madeira for the lady, but Dina declined the offer. She would like a small glass of punsj and a pipe.
The merchant was astonished but quickly recovered. He filled the pipe for her himself, while telling about a Danish noblewoman he knew in his youth. She had smoked a pipe and worn men’s hats.
“No comparison,” he added good-naturedly, nodding at Dinars hat. “You didn’t buy it there in the far north?” he asked.
“No, it was bought on the basis of detailed drawings and sent by messenger from Bremen. We buy hats and stoves from Bremen, and books and sheet music from Hamburg. And paintings from Paris. To meet Mother Karen’s tastes!” she said with a smile.
Anders sent her an uneasy look. But she walked over to the merchant and tucked her arm companionably under his.
After a moment he smiled uncertainly and lit her pipe for her. Then he invited them to be seated in the parlor, so they could discuss “timely matters,” as he put it.
Dina paid careful attention when Anders negotiated quantities and prices. He described the quality and amounts of fish and roe, furs and eiderdown, he had for sale.
But she did not participate in the conversation.
The expression in Anders’s eyes was so honest it would make any merchant suspicious. But these two men had done business together before.
Anders’s face was smooth as moonlight when he suggested a price. He was just as regretfully honest when he shook his head because the merchant’s offer was too low. Respectful, as though speaking to the pastor. Firm, as though giving vital orders to his crew.
The merchant sighed eloquently, and said they would see … until they agreed on the prices. It was the same ritual. Year after year. Without exception. The merchant clapped Anders on the shoulder, bowed to Dina, and said good-naturedly:
“Perhaps, when you calculate everything, Dina Gronelv of Reinsnes is the wealthier of the two of us.”
“We’re not talking about wealth but about business,” Dina reminded him.
Once again Anders shifted uncomfortably.
“Wealth is a complex matter. Some people even receive love as a free gift,” she said, looking deeply into the merchant’s eyes.
His glance wavered. He did not know how to handle the situation. He was not used to doing business with young women. But he could not help liking some aspects of it. He did not understand this innkeeper’s widow from Nordland. And had an uncomfortable, sweaty feeling that she was making a fool of him. Though he could in no way prove it. Still, they got a good price. Especially for the dry fish. Just as Anders had predicted.
They ordered a sewing machine for Stine from one of the merchant’s acquaintances, at a considerable discount.
In return, a whole barrel of cloudberry preserves was rolled ashore for the merchant’s private consumption. “Free and clear,” as Anders put it.
While the cargo boat was being unloaded and then loaded again, Dina wandered around the city on her own.
She wanted to see the leper hospital, which Mother Karen had mentioned several times.
She walked back and forth in front of the entrance. Three times. As a victory over herself. In order to tell Mother Karen she had kept her promise, to pray for the sick to God the Father!
Her prayers had not been very satisfactory.
I am Dina. Hjertrud’s book says Job is surprised that God can be so harsh toward human beings, who have such short, restless lives. Job suffers a great deal. He cannot understand that God punishes the righteous and does not punish the ungodly. Job consumes much time and energy wondering about his fate. Here, they pace from wall to wall with their sores. All people do not draw as much attention to themselves as Job.
In front of every house in Bergen stood a bucket of water. Dina finally asked a shopgirl about this custom.
“It’s because of the fire this spring,” she replied. “Everyone’s afraid of fire.”
“You’re not from Bergen?” the girl added.
Dina smiled. No, she was obviously not from Bergen.
“Good Lord, how naive to think a few drops of water in a bucket can protect you if fire breaks out!”
The shopgirl pursed her lips but said nothing.
Dina bought twill tape, lace, buttons, and the other things on the list Stine had sent with her.
Then she hired a carriage to take her to the area where, on the thirtieth of May, one hundred twenty houses had gone up in flames. A devastated but exciting place.
It lay like a leprous sore, with the healthy city pulsing at its edges. Ragged beggars wandered about, searching for treasure. They bent over and dug with pieces of wood. Now and then they straightened their backs and put something in their bundles.
“There are so many poor, wretched people here! Besides the lepers!” Dina said to Anders in the cuddy that evening.
“And whores!” she added. “They loiter where the men go ashore, or they come aboard.”
“That must be a hard occupation. Not much profit in it, apparently,” said Anders.
“At least Job didn’t have to be a whore!” said Dina.
Dina's Book Page 35