Her voice was soft and the Crow-Girl burst into tears. Great sobs rose up in her like bubbles and made her shoulders shake with weeping. Foula gently stretched out her hand and caressed her cheek. The Crow-Girl laid her head down on Foula’s lap and cried and cried while the woman stroked her hair.
Doup became frightened, but Eidi took him up on her lap and sat singing to him. Then he calmed down.
The Crow-Girl’s weeping slowly quieted, and she straightened up again. A little later she raked the potatoes out of the fire and divided them. She did not take any herself. She felt her hunger was sated.
9
The next morning, when the Crow-Girl saw Eidi’s face in daylight, she cried out in shock.
One eyebrow was torn, and under the bloody flap the girl’s skin was black and blue and so swollen that there was only a narrow slit left for her to see through. But on the other side of her nose a curious light-brown eye was open and looking at her.
“What happened?” asked the Crow-Girl.
“It was my stepfather,” answered Eidi. “He was going to hit my mother, and I wouldn’t let him, so he hit me, too. Now we’ve left him.” She raised her hand up to the wound. “Does it look terrible?” She looked quizzically at the Crow-Girl. The eye that could be seen looked sorrowful.
The Crow-Girl quickly shook her head.
“It’ll look fine again,” she said. “But why did he hit the two of you?”
Eidi shrugged. At that moment Foula came back from the brook, where she had washed. She had Doup in her arms.
“He’s certainly not very fond of water,” she said, setting him down.
He ran over to the Crow-Girl and put his arms around her neck.
“Oh my, oh my,” he said. “Wet, oh my.”
“I guess he’s not been washed very often lately,” said the Crow-Girl, pulling him up on her lap. “Isn’t that so, you little scamp?”
“Oh my,” said Doup, clinging to her. “Wet, ow, ow.”
The Crow-Girl laughed.
“Come,” Foula said to Eidi. “We had better get that eye bathed.”
Together, they headed toward the stream. The Crow-Girl sat there, watching them go. She noticed that Foula limped.
Behind them the clouds were tinted by the sun. The rain had passed by in the course of the night, and here and there the blue sky peeked out between white, pink, yellow, and gray clouds. The grass and heather were dripping with water, and the air was cold and clear.
The Crow-Girl breathed deeply, leaned her head back, and gazed up at the enormous dome arching above her head.
“Look,” she said to Doup. “We are sitting right in the midst of everything.”
And Doup answered her with a long, unintelligible sentence that ended with a jubilant, “Wook!”
* * *
For breakfast each of them ate a cold potato from the night before.
“It was kind of you to share your food with us,” Foula said to the Crow-Girl. “It’s difficult to get it yourself when you are used to a man who both fishes and hunts. And when that failed, we always had a patch of land for growing potatoes and other vegetables. We also had a small flock of sheep.”
She was quiet for a minute, then turned to Eidi. “So I have wondered whether he might not regret what he has done? Whether he might not have been so shocked that he would not do it again?”
“Oh, Mother, no!” exclaimed Eidi, hiding her face in her hands. “He promises that every time; then when he has been drinking, he forgets it again.”
“Yes,” said Foula, “but if we continue like this, we will die of hunger.”
The Crow-Girl sat very quietly, not knowing what to say. Even Doup kept still and just played with the fringes on her shawl.
Suddenly there was a hoarse screech above her head, and she looked up. The two crows flew right over her and continued up along the road. She turned to watch them. When they were nearly all the way out on the horizon, she thought they swung off toward the coast, but they were so far away that she was not certain whether she could really see them.
A single screech! Right above her head. She let the memory of the sound sink into her, so that it vibrated within her like a chord, and she understood at once what the screech meant. It meant “Home.”
“You can come along to my house,” said the Crow-Girl.
Eidi raised her head, and joy spread from her light-brown eye out across her whole face.
“Oh, Mother, yes!” she cried.
Foula had looked at the Crow-Girl with a glimmer of hope in her glance. Then her face became shuttered and quiet again.
“There’s enough room,” said the Crow-Girl. “You two can have the larder. We can use the loft for storage.”
“But what will we live on?” asked Foula doubtfully.
The Crow-Girl could see that she was already about to give up again. But the Crow-Girl did not lose hope so easily.
“Potatoes!” she suggested. “Didn’t you say you had grown potatoes? There are still some left in the sack. And there is also a field. But it does have to be cleared,” she added in a slightly lower voice.
Then she got up, walked over to the horse, retrieved the sack, and carried it over to Foula.
“There aren’t very many,” said Foula when she had looked in it. “But they can of course be divided. As long as there’s an eye on each piece, it can become a plant.”
“Oh, can’t we do it?” begged Eidi. “I don’t want to go back again.”
“But what shall we live on while we grow them?” continued Foula. “No, Eidi, it won’t work. We will have to go back. But I promise you that he will never hit you again.” This time it was Foula’s voice that sounded pleading.
But Eidi shook her head. “You know very well that you can’t,” she said. “And I would rather go hungry than be beaten. I’m going with Crow-Girl.”
“We can gather mussels until the potatoes come,” said the Crow-Girl. “And sea kale. There was enough food for my grandmother and me … Almost,” she added, remembering the evenings she had gone to bed hungry.
“Well, all right then,” said Foula finally.
The other three remained quiet as mice, waiting for what was to come.
“So let us go with Crow-Girl. But how we will manage, I just can’t imagine,” she added, looking at the three children.
* * *
They decided to continue following the road in order to make better time. Later they would head out to the sea and follow the coastline until they came to the cove. The Crow-Girl actually did not know of any other way back, and she did not know how many days she had spent walking from her grandmother’s house to the hamlet by the fjord.
Eidi was so happy that they were going along that she walked beside Doup’s basket and sang at the top of her lungs. Doup was delighted. The Crow-Girl led the horse, and Foula limped beside her, carrying a metal pail in her hand. In it she had the coals from the campfire. Its handle was made of wood, so she would not burn herself, and there were small holes in the sides so that the coals would not be choked.
The Crow-Girl wanted to start running. “Home, home” was singing within her. Home to the brook with the flat rock, sea, and sky, and the white house, the hearth, and … She stopped herself, for there was no grandmother to come home to.
Her steps slowed, and now she could feel that they had already traveled far. “Shouldn’t we sit for a bit?” she suggested, and then realized that both Eidi and Foula had needed to do so for a long time.
They sat down a short way from the road and took turns warming their hands at the metal pail. Foula took the shoe and stocking off her bad foot and looked at her swollen ankle.
Doup went scouting behind some rocks and was only away a short time before he suddenly came rushing back to the Crow-Girl. “Mine Cwo,” he shouted.
That was his way of saying Crow-Girl.
He grabbed hold of her clothing and tried to crawl up. On his heels came a black wire-haired dog, wagging its tail and looking as if it want
ed to play with him. It was clear that Doup was terribly afraid of it, and the Crow-Girl hurriedly lifted him up so the dog could not reach him. He threw his arms around her neck and clung there tightly.
Following the dog, a man emerged from behind the rocks. He stopped and looked in amazement at the little party. Then he saw Doup and the dog.
“Glennie, come here!” he called, and the dog ran over to him and sat down.
“You have to forgive her frightening the young fellow,” he said. “She’s never done any harm to anyone. But how could such a little boy know that.” He patted the dog on the head. “You can put him down now,” he said to the Crow-Girl. “She’ll stay here.”
The Crow-Girl sat down with Doup on her lap.
“Sit down yourself,” suggested Foula, handing the pail of coals up to him. “Here’s something to warm your fingers on.”
He took it, seated himself, and placed his hands around it. The Crow-Girl looked at him with curiosity. He wore a knitted cap on the top of his well-kept gray hair, which was cut off just above his shoulders. His cheeks were covered by a short gray beard that came to a point on his chin.
“Hey, that doesn’t look any too good,” he said suddenly, pointing to Foula’s foot. “I hope you’re not walking very far on it?”
“Yes, unfortunately,” said Foula, sighing, “for the horse is too small to carry me.”
The man shook his head.
“This will never do,” he said. “All of you had better come home with me until that foot has gotten better. I don’t live very far from here. Over there.” And he pointed in the same direction that the crows had flown, in the direction of the cove.
10
The man’s name was Rossan, and his house was quite small, with only one chimney, a single room downstairs, and an attic upstairs. But there was a fire on the hearth, food in a pot, a table with two benches, and a bowl, spoon, and mug for each of them.
The Crow-Girl could not remember anything ever before having tasted so good to her as the potatoes and meat and that strong tea with milk and sugar.
Not a word was spoken for a long time because they were all so busy eating. Even Doup, who was sitting on a pillow beside her, had grown silent from all the food he had stuffed into his mouth. He could scarcely close his jaws and had to spit half of it into the bowl again in order to chew the rest.
Suddenly the Crow-Girl heard sniffling and, looking up, became aware that right across from her Foula had broken into tears.
“Pay no attention,” said Foula, smiling at her. “It’s just because I’m so relieved that we are sitting here.” She dried her tears with the back of her hand.
“Well, it must not have been pleasant to walk on that foot,” said Rossan kindly.
And Foula’s tears began to flow again. Then she had to laugh.
“As if there isn’t enough to cry over,” she said, “and here I sit weeping over a serving of mutton stew.”
The others laughed with her.
“Would you like more tea to cry into?” Rossan asked Foula, and lifted the kettle. Eidi laughed until her eyes also welled up.
“Hey, are you starting now, too? Just watch out that your tea doesn’t get cold, or is that perhaps your intention?” joked Rossan.
The Crow-Girl thought it was wonderful to laugh. It had been a long time since she had done so.
Doup looked at them with wide eyes. Then his face broke into a gigantic smile, and meat and potatoes rolled from his mouth down into his bowl again.
Rossan, who was sitting on a chair at the end of the table, leaned back with his arms behind his head. “What a cheerful party. Don’t you agree, Glennie?” he said to the dog, who was lying before the hearth with a bone.
The dog wagged her tail so that it pounded the floor, and she continued gnawing.
* * *
Even though the house was small, there was room for all of them. The little horse was out in the stable munching oats beside Rossan’s only cow. Foula was to sleep in the settle bed, where Rossan usually slept, and on the floor he made up a large bed of heather branches and sheepskins for the children.
“Where are you going to sleep?” asked the Crow-Girl.
“Come and take a look,” he said, and started climbing up the steep stairs at the end of the room.
There was a window in the gable above the stairs, so when they reached the top, the Crow-Girl could see where the strange odor streaming toward them was coming from. Large bales of wool lay stacked along the sides of the room. White wool and gray wool, black and dark brown and tan—there were all the colors that wool can have. The Crow-Girl had never in her life seen so much wool at one time.
“I’ll lie down over here by the chimney,” said Rossan. “It’s nice and cozy.”
Glennie stood at the bottom of the stairs, whining and scratching the steps with her paws. She did not dare follow them.
“Is Glennie a real sheepdog?” asked the Crow-Girl.
“No,” said Rossan, “she’s just good at tending sheep.”
Then they clambered down again, and Glennie wagged her whole body as though she had not seen Rossan for weeks.
* * *
The next day, when he went out to the sheep, Rossan took the Crow-Girl along. Eidi preferred to stay inside the warm house, and Doup and Foula could not walk so far.
It was a clear, cool morning. The sun had risen behind a thin mist of clouds, which lay like white veils pulled across the sky. A brook sought its way down toward the sea, which could be seen as a shining ribbon far out on the horizon. The Crow-Girl bent down, cupped her hands, and took a sip. The water was so cold that it chilled her teeth.
When they had reached the other side of the hollow in the valley, they saw the flock. The small, long-legged animals were scattered out across the countryside.
“They’re doing fine here,” said Rossan, looking satisfied.
“How so?” the Crow-Girl wanted to know.
“Well, you see, there are no bogs here. They are the worst. If a sheep falls in something like that, it can’t be saved. The mire sucks it down, and if you try to get it out, you risk plunging in, too. So I check on them several times a day to see where they are going. There’s no reason to disturb them here.”
And they turned around and went back.
* * *
Inside it was snug and warm. A pot bubbled above the fire. The bed was made; Eidi and Doup sat on it playing with the porridge spoons. And Foula was at the table, knitting a stocking.
“Well, I took the liberty,” she said to Rossan, and lifted the knitting up so he could see it. “I need to use my hands, since, as you know, I’m in a fix with my feet.”
“Feel free to go on knitting socks for me if you really want to. But if not, there’s plenty of other handiwork here. There’s so much wool lying in the attic that there’s enough to keep us busy the rest of the winter. Knit I can do, but spin I can’t. And yarn, after all, pays better than wool.”
“We can do it,” said Foula happily. “I see that you have a spinning wheel.”
“Yes,” said Rossan. “My sister used to come to give me a hand with it, but now she is too old to travel so far to prepare the little amount of yarn I need.”
He sat for a moment, considering, while he scratched Glennie behind one ear. Then he said to Foula, “I have a proposition for all of you. If you will spin for me just half of the wool lying in the attic, each of you may choose a sheep from the flock when you leave. And their lambs go along.” He looked from one to the other.
Foula nodded. “I think that sounds like a good agreement,” she said. “Then we’ll also have something to live on when we get to Crow-Girl’s cove.”
Eidi nodded, too, but the Crow-Girl was crestfallen.
“What do you say?” Rossan asked her.
“I can’t spin.”
And she knew that she did not much want to learn either, for it would mean that she would have to sit inside the whole day.
“So would you perhaps rather
leave?”
The Crow-Girl shook her head.
“No, I would like to have a sheep, too,” she said.
“Why, then, you can herd them.”
The Crow-Girl looked at him. A smile spread across her face. Then it disappeared. “I don’t know how to go about doing that either.”
“I can teach you,” said Rossan. “Glennie and I. And afterward I’ll have time to repair the stable roof and all the other things that I never get done.”
* * *
That was how the Crow-Girl became a shepherd. Each morning she set out to search for the flock. When the weather was good, she brought Doup along in the basket on the shaggy horse’s back. He wouldn’t leave the basket because he was afraid of the sheep when he was on the ground. When it poured rain, she went with Glennie alone.
She helped the sheep get free when they were caught in the thorny brush. Together with Glennie she drove them away from the treacherous bogs and up to the crests of the hills. She got to know each sheep and scratched it on the chest whenever it allowed her to. She called Glennie to her and shouted commands to her to run straight ahead, to the right, or to the left.
And sometimes she just shouted right up at the sky, because she was finally happy again to be alive.
11
One rainy afternoon a sorrowful bleating could be heard from the stretch of heath where the sheep were pasturing. The Crow-Girl followed the sound and came to the edge of a bog.
There was no water to betray it, only the feeling of a wet sucking that grew more apparent as one walked on the moss between the small, leafless bushes. The Crow-Girl was just about to turn back when she noticed a flat rock that stretched out a way into the bog. She crawled up on it and looked around.
And there, at the end of the rock, was the sheep she wanted most of all. Water had pooled around it, and its legs had already disappeared into the mire. The animal had no fight left in it and was now just looking up at her, bleating in despair.
The Crow-Girl lay down on her stomach on the rock and stretched her hands out toward the sheep. She could nearly reach it; she could feel its warm breath. But there was nothing to take hold of, no way to pull it up. And in her heart of hearts she knew very well that even if she had gotten hold of it, she would not have had the strength to free it. No one could free it. That which the bog had gotten hold of it would not give up again.
The Crow-Girl--The Children of Crow Cove Page 5