The Birds

by Tarjei Vesaas

  He took his hat.

  “Well, that’s that,” he said by the door. The farmer and his wife looked at him, a little hesitantly.

  12

  BACK AT HOME Hege was sitting outside with her work. She had chosen a place that gave her a view of the path down from the main road. Mattis caught sight of her the moment he came into the clearing, she looked as insignificant as a little ball of wool.

  From where he stood she seemed such a little thing. All huddled up. Nothing at all.

  Wonder what it’s like inside her, he thought. Clever thing she was. It filled him with respect. Might be like a volcano in there, for all he knew.

  She ought to have been the younger of them – he would have seen her while she was a tiny little mite then, and been able to spoon-feed her and watch food dribbling from the corners of her mouth. Yes, that should have been the other way round as well.

  The shadows thrown by the trees began to grow longer. Evening was coming, and it was getting cool. Pleasant and refreshing when you’d been out in the heat and turmoil of the day.

  Hege got up when he arrived.

  “I suppose you’ve eaten?” she greeted him.

  “You bet I have,” Mattis replied emphatically, pleased to be able to tell her about something he’d done well today. “No shortage of food where I was,” he added.

  Hege started asking where he’d been and what he’d been doing, she wanted to know all about how he’d spent the day. And there was nothing to be done but tell her.

  “And I stayed there at the farm until now.”

  “I see.”

  If only he’d been able to put a whole day’s pay down on the half-finished sweater.

  “But things were all square,” he said quickly, “I was paid on the spot.”

  “What did you get then?”

  She was impossible on things like this.

  “The money for the two rows, of course! If things were all square. Otherwise it would have been all wrong.”

  “I see,” said Hege.

  “Well, you know what things being all square means, don’t you? With all those sweaters you make.”

  He became excited and his voice began to tremble. He went on hurriedly to tell Hege about the sweethearts.

  “And then I asked the farmer’s wife questions she just couldn’t answer,” he said finally.

  Hege said, irritated: “Again? More questions?”

  “Yes, that’s the way she was,” said Mattis.

  “Makes no difference, one day you’ll have to stop it,” said his sister sternly.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s just silly,” said Hege bitterly.

  He flinched and said no more. No mention was made of what he had asked the farmer’s wife. Hege knew already.

  But later that evening Hege said she would come and see his woodcock – and he took this as her way of rewarding him for the unpleasant and difficult day he had spent working. He had come to regard the woodcock as almost his own creation. Hege followed him outside.

  “It’s a good thing you came to your senses,” he said.

  Outside it was quiet, just the right weather. Mattis looked eagerly in every direction and listened, full of expectation.

  The bird came, bringing with it all those things for which there were no words. Hege felt it, too. A flash, a touch of the wing inside you, and it was gone again.

  Hege didn’t say anything, but her attitude seemed at least friendly. Mattis said, deeply moved: “And it comes again and again.”

  Now they could go to bed, Hege said, but he felt sure she was moved.

  He laid his hand on her arm. Wanted to tell her that the house was different now, was somehow better than other houses, had been transformed. It was impossible to explain what he meant, but at least he could lay his hand on her arm.

  “Now you’ve seen it,” was all he said. Without wanting to he made it sound as though he owned the bird. Hege, forgetting herself, said: “Well, it isn’t you who’s brought it here, is it? Anyone would think so, the way you’re talking.”

  A slap in the face. He stared at her, frightened. Saying that sort of thing at a moment like this. The anger welled up inside him.

  “What kind of person are you! Always spoiling things!”

  “Hush now.”

  He was not going to be hushed, looked around for something he could somehow use against her. The first thing his eyes fell upon were the two withered aspen trees. He forgot all the promises of good behavior he had made earlier, pointed to the trees: “Do you see those? I’ll tell you something: they’ve been named after the two of us. People never call them anything else! Now you know. It’s not just my name that’s been used, it’s yours as well.”

  He expected to see Hege wither away. But nothing happened. She simply said, quite unperturbed: “Oh, so you know about that?”

  He stared.

  “I thought I was the only one of us who knew about it,” she said, patting him on the arm.

  She stood there, the proudest person he’d ever known. A sudden change had come over her. She talked about the withered trees: “What harm do they do us? None at all. A stupid boyish game like that. It’s just childish.”

  She grew in stature. And Mattis grew because he was standing next to her and was her brother, and because one of the withered treetops was his and could do him no harm.

  All the same he couldn’t entirely agree with her. It was much easier for her to say things like that. But it was comforting to listen to her, and the sight of her gave him strength. She looked straight into his eyes and said in a firm voice: “And now we won’t mention this again. Let the trees stay there as long as they like. It’s no concern of ours.”

  “Well, if that’s how you feel about it,” said Mattis. There was no more for him to say.

  13

  TWO DAYS LATER Hege said:

  “Mattis, I think you ought to try again now.”

  It sounded almost like an order.

  “Go out and work?”

  “Ask for work at least. Seeing you managed so well last time.”

  “Things are going to be different now,” he replied, and showed no sign of obeying her.

  Hege said sharply: “Well, can’t you go somewhere or other while you’re waiting for that to happen.”

  It was early and it looked as though it was going to be a fine day. For two days Mattis had been sitting down on the shore, throwing stones and thinking. He had rowed about a bit and done some fishing, without catching anything, as usual. All Hege really wanted was to avoid seeing him sitting down there throwing those silly stones again and again. It wasn’t because of the work – that wouldn’t come to anything.

  The sharp tone of her voice decided the issue.

  “But not thinning out turnips!” he implored her.

  “It doesn’t matter to me, you know, as long as you come back with some money,” said Hege showing no mercy.

  “It depends on my thoughts,” said Mattis, “they decide in the end. You’re really a tough one,” he allowed himself to add.

  “Oh, I’m sure it’ll turn out alright,” said Hege. “There are plenty of small jobs hereabouts for anyone who’s prepared to do them.”

  How keen she was to get rid of him. She was more stubborn than before, more impatient, he told himself, heaping silent accusations upon her.

  Where was he to go? He’d set off as Hege had told him. The farm he had been at last time was out of the question, he was finished there for good. No doubt they were still at the same kind of work, too. He drifted over toward them.

  Yes, there they were, the three of them. Just come out into the big field. There was still a bit of it left to do. It felt almost odd to be walking down the road past them, he knew them so well since that day, had shared so many experiences with them. The sweethearts seemed to be full of the joy of morning.

  Were they glancing down at him on the road?

  No.

  Give a little wave, he pleaded. It would be
something he could treasure for years to come. The girl, of course. He didn’t want the men to wave, that would have embarrassed him. But the girl. No, she didn’t seem to notice anything but the pinching.

  A little farther on two small girls were sitting on the grass just above the road. Sitting safely on the other side of the fence with their toys, chattering and playing with dolls, so young that they were free from sin. They were chattering busily to each other, but even so one of them found time to ask, her big blue eyes resting on him, and with a voice full of song: “Where are you off to, Simple Simon?”

  Full of song, and not at all curious, a question asked for the sake of asking. Of course the children knew their nearest neighbors, living as close to the road as they did. So Mattis, too, was a familiar sight.

  Take it easy now, he said to himself, they’re too young to know what they’re saying.

  “Nowhere special,” he replied.

  They asked no further questions, it didn’t make the slightest difference to them where he was going.

  All the same he hurried away from them. And some shining cars rushing past restored his courage. It was so easy meeting cars you didn’t know. No one sitting inside them knew he was Simple Simon. He looked straight at the people sitting inside – they’d probably think he was as clever as they were.

  He trudged past one farm after another. He ought to have started to work by now. But when he came to a gate he stopped to see how his legs felt: he had a test he’d invented on a previous occasion when he’d been in the same helpless predicament.

  “If you want to go up there, then I’m sure I’ll feel a jerk,” he said to his legs, and waited.

  No, there was no jerk in the direction of this farm, his legs had more sense. He tried time and time again this morning, with the same negative result at each new gate.

  But what will Hege say about my going on like this, I wonder?

  The fact was that Hege knew nothing about the leg test, it was a secret. She was slow in accepting things like that.

  Finally he came to the store – and this was really what had been in his mind the whole time. There was no need to use the test there either, for the store stood right by the road, like a trap for everyone to fall into. It was close to the lake, too, by a kind of pier.

  Inside you could get hard candy. Mattis was fond of hard candy. The storekeeper had never laughed at him either, when he behaved helplessly.

  There was nobody that Mattis knew in the store at this time of day, just a few cyclists, young holiday-makers in shorts, drinking lemonade. Mattis knew he shouldn’t stare at them too long. He forced himself to stop. He dug into his pocket for money and found the fifty øre he knew was there.

  “A bag of hard candy,” he said causally, as if it were something he did several times a week.

  The storekeeper asked as a matter of routine: “Camphor drops?”

  The storekeeper knew his habits. It was nice to have the strangers in the shop listening. Mattis was grateful for this short, safe conversation.

  “Yes, the usual,” he said. Anyway he had a more important kind of question today.

  “Do you know how a woodcock can change its path and go straight across a house where it’s never been before?” he asked. It was a complicated question he’d learned by heart on the way.

  “Woodcocks don’t change their paths, do they?” said the storekeeper. “If you get a flight in a new place, then it’s most likely one of last year’s young cocks starting up on his own, I should think.”

  While the storekeeper was talking, he was digging down into the tin of camphor drops with a little shovel. A delightful yellow glow filled the shiny sides of the tin.

  “Do you think so?” said Mattis, downcast.

  “Nothing wrong with that is there? Is it something you’ve seen quite recently, then?”

  “Oh no – not the way you mean, I don’t think. There’s nothing special about what you’re saying. You mustn’t make things out to be less important than they are when they really are important!”

  He took the first pieces of candy.

  Just then one of the cyclists said:

  “Hell, look at those clouds! We’ll be having a storm before long, that’s for sure.”

  Mattis gave a start and almost swallowed his piece of candy. Looking out of the window he, too, could see the dark bank of clouds climbing up over the ridge. The sun was still shining.

  “Is there going to be a thunderstorm?” he asked, frightened. His words were directed straight at the cyclist who stood there tanned and hairy.

  The stranger looked at him a little surprised, but answered bitterly, talking to his pretty companion rather than to Mattis: “Yes, there’s going to be a terrific thunderstorm. And us looking forward to a nice trip.”

  Nothing in the store interested Mattis any longer. There’s going to be a thunderstorm, home, home, was the one thought in his mind. His hiding place was far away, and that was where he had to go.

  He rushed out of the store. Through the half-open door he heard the storekeeper saying something about him in reply to a question from the cyclist. Once more someone had misjudged his keen ears. He who could hear through walls and at a greater distance than anyone else – with all the practice he had listening for things he wasn’t supposed to hear.

  “He is a bit simple,” the storekeeper was saying inside.

  The storekeeper, too. Mattis would never have believed it. But why not? he had to ask himself at once. He’s only telling the truth. He’s a bit simple. All right. And a moment later he heard: “But he’s got a gutsy sister, she’s the one that keeps things going.”

  Fortunately the door banged to, so he was spared the rest of the conversation. Perhaps that was all they said. He doesn’t do a stroke of work, that fellow. Perhaps they said that too.

  Well, for the time being this was overshadowed by the dark cloud and his fear of the thunderstorm. The important thing now was to get home and under cover in a safe place. He hurried along as quickly as he could, the bag of candy clutched in his hand. The sun was still shining intensely, as it always did before a storm.

  Just behind him a car hooted angrily and he flung himself into the side of the road like a bundle of rags. The car must have braked hard and as it went gliding past, someone said through the open window: “Don’t walk in the middle of the road, you damned fool!”

  It was an angry and frightened voice. Mattis saw a pair of angry eyes looking at him out the window. A complete stranger.

  “You’re lucky,” said the shaken voice in the window. “You could easily have been knocked flat, with your head in the clouds.” Then the window was wound up, and aiming a blast of poisonous exhaust at Mattis, the car sped away.

  Swallowing great gulps of the exhaust Mattis staggered on, keeping close to the side of the road. He realized the man would have said exactly the same to anybody. He had shouted in fear. He was a traveler, and had no idea who he was talking to. Mattis told himself this over and over again, and as he did so he suddenly realized that he was protected from hundreds of millions of people who knew absolutely nothing about him. It was a though a friendly haze lay between them and him. It was a comforting thought: countless numbers of people had no idea he was a simpleton.

  But now he was running to beat the thunderstorm. He had seen many kinds of thunderstorms. Some came on all of a sudden, others took their time and rumbled a good while before getting dangerous. Others stayed in the distance the whole time, they were heading somewhere else. There were no fixed rules. The clouds today were only coming over slowly. Mattis felt almost sure he’d get home in time.

  The child who had called to him earlier was nowhere to be seen. But the three of them in the field were still digging away.

  Will she wave?

  No.

  She must be tired.

  But I won’t think about it, there’s going to be a thunderstorm soon, and you mustn’t think about that sort of thing then. I don’t even feel like thinking about it. Th
at’s the way it is with thunder.

  All of a sudden he bumped into a man he vaguely knew. At least, he used to talk to him when they met, and he felt quite at ease with him. The man raised his hand, as if Mattis were a bus he wanted to stop.

  “Wait a moment! You’re in a bit of a hurry, aren’t you, Mattis?”

  “Well, you can see the storm, can’t you?” said Mattis gravely.

  “What storm?”

  “There’s going to be a thunderstorm very soon, can’t you see? And home’s the best place then.”

  The man seemed to know how Mattis felt about thunder. He looked up at the clouds: “I don’t think you need to worry. Those aren’t thunderclouds, they’re already thinning out, look!”

  Mattis shook his head and refused to believe it. It had probably only been said to comfort him. A terrific thunderstorm, that’s what the cyclist in the shop had said, and that was no doubt nearer the truth.

  “What did I say? Look there, Mattis!”

  Just as they stood there the clouds lifted and a patch of blue sky appeared over the edge of the mountains. The whole threat of thunder was gone, they were no longer stormclouds. There was glorious blue sky just underneath.

  “There you are,” said the man, “it’s only light cloud, and that means fine weather; it’s melting away altogether now.”

  Mattis drew a long sigh of relief.

  “Like a piece of candy?” he said, full of gratitude.

  And the man went on his way, sucking the yellow candy.

  Mattis returned to his usual walking pace. But it was so late in the day that it was no good looking for work now, he decided. He was not entirely happy at the prospect of having to return home to Hege and give an account of his attempts to get work. No sooner was the threat of thunder gone than he was faced with his old, familiar, nagging conscience.

  He was by the path leading down to their little house. The withered treetops rose into the air. He never even looked at them.

  No, he never even looked at them. Something unusual happened that made him forget everything. As he came down the path – what was it he saw: