Leo is so restless. He probably wants to escape again. I reach for him. Grasp the hairs on his chest firmly.
Then he thrusts the others aside and places himself over me like a lid. The rhythm of his body surges through my veins. Through the bed. So powerfully that Anders falls out of my hair and the others wither like rose petals in a bowl. They drop silently to the deck.
Music streams from Leo, as if from an organ. Rises and falls. His voice settles in my skin like a gentle breeze. Glides through my pores and into my bones. I do not have the strength to defend myself.
The pastor stands before the altar, and all the wooden figures and paintings enclose me — with Leo. In the organ. The cast-iron bells peal like thunder.
Then the sun rises from the sea. Frosty mist drifts past. And we are seaweed wrack on the beaches. That climbs the mountains and the church walls. Pours through the tall windows and through all the crevices.
We are still swaying and alive. In the end we are just a color. Red brown. Iron and earth.
Then we are in Hjertrud’s embrace.
Chapter 14
Many waters cannot quench love,
neither can floods drown it.
If a man offered for love
all the wealth of his house,
it would be utterly scorned.
— The Song of Solomon 8 : 7
Dina fastened her hat firmly with two hatpins, for a brisk wind was blowing across Troms0 Sound. She had drawn her corset no tighter than would allow her to breathe easily but had pushed up her breasts so they could divert difficult discussions if necessary.
She stood for a moment before the small mirror in the cabin.
Then she went to the deck and said good-bye to her traveling companions and the ship’s officers.
A sailor carried her large travel bags ashore. She turned a few times, as if wanting to help the thin fellow with his burden.
Numbers, manipulation, and tact were what mattered now. A head for figures on a woman’s body should be checkmate for someone who had not mastered this game.
The days in Bergen and Trondheim had not been wasted. The tricks came to mind like lively musical notes. It was merely a question of sorting them and fitting them into the present context.
“In business, you say no more than is absolutely necessary. If you have nothing to say, just let the other person talk. Sooner or later, he’ll make a slip of the tongue.”
Those had been Anders’s last words to Dina.
Tromso proved to be several conveniently located clusters of white buildings. Innumerable gurgling brooks flowed down green slopes and formed natural borders between them. Higher up was a birch forest. Lush and green as if it had come from Paradise.
But here, too, Paradise had not lasted once human beings inhabited it.
Dina hired a carriage to drive her around in the sunshine so she could orient herself. South of the city limits, near the beach, were two or three rows of small cottages.
In answer to her question, the young coachman, with a red knitted cap pulled over his ears, explained about the city.
The main road went along the sea, across Prost Point, around the parsonage, and on to Sj0 Street. Strand Street was the longest in the city. Gr0nne Street ran parallel to it. But at the market square the road ended by the courthouse, which lay between the pharmacy and Holstgärden.
A stream flowed through the area south of the marketplace, from Vannsletta, past L. J. Pettersen’s estate, and then into the ocean. It bore the pretentious name Pettersen’s River.
Beyond the pharmacy was a terrible mud hole. The coachman said that when the Pettersens held balls, the men had to wear high boots and carry the women across the muck. Nevertheless, or perhaps precisely therefore, it was fun to be invited to a ball at Pettersens”.
Warm weather and wind had dried the mud hole this summer, so people could walk across it.
Dina took lodgings at Ludwigsen’s Hotel du Nord, or Hotel de Belle-vue. It clearly catered to the gentry.
J. H. Ludwigsen wore a top hat and used a long-handled umbrella as a walking stick. He was always at her service, he said with a bow. He had thick sideburns and a broad face that inspired confidence. His hair was properly brushed into high waves that fell from an irreproachable left part.
He mentioned several times that if there was anything Madam Dina Gronelv desired, she should just let him know.
Dina sent a messenger with greetings and a request for a meeting to two merchants. This was how Anders had recommended she proceed.
The next morning, she received a message on a visiting card saying she was expected at Pettersen’s office. And a short letter informed her that she was awaited at Mr. Müller’s.
Mr. Pettersen received her. He was in excellent humor. He had just been named vice consul in Mecklenburg and would leave soon to attend to his official duties. His wife would accompany him, but he also planned to do some private business. He owned a ship with his brothers.
Dina offered profuse congratulations and asked him about his new appointment.
Behind his jovial tone, the man was obviously a shrewd businessman.
Finally, she stated her reason for coming. Asked questions about capital and provisions. Crew. Shares. Percentages for the shipowners. What price would he charge for the flour? How much merchandise could he carry, safe and dry, belowdecks?
Mr. Pettersen sent for some Madeira. Dina said nothing but refused with a gesture when the maid wanted to pour her a glass. She did not want to drink wine so early in the day.
Pettersen took a glass himself and ordered tea for Dina.
He was clearly interested. But too quick with his words. As if he were trying to reassure her before she had indicated any need for that. Furthermore, he could not guarantee a definite flour price.
She looked straight at him and said it was strange he, the vice consul, did not know more about prices.
He ignored her tone and asked how long she would be in the city. Because he could certainly give her a better answer in a few days. They expected Russian lodjes any day now.
She balanced his hospitality on a sharp knife when he invited her to stay with his family. Said she already had a roof over her head, which she could not reject. Thank you! He would hear from her if she could accept his offer to buy and ship flour from Archangel without a set price.
Hans Peter Müller was the second name on her list.
Dina went to the stately house in Skipper Street the following day. It was replete with wealth and luxury. Mahogany furniture and porcelain.
A frail young wife, who spoke with a Trond district accent, entered the office to greet her. Her eyes were as sad as those of the child ghost at Helgeland. She glided through the rooms. As if she were mounted on a rolling pedestal and pulled by invisible strings.
The cargo boat Haabet, which lay on the Müller beach, would sail to Murmansk with products from their own cod-liver-oil distillery. Müller gave Dina a guaranteed maximum price. But admitted that he could get better prices for himself.
Dina gave him a firm handshake. That he even talked about his calculations indicated she was dealing with someone who accepted her as a partner. She did not have to play games by pushing up her breasts for the occasion. One could talk business with a man who already had an angel in the house. Dina took a drink to seal the bargain.
The air in the house was good to breathe. She accepted their hospitable invitation to stay in one of their guest rooms for a few days.
It turned out that Müller also owned a black horse. A creature as gleaming as the mahogany furniture in the parlors. The horse received Dina’s hips and thighs as if they had been carved from the same piece of wood.
Dina got along well with the young wife, Julie, from Stj0rdal. She did not chatter constantly and looked straight at people. But she did not mention why she had such sad eyes.
Dina stayed longer than she had planned.
The bailiff had already continued his travels, so she had to look for another means of transport.
Müller thought he could get passage for her on an eastbound vessel the following week.
The first day Dina was at the Müller home, she and her host sat in the sitting room smoking, while Madam Julie rested.
He talked about the difficult winter. About how ice had formed in Gi Sound and prevented the Prince Gustav from entering. On May 10 they had sawed an open channel of 120 feet so the steamboat could get through. But fortunately, the ice had not had affected sailing-vessel trade.
Two of Müller’s vessels had just returned safely from the Arctic Ocean. He had a ship on southern waters too, he said in passing. As if he had almost forgotten.
The problem the previous year had been to find reliable maps for the voyage to Archangel. And men who knew the area sufficiently did not grow on trees….
Dina acknowledged her good fortune in having Anders and Anton on her cargo boats. But of course, the problems they encountered sailing to Bergen were not worth mentioning. Compared with a voyage to Archangel.
Her host grew talkative. Told how the steamboat had arrived from the south on May 17 with all its paddles nearly ruined. It had to be repaired at the shipyard. That had provided work for several men, which was a blessing.
He himself had lost his ketch Tordenskjold with twelve men and a full catch east of Moffen. Still, over the past few years he had made a gross profit on his Arctic Ocean fishing of 14,500 speciedaler!
Dina nodded thoughtfully and blew an expert smoke ring, which settled around her head.
Later he talked about how everything had improved after Czar Nicolas drew his last breath. Trade had increased, more than one could have dreamed.
Dina said it had more to do with the war than with the czar.
Müller pleasantly insisted that the two things were related.
Dina maintained that the unusual aspects of the situation, the war and the blockade, were precisely what created profitable times for business.
The man nodded thoughtfully and in no way disagreed. But he did not change his opinion with regard to the czar.
Meanwhile, the host’s best cigars went up in smoke.
Dina settled into the rhythm of the house, like a cat that had suddenly found a sun-warmed stone. Strangely enough, Madam Julie showed no sign of jealousy toward this woman who invaded the house and captured her husband’s interest. Quite the contrary, she said there was no need for Dina to travel east so soon. Since she only wanted to look around in Vard0 Fortress.
Dina kept informed about ships that arrived from the south and the east.
‘ ‘ Mr. Müller asked if she had’decided yet whether she was actually going to Vard0 Fortress, since she inquired about vessels traveling both north and south.
But Madam Julie knew the answer.
“Dina is waiting for someone,” she said.
Dina stared at her. Their eyes met in understanding.
I am Dina. Julie is safe. Death lives in her eyes. She constantly begins to ask a question she never completes. Then she looks at me, wanting me to answer. She wants me to show Hjertrud to her. But it is not time for that. Yet.
* * *
Dina rode out of the city on the black horse. Wearing Mr. Müller’s leather trousers.
At first Julie had offered her an elegant riding outfit with a black cashmere skirt, white blouse, and white pantaloons with a strap under the foot. But that was not acceptable.
Dina agreed to wear a skirt over men’s leather trousers. It was very full, and open front and back. Just to cover oneself, as her hostess said.
When Dina returned, Julie was waiting with a glass of good Madeira before they dressed for dinner. She herself drank tea.
In her subtle way, Julie told about life in Troms0. She saw it clearly and objectively, because she was an outsider.
Dina did not need to fear she would offend her hostess if she wondered about something or laughed at the people and their customs.
She asked about Ludwigsen.
“He owns a fortune and looks like he was clipped from a magazine,” said Julie, with some interest and warmth.
They giggled together, like little girls. Among many beautiful, lifeless things in a much too solemn parlor.
During the 1840s, when drinking morals in Troms0 were at their worst, the municipal council restricted the number of places that could serve alcohol. So now there was only one chandler and one liquor merchant in the city. They did a thriving business.
“Respectable people go to Ludwigsen’s. Quite frankly, they go there to be seen,” Julie told Dina.
She looked like an angel, which she was. Always dressed in either cotton or silk sateen. But the angelic curls at her ears contrasted with the ironic corners of her mouth and her serious eyes.
Usually she told about balls and dinners at the homes of government officials and leading citizens. About interesting episodes when people of different backgrounds dined together. She had many such experiences to choose from, for the Müller family was highly regarded by everyone.
Dina breathed in all the new things as if they were strange spices from distant latitudes.
“Don’t get acquainted with people too quickly,” Julie advised. “Or they’ll be after you like dogs. It does no good to withdraw or to think you can undo the acquaintance once you’ve made it. You’ll never get rid of these people, who have nothing in common other than that they enjoy good food and drink.”
The second day of Dinars visit, the new doctor came to call. He was in charge of the hospital, which had a temporary asylum. The “crazy cage,” or the Tronka, people called it.
Dina showed interest in.both the work and the building. Which livened the doctor’s enthusiasm. He talked about the “caretakers,” as he called them. About constant improvements for the poor inmates, who were completely out of their minds.
He told about a religious fanatic they had in custody. He had lost his mind when Hastta and Somby were executed in ‘52. The reverberations caused by the execution, by the law and the church, and by Laestadian religious fanatics were still felt. People withdrew in horror and dismay. Their society was too small for two death sentences.
“Some people even withdrew from the state church,” said Julie.
“But now we’ve gotten a new bishop to clean up the apostasy. His wife is also pious and good,” said the doctor.
The hollows at the corners of Julie’s mouth were deep and pointed upward. She and the doctor had obviously discussed the matter before. They complemented one another.
Müller did not say anything.
“Is he dangerous?” Dina asked suddenly.
“Who?”
The doctor was confused.
“The religious madman.”
“Oh, he … He’s dangerous to himself. He pounds his head against the wall until he’s unconscious. I don’t know what drives him. I’d say he’s violent. He calls on God and the devil without much distinction between them.”
“Why is he locked up?”
“His behavior threatens his family and …”
“May I see your asylum?” she asked.
Surprised by the request, the doctor agreed. They made an appointment.
Four cells on each side of a corridor. The same sounds as in Trond-heim, but not as deafening.
Both insane and regular prisoners were incarcerated here. Women should not talk to such people, the doctor said. Someone called to him urgently. He asked Dina to excuse him. Then jangled his keys, unlocked the door, and disappeared.
The caretaker called to a person named Jentoft through a small opening in a door.
A smooth-shaven head and the filthy arm of a burlap kirtle appeared in the opening. The fellow squinted toward the light. His eyes were more alive than one would expect of a caged human being.
He grasped for the air around Dina, because he could not get his hand through the grate.
When the caretaker said that Dina Gronelv wanted to talk with him, even though he was crazy, he blessed her and made the sign of the cross.
“God is good!” he shouted.
The caretaker told him to lower his voice.
“Do you know God?” Dina asked quickly, with a glance at the caretaker, who was utilizing the time to tidy the shelves along the corridor.
“Yes! And all the saints!”
“Do you know Hjertrud?” Dina asked earnestly.
“Know Hjertrud! God is good! Does she look like you? Is she coming here?”
“She lives everywhere. Sometimes she looks like me. Sometimes we’re completely different. The way people are …”
“To God, everyone’s the same!”
“Do you believe that?”
“The Bible! That’s what it says in the Bible!” the man said loudly.
“Yes. That’s Hjertrud’s book.”
“It’s everyone’s book. Hallelujah! We’ll lead them to the pearly gates, one and all. We’ll force them from this sin and sorrow! All who resist! All who are not converted will fall before the sword!”
The caretaker looked at Dina and suggested it was time to end the visit.
“This lady has come to talk with you, Jentoft,” he said, as he walked over to them.
“The cherubs will rush forth and cleave them in two. From head to foot! One and all! The axe now lies at the root of the tree…. God is good!” the man intoned.
The caretaker looked at Dina apologetically. As if the prisoner were his personal property that had gotten in her way.
“Calm down, Jentoft!” he said firmly, and closed the small opening, right in the agitated man’s face.
“A prisoner needn’t always be imprisoned completely alone,” said Dina gravely.
The caretaker gave her a blank look.
“Aren’t you going to wait for the doctor?” he asked.
“No. Say thank you and good-bye to him!”
The Müllers held a dinner party for Dina.
She was introduced to a bookseller named Urdal. It would be wrong to say he was a social lion. But he had been a hired hand for the great Norwegian poet Henrik Wergeland and ran a bookstore in Lillehammer. So he was, by all means, a member of good society.
He published old, sad folk songs. Took fishermen into his back room and taught them the melodies. And so Urdal’s songs became widely known. Dina knew them too.
Dina's Book Page 42