Dina's Book

by Herbjorg Wassmo

  “I’m ripped to pieces. Ripped to pieces, here inside me …,” she whispered. Then her eyes drifted away.

  Anders got to his feet and was about to rush to the deck for help. Because this was more than he could manage alone.

  But she opened her eyes, looked at him sharply, and hissed through her teeth:

  “Shh! Quiet! Not a word! Help me!”

  He turned and stared at her, confused. Then he understood the order. He recalled various stories. About women’s ways. Women’s troubles. Women’s fates. Women’s shame.

  For a long moment, he stood dumbfounded. Then he nodded palely. Opened the cabin door, cleared his throat of six hours of storm on the Fold Sea, and shouted an order to Anton.

  “Dina’s sick. Tollef will relieve me! Tell the boy to heat some water!”

  Out in the gale, Anton was angry. Damn women at sea! They got sick and vomited, and made detours to Trondheim! Storms and deviltry! Misery and punishment!

  The seasick cotter’s son came with a wooden bucket of hot water, but he had lost half of it on the way. Anders met him at the door. Both were pale and trembling. For different reasons.

  Anders had drawn the curtain around Dina’s bunk. He had taken off his oilskins and stood bare-chested as he took the bucket. He did not allow the boy to enter. Just brusquely ordered more water.

  The boy was tired. Weak from vomiting, frightened, and sad. His face was a bare hand working with iron in black frost.

  “Hurry up, fellow!” Anders shouted. He sounded so unlike himself that the boy rushed away immediately.

  She was lying utterly still now. Allowed him to roll her over so he could remove the soiled sheets. Everything was soaked with blood.

  Its sweet, cloying odor pervaded the cabin. For a moment, he felt nauseated. But swallowed the feeling.

  “Who the devil planted this in Dina?” he asked himself. “Who did it? The Russian?”

  Thoughts whirled in Anders’s head as he washed and tended her. He had never been so close to a woman. Not this way … Was clumsy, shy, and furious.

  He placed an old fur coat under the one clean sheet he found in Dina’s trunk and lifted her onto it. She had gradually become listless and impassive. Did not open her eyes, just breathed heavily and clutched his wrists. He had to pull himself free to help her.

  The blood no longer spurted from her. But it flowed evenly. He shoved the soiled bedclothes into a corner with his boot.

  Suddenly, amid all the red, he saw something bluish, membranelike. He shuddered. Who the hell was responsible for this? He clenched his teeth to keep from shouting the question aloud.

  She was already unconscious. Must have been bleeding for a long time. Just so she did not … He did not complete the thought. Just thrust his chin forward and wadded a coarse workman’s blouse between her legs. The wool drew to itself both the similar and the dissimilar textures. He pressed it against her body. With every prayer he knew.

  Now and then she regained consciousness and gave him a glassy stare. Horror and desolateness crept across the floor and into the bed.

  Then he said the prayers aloud.

  The wind abated, and the Mother Karen rode the heavy seas.

  Anders noticed that they managed the sails without him. Which lessened the pressure only a little. For she was still bleeding.

  One after another, the crew members came to the cuddy. But he met them at the door. Just ordered hot soup and warm water.

  Finally, Anton shouted that Anders had better get the mistress of Reinsnes on deck, so she could spit in the sea like other folks.

  Anders yanked open the door and swung his fist past Anton’s jaw. Then he slammed the door so fast that, for a moment, the mate’s large nose was dangerously close to being caught in it.

  Outside, things grew quiet. The ship plowed the waves. Soup was brought to the cuddy. Water as well. The men managed the braces.

  Eventually everyone realized that the problem was more serious than seasickness. They fell into their routine again.

  Hours became a day. The sun appeared in the sky, and the wind rushed southward.

  Inside the cuddy, Dina dozed constantly. The bleeding finally stopped.

  Anders had given up trying to keep her clean, but now at last he could move her aside and spread fresh sheets on the old fur coat. She put her arms around his neck as he lifted her. He kept watching to see if she started to bleed again.

  She did not try to hide her nakedness. That was not necessary, after several hours in the same pool of blood.

  Dina’s dignity did not depend on such things, apparently. She left everything in the man’s hands. At times she fainted. And then regained consciousness and called him softly. Once, she murmured something he could not hear. It sounded as if she was calling the thief from the Bible. Barabbas!

  He got her to eat some soup. She drank water in large, greedy gulps. It dribbled down the corners of her mouth and made wet spots on the linen. Her hair was disheveled and soaked with perspiration. But since he did not know how to comb it, he let it be.

  Now and then he shook her gently, to make sure there was still life in her. And when he saw that the light bothered her, he drew the window curtains. Even in the semidarkness he could see she had a yellowish pallor. The dark shadows on her eyelids reached far down her cheeks. Her nose protruded. Stubborn and white at the nostrils.

  Anders could not conjure health for someone. He was not particularly good at praying either. But this Sunday morning he sat in a vapor of old blood and prayed for Dina’s life.

  Meanwhile, the crew resecured the cargo, and the Mother Karen sailed past Vega on her way home.

  Whether because of the prayers, or something else, her breathing became even. Her long white fingers lay on the blanket. He could see the veins branching to her pink fingernails.

  He touched her eyebrow gently, to see if her eyelid would move. She opened her eyes and looked at him. Close, close to his face. As if she had appeared out of the mist.

  He thought she would begin to cry. But she just inhaled with a deep sigh and closed her eyes.

  He wondered if she ever cried, since she did not do so now.

  This initiation into women’s life made him somewhat uncomfortable. In a way, he was grateful she did not cry.

  “What’s the damn disease in the cuddy?” Anton asked. He had calmed down, along with the wind. Now he wanted to know what was happening.

  Anders closed the door and stood on deck with him.

  “She’s sick. Very sick. Vomiting and terrible bleeding. It’s her stomach. She’s got something awful in … in her stomach. She’s completely exhausted. Poor thing …”

  Anton cleared his throat and apologized because he had not realized it was so serious. But as he had always said: Women aboard ship …

  “She could have died!” said Anders, and kicked a wooden cask that was rolling around the deck.

  “Tell the boy to lash things down, so they don’t go flying out to sea. And keep your damn opinions to yourself. This has nothing to do with you!”

  “I didn’t know that it … that it was so …” “Well, now you know!”

  Anders returned to the cuddy. As if he was no longer expected to work on deck.

  The most soiled sheets were surreptitiously thrown overboard. Anders waited until the weather improved sufficiently so everyone was not needed on deck. Saw his chance when nobody was around.

  Lacework, embroidery. He dumped it all The bluish clump disappeared for all time.

  They had not mentioned the clump to each other. Not a word. But they had both seen it.

  She focused two water-colored eyes on him. He sat down on her bunk. Its high edge made sitting there uncomfortable. Above them, the rigging clanked noisily.

  He had opened one of the round windows to get some fresh sea air.

  Sweat trickled from her dark hairline and down her neck. There were shadows around her eyes, and her pupils flickered.

  High on each of her yellow cheeks flamed
an angry red spot. They did not look good.

  Anders had seen many things. Scurvy, smallpox, leprosy. He knew that cheeks like Dina’s were a sign of fever. But he did not mention it. Just wiped her face and neck with a damp cloth.

  For a moment, an expression that could have been gratitude flickered in her eyes. But he was not certain. With Dina, one could never be certain. Still, he ventured to take her hand.

  “You haven’t asked about anything,” she whispered.

  “No. It’s not exactly the time for anything like that,” he said, and looked away.

  “But you’re not so stupid that you don’t understand?”

  “No, I’m not so stupid…”

  “What are you going to do when we get home?”

  “Bring you ashore and then tend to the ship and the cargo.”

  He made his voice reassuring.

  “And then?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When they ask what’s wrong with me?”

  “Then I’ll say your stomach played tricks on you and you spit up a lot of blood. That blood came out both ways. But it’s over now, and I’m sure it’s not infectious.”

  He cleared his throat after such a long speech and took her other hand as well

  A long, warm shudder went through the bunk. And spread to him. She appeared to be crying. With her body more than her eyes. Like an animal. Silently.

  Anders felt as if he had been at church and taken Communion. As if someone had given him a gift.

  For years, he had lived in a house with a person who never showed anything but stubbornness or anger. Never showed warm feelings. They had gotten so used to this that they did not even think it strange they knew her so little.

  He put his arms around her and recognized himself. It made him strong.

  He could sail any sea, in any weather the good Lord chose to send. For he had seen something that was worth understanding.

  He wanted to weep for his dead parents. For Niels. For his own stubbornness. Which had made him skipper of the Reinsnes cargo boat. Despite his hatred of the cursed sea. Which had swallowed his parents and given him lifelong nightmares about huge waves devouring them all in the end. He wanted to weep about God! Who sat on the bottom of every capsized boat and saved only Himself.

  He held her until the trembling stopped. Sounds from the deck reached them as a distant, meaningless echo. The sea gull was submissive as the large, low August sun finally blazed on the cuddy roof.

  “You’ll spare me the humiliating ordeal in church and explaining my fornication,” she said bitterly.

  “Oh, you’ve probably punished yourself enough.”

  “Stine barely escaped bread and water. Because it was the second time.”

  “Who counts the times? Tell me, who in God’s name is pure enough to count the times?” said Anders.

  “Niels denied his guilt. So they had nothing on him.”

  “Niels is dead, Dina.”

  “Stine’s living in shame!”

  “Nobody remembers that now. Don’t think about it. Everything’s over.”

  “Some people are put in prison too,” she continued.

  “Not these days.”

  “Oh, yes. Kirsten Nilsdatter Gram was in prison for three years in Trondheim because she sheared nineteen sheep belonging to her neighbor and helped herself to flour and salted meat in their stabbur, … Niels had a fortune hidden away … and let Stine bear the shame,”

  Anders realized she was not fully rational.

  “Niels was all I had …,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

  Suddenly she was completely lucid.

  “You have me,” she said, gripping his hand with surprising force.

  “You mustn’t feel sorry… about anything, Anders!”

  They exchanged a look. Sealed a pact.

  When they reached Tjeldsund, no one had yet dared to disturb them. He had made everyone understand that Death had made a brief visit. But had turned in the doorway.

  And the cook, who was the only one allowed to come with the soup kettle and water, readily confirmed that Dina was too sick and weak to talk to people.

  The men walked quietly when they were near the cuddy. Their coarse talk and the joy of seeing their home channel were noticeably dampened. They planned how to get the mistress ashore.

  Anders had helped her sit up in bed so she could glimpse the world outside.

  The landscape teemed with late-summer fertility. Dina bore no fruit.

  They passed a warehouse balancing on posts in the sea.

  “That’s Christensen’s wharf and store. He sent some winter barley all the way to the international exhibit in Paris! He’s quite a fellow! ‘Winter barley from 68.5 degrees north,’ he wrote on a small identification tag,” Anders told her……

  Dina smiled weakly.

  When they neared Sandtorg, Anders wanted to go ashore and get the doctor. But Dina snarled.

  “He has a habit of spreading news about what’s wrong with his patients,” she said.

  “But if you die, Dina? If you start bleeding again?”

  “That will settle everything,” she said.

  “What blasphemy, Dina! Surely a doctor doesn’t have the right to say anything to others?”

  “People talk about many things, whether they have the right or not.”

  “You’re harsh, Dina! Aren’t you worried about your health? Aren’t you afraid of death?”

  “That’s a foolish question right now, Anders….” He stood in the middle of the cabin and looked at her for a moment. In case she changed her mind. But she did not even open her eyes. Finally, he went outside and closed the door behind him.

  She began to improve as they sailed through Vág Fjord. Wanted to continue sitting up in bed. But the fever spots did not disappear. And her eyes were unpolished glass.

  The birch-covered ridges were fenced in by white, sun-baked beaches. Carefree islands and mountain peaks swam past. Small waves slapped the sides of the vessel.

  She dozed occasionally. But when she awoke, Hjertrud’s head with its immense dark scream stood over her. And thick, nauseating steam enveloped the bunk. So she tried to stay awake.

  I am Dina, who sees the nerves in a newborn birch leaf. But it is autumn. Oline makes a sweet drink from my blood, and pours it into bottles. She seals them well and says they must be carried to the cellar for the winter. The green bottles are full and heavy. The maids cannot carry more than one bottle at a time.

  The men were in fine spirits. Each lost in his own thoughts. It was good homecoming weather. The sea rippled, and the sky was spattered with thick cream. The rich white cream floated around the mountains, without blocking a single ray of sunshine. Forests rose along the headlands and coves. Glistening green after the rain. In Strandsted near Larsnett, life moved slowly, and the church was a safe white giant amid all the green and blue.

  The flag waved with dignity when they rounded the headland and caught sight of Reinsnes. Someone had been watching and had seen them enter the sound.

  Anders tried to help Dina comb her hair. But had to give up. They tucked it under her hat.

  The men wanted to put her on a fish pallet and carry her ashore. But she refused.

  When she tottered from the cabin with her arm heavily around Anders’s neck, they knew it had been serious. For no one had ever seen Dina like this.

  She looked like a seabird that had pulled itself loose after being trapped in a net — for a long time. Her hat was askew. And it was far too large and elegant to tolerate the humiliation of having its owner practically carried into the longboat and set ashore like an inanimate object.

  Dina tried to mitigate the impression with all the dignity she could muster. But the only result was that she fainted. The men turned away to make it easier for her,

  Anders helped her over the slippery, seaweed-covered stones. She stopped for a moment among the silent, staring people. Stubborn as a goat that had seen three blades of green grass farther up th
e scree. Then she continued walking.

  Mother Karen waved from a bench in the garden. Stine stood with her face toward the sun. Benjamin’s suntanned hands found the folds of Dina’s skirt. Anders walked beside her.

  But Tomas stayed in the stable.

  Welcoming shouts flew over the ship’s railing. The crew came ashore. But their arrival was more subdued than usual. Everyone’s eyes were on Dina.

  What was wrong?

  Anders made explanations. Confidently. As if he had been practicing across every meter of Vág Fjord. His arm muscles trembled around Dina.

  Then they stretched out their arms and embraced her. Stine. The maids. It seemed to make her weaker. Her legs would not support her. Small sighs drifted among the seaweed-covered stones as she fell.

  She was home.

  Dina was put to bed under Stine’s supervision. At last the men could escape.

  Anders felt the burden lift from his shoulders. It had been heavy. He had survived storms and saved people from drowning and other deaths. But he had never experienced anything like this voyage.

  Anders never talked about his own achievements, so it was not hard for him to say nothing about this one. Instead he busied himself being a merchant and skipper for Dina. She lay in the cottage unable to do anything, after all.

  He had the expensive gifts brought from the ship. They had been well protected during the storm. Gifts from Bergen and Trondheim. Packages and trunks.

  Stine’s sewing machine was admired. Ornate cast iron marked Willcox & Gibbs, mounted on the finest walnut. Such as she had seen advertised in the newspaper for fourteen speciedaler.

  Stine was beside herself. Walked from room to room, clasping her hands. Her face was flushed, and she went to Dina’s cottage four times to thank her and insist it was far too much.

  The parlors at Reinsnes hummed a happy welcome. Glasses gleamed and clinked. Tissue paper crackled, locks clicked, and dress material rustled.

  Coffee and brown sugar were properly sampled. Kerchiefs and shawls with long fringes and red roses were modeled, admired, and caressed. Rings and brooches were pinned on, taken off, and pinned elsewhere.