“How are Benjamin and Dina traveling?”
“Oh, she’s sailing a small boat alone. She’s so stubborn about what she does. If Mother Karen had been alive, she wouldn’t have allowed Dina to take the boy to sea without a man to help her.”
“And Dina would have respected that order?”
“Respected or not respected … I don’t know about that. But I’m sure she wouldn’t have done it.”
Oline suddenly realized she was talking to this stranger about things that should not be put into words. She blinked several times and wanted to change the subject.
It must be the lace collar he gave her? Or the fact that he asked so many questions? Or his eyes? She made excuses for herself and busily began filling a cookie plate and brushing crumbs from the embroidered tablecloth.
“And Johan? How is he?” Leo asked
“He has his small parish at Helgeland. I really don’t know how he is. He doesn’t write, now that Mother Karen is no longer here. He’s become a complete stranger. To me too. But his health is better, I think … He wasn’t well for a while.”
“Are you worried?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. That’s all I have to do now.”
“Are you working hard?”
“No … I have such good help.”
There was a pause.
“And Dina? When do you expect her?” he asked.
“Probably not before tomorrow,” she said, observing the man out of the corner of her eye. “But Anders is coming from Strandsted this evening. He’ll surely be glad to see Mr. Leo! Anders is outfitting both the cargo boat and the longboat for Lofoten fishing. And he’s talking about sending both cargo’ boats to Bergen this spring. He’s an enterprising fellow, if I may say so. Now that he’s built a cabin on the longboat, he lives like a prince and sometimes fishes himself. Last year he sailed to the Lofotens with equipment and food to sell to the fishermen. And he came home with a full load of fish, liver, and roe, which he had either bought or caught himself!”
Dina rarely sailed alone. But this time it had turned out that way. She had such a hard look in her eyes that no one felt like asking to come along when she did not demand it. So she had only Benjamin for company.
He had been sitting on the flag knoll when she came to watch for the steamboat. Had greeted her the way he greeted people who stayed overnight or who came from the store to have coffee at Stine’s.
His blue eyes peered at her. As though she were a thin layer of dust in the air. His face had begun to develop definite features, with sharp cheekbones and an angular chin. And his limbs were awkward and in the way. He had a bad habit of tightening his mouth into a thin line.
“You’re looking for the steamboat too?” she had asked.
“Yes.”
“Do think any travelers will come today?”
“No.”
“Then why are you watching?”
“Because it’s so ugly.”
“You look at the steamboat because it’s so ugly?”
“Yes.”
Dina sat down on the flat stone by the flagpole. Politely, the boy moved well over to the side.
“There’s room for both of us here, Benjamin.”
She impulsively put her arm around his back, but he twisted away. Inconspicuously, as if he did not want to annoy her.
“Would you like to come along to Kvasfjord and look at a new horse?” she asked as the steamboat whistled.
He did not answer until the air was quiet again.
“That might be fun,” he said in an artificially ordinary tone. As if he were afraid Dina would change her mind if he showed any pleasure.
“Then it’s decided. We sail tomorrow.”
They sat for a while and watched the men from the warehouse row out to the steamboat.
“Why did you stab Blackie?” he asked abruptly.
“He was sick.”
“Couldn’t he get well again?”
“Yes. But he could never be the same.”
“Did that matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why? You could get another horse to ride.”
“No. I can’t have a horse just standing in the stable while I ride another.”
“But why did you do it yourself?”
“Because it was a serious matter.”
“He could have kicked you to death.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you do things like that?”
“I do what I have to,” she said, and stood up to leave.
Dina had asked his advice about buying the horse. They came to an agreement, at her instructions. The horse was not entirely satisfactory. It had shifty eyes and a narrow chest. When Dina sat astride it, the animal was very amenable, and that did not help. They did not buy it.
“Otherwise I’d need someone to sail home with you,” said Dina easily. “It was probably intended that we go home together, you and I.”
They spent the night at the sheriff’s. In peace and tolerance.
The sheriff had gotten a message through the chief magistrate that Leo Zjukovski had been released a short time ago.
Dina received the news behind half-closed eyelids. Then she told Dagny she would like to take to Reinsnes the pictures of Hjertrud that Dagny and she had fought about all these years.
Dagny shifted uneasily. But agreed. It was a good solution.
“And the brooch. Hjertrud’s brooch. The one you wear when you want to be elegant. I’d like to take care ofthat too,” Dina continued.
The sheriff and his sons sat on pins and needles. But Benjamin did not seem to be concerned that they were sitting on a powder keg. He looked at everybody, one after another. As if he had discovered something interesting in a picture book.
The moment passed. Like a gust of wind that changed direction.
Dina left with the brooch and the pictures.
It was a bright fall day. With favorable winds.
Benjamin was proud as a rooster. He had been at the helm much of the voyage. Here at sea, the boy seemed content.’Almost happy. And they talked about many things on the way home.
Dina saw him! Heard what he had to say. The whole time, she answered his questions very seriously. About Mother Karen. About the horse. About studying for something important when he was old enough. About who made decisions at Reinsnes. About why Anders would get the cargo boat if Dina died. All the things Benjamin had heard when the grown-ups did not think he had been given ears like other people. All the questions they did not answer when he asked.
Dina answered. Sometimes he was no wiser when she finished. But that did not matter. Because she answered.
In a few instances, she said she did not know. When he asked if he could come along the next time she sailed somewhere. Or when he asked if Johan would come to Reinsnes again,
“I don’t care whether Johan comes home,” he said,
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
She dropped the subject and did not ask any more questions.
They sailed almost all the way to the pier.
“You’re as good at the helm as Anders,” said Dina, when the boat reached the first rocks.
Benjamin beamed for a moment. Then he hopped from the boat like a man and pulled it to a large rock so Dina could step onto the beach without getting her feet wet.
“You’re damn good at sailing,” he said, and turned to take the travel bags she handed him from the stern.
His smile was a rare gift. But she was no longer accepting Benjamin’s gifts. Her eyes were somewhere on the hill
A man came down the tree-lined road, wearing a wide-brimmed black felt hat. He raised his hand in greeting.
She set down the travel bags in the seaweed. Then, slowly and purposefully, she began picking her way among the rocks. Across the high-water mark. Between the warehouses. Onto the gravel path. Under the arch of trees that guarded the road to the main house.
At the end, she ran. Stopped short, one step away from him. Then
he held out his arms. And she was in them.
The boy on the beach lowered his head and pulled the boat onto the shore.
It was heavy.
They had come to the dessert course. The autumn darkness hid in the corners. For they did not spare candles this evening.
The tutor and Peter, the store manager, had taken little part in the conversation. Anders and Leo had done most of the talking. Dina’s eyes were a bonfire.
Stine did not sit at the table. Had not done so since her marriage to Tomas. She had renounced that status of her own free will. For Tomas would never be invited to the festive table in the dining room of the main house.
She moved to and fro, made sure nothing was lacking. Despite her large abdomen, her movements were as lithe and quick as an animal’s.
Leo had greeted her warmly as a member of the household. But she was politely reserved. As if she wanted to protect herself, to avoid questions.
No one mentioned the prison asylum or espionage activities. But the war came up in the conversation. Inevitably.
“Are they satisfied with the new czar in Russia?” asked Anders.
“Opinions differ about that, of course. But it’s a long time since I heard from Saint Petersburg. I’m sure the czar made the best of a lost cause. And unlike his father, he isn’t educated simply as a military man. On the contrary, all during his youth one of his teachers was the poet Vasily Zjukovski.”
“A relative of yours, Leo?” Dina asked quickly.
“That could be.” He smiled.
“You think one’s teachers are important?” Dina wondered, with a glance at Angelí, the tutor.
“It would seem so.”
“I have Lorch,” said Dina thoughtfully.
“The man who taught you to play the cello and the piano?” asked Angelí.
“Yes.”
“Where is he now?”
“Here and there.”
Stine was in the room preparing the after-dinner coffee cups. She raised her head for a moment at Dina’s reply. Then calmly left the room. Anders looked clearly amazed. But said nothing.
“One realizes that one may have an influence,” said the tutor.
“Absolutely,” said Leo.
“Do you think the Crimean War was lost in advance because the soldiers hadn’t been taught to fight?” the tutor asked with interest.
“A war with no meaning for those who must fight it is always lost in advance. War is the ultimate result of people becoming so frightened they stop talking.”
“That’s the ethical side of it,” the tutor remarked.
“You can’t avoid the ethical side,” said Leo.
“Wasn’t the peace agreement actually a dependence agreement for the Russians?” Anders wondered.
“A thinking Russian is the most independent being in the world,” said Leo good-naturedly. “But Russia is no single voice. It’s a choir!”
Anders liked dessert, but he put his spoon down for a moment.
Dina’s mind was elsewhere. She stared straight ahead and did not respond to the looks they gave her. Finally, she took her napkin and wiped her mouth.
“There must be a key in the door someplace,” she said blankly. “It’s just that I can’t see it…”
“Leo, what do you think of the Scandinavianist idea of unifying the Nordic countries under one flag?” asked the tutor.
“It depends on what you mean by the Nordic countries,” he replied evasively.
“There’s already enough foolishness on the map. You can’t smelt gold and ashes together. They’ll separate as soon as they cool,” said Anders crisply.
“I’m not so sure. Nations must see beyond themselves. People who see nothing but themselves are lost,” said Leo slowly, examining his spoon.
Dina looked surprised and then laughed. The others stared down at the table in embarrassment.
“Will the mistress of Reinsnes perform one last service for an old, battle-worn Russian?” he asked pleasantly.
“That depends on what it is.”
“Play some of the music I sent?”
“Yes, if you’ll go with me to look for the bear that killed two sheep above the canyon last week,” she said quickly.
“Agreed! Do you have a gun?”
“Yes; Tomas does.”
Dina rose and gathered her dark-blue Canton flannel skirts around her Joselin corset and sat down at the piano. Leo went with her, while the other men seated themselves inside the open doors of the smoking parlor.
Their hands were thorns and live embers when they brushed each other.
“Some pieces are harder to play than others,” she said.
“But you’ve had plenty of time to practice…”
“Yes; I can’t complain about that,” she said sharply.
“May I make a request?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’d like to hear something for a moonstruck man. The Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven.”
“You forgot to send that.”
“No, I sent it. Sonata number fourteen,” he explained,
“You’re wrong! Sonata number fourteen is called Sonata quasi una fantasia?” she countered condescendingly.
He positioned himself between her and the men in the smoking parlor, so he had her eyes to himself. His scar was very pale this evening. Or perhaps it was because the man himself was so pale.
“We’re both right. The sonata was originally given the name that’s on your music. But an author renamed it the Moonlight Sonata. I like that name very much…. Because it’s music for a moonstruck man.”
“Maybe. But I prefer Sonata number twenty-three, the Appassionata.”
“But play for me first,” he said in a low voice.
She did not reply. But found the music and began playing. The opening tones were a grating protest. Then the notes floated through the room like caresses.
As usual, the doors to the kitchen and pantry were opened, and all the noisy bustling ceased. Oline and the maids moved like shadows past the open doors.
Dina had closed her face. But her fingers were sly weasels in white winter coats. They flew out of the batiste ruche cuffs with great energy.
The Russian stood behind her, audaciously resting his green eyes on her hair and his hands on the back of her chair.
Anders sat where he could see Dina’s profile. He raised a steady hand and silently lit a cigar. His face shone in bright contrast to the dark wall. The furrow between his brows made him impregnable. Though he still looked friendly.
For a brief moment, he met Leo’s glance. Openly. Then he nodded to the man. As if they had been playing a game of chess, which Anders had lost with complete equanimity.
Anders had always been an observer. Of his own and others’ lives. He calculated months in his head, from the time Leo was last at Reinsnes to the voyage across Fold Sea. Then he bowed his head and let his thoughts rise toward the ceiling with the cigar smoke.
Epilogue
Do not gaze at me because I am swarthy,
because the sun has scorched me.
My mother’s sons were angry with me,
they made me the keeper of the vineyards;
but, my own vineyard I have not kept!
Tell me, you whom my soul loves,
where you pasture your flock,
where you make it lie down at noon;
for why should I be like one who wanders
beside the flocks of your companions?
— The Song of Solomon I : 6-7
One by one, candles were snuffed in the buildings at Reinsnes. In the main entry, a pair of wax candles flickered gently in heavy, wrought-iron candlesticks.
Dina and Leo took a late stroll after everyone had gone to bed. The two large aspens by the garden fence already stood naked against the violet sky. The crushed shells around Mother Karen’s heart-shaped flower bed were a sea of tiny dead bones in the moonlight. Autumn was in the air.
They turned their steps toward the summerhouse, as
if by mutual consent. Raw air met them when they opened the flimsy door. The colored glass panes gleamed in the light from Dinars lantern. She was wearing a coat and a shawl. He was not as warmly dressed. But warm enough for the moment.
The moment she set the lantern on the table, he threw two hungry arms around her.
‘‘Thank you!” he said.
“For what?”
“For giving a false witness!”
Their bodies were trees in a storm. Forced to stand close together.
To bite into each other, deeper and deeper with each gust of wind. Unable to admit pain.
“Was that why they released you?”
“It helped. Plus, the code was just a harmless one.”
“That stood for something else?”
“It had to be read by people who know the double meanings in Russian.”
He kissed her, holding her head between his hands.
The roof split, and heaven descended on them like a speckled black dove. Red lightning struck in the colored glass panes. And the lantern went out by itself. A seagull was an agile red ghost through the window, and the green moon drifted past. Round and full.
“You came!” she said, when she caught her breath.
“You got the hat?”
“Yes.”
“And still you doubted?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve longed …,” he whispered, his mouth against her throat. “I sat in prison and longed for you.”
“What was the prison like?”
“We won’t talk about that now.”
“Was it the first time?”
“No.”
“When was the time before that?”
“In Russia.”
“Why?”
“Dina! Do I need to kiss you all the time, to stop your questions?”
“Yes! Why did you come, Leo?”
“Because I still love a skipper’s widow named Dina Gronelv.”
She sighed loudly. Like an old farmhand when evening finally comes after a long day in the fields. Then she bit his cheek.
“What does it mean, when Leo Zjukovski loves?”
“That I want to know your soul. And that I want to repeat the blessing from the organ loft through all eternity.”
As though he had given a password, she rose and drew him with her.
A darkened lantern remained on the table.
Dina's Book Page 47