Presently he sees a ship’s boat on its way ashore, four seamen at the oars, the captain standing upright in the bow. The Trader stands ready to receive him, his young wife under his arm. She says something to him, then laughs, a chirping twitter, bright and foreign. What a strange bird she is, Bertel thinks to himself. The natives gather at the shore, hoping to do trade with the seamen. He notes that the women have neatened themselves; they are clad in whatever European clothing they own in order to make an impression on the Danish seamen. Bertel grimaces. The thought of his own mixed blood fills him with nausea, and when the native women jostle to mingle with the white men, he feels rage.
The boat is laden with wares and luggage. One of the colony’s own boats has put alongside the ship to be filled up. Bertel goes over to Dorph, the cooper who lives with his sister-in-law, the only member of the Danish colony crew with whom he is remotely on speaking terms.
What is that hanging from the boom?
The cooper laughs. They say it is a cow.
A cow? Bertel stares. He has never seen a cow before. The beast hangs suspended from the cargo boom, and sways high above the deck. It lows in suffering. He has seen cows in the illustrated magazines that Sophie brings home with her from the Trader’s house, where she is maid. He never thought he would see one in real life.
Or maybe it’s the Holy Spirit, says Dorph. The way it floats about between the masts and won’t come down.
You should not talk of the Holy Spirit like that, says Bertel by way of correction, though he nearly bites off his own tongue on seeing the glare the cooper sends him in reply. Know your station! it says. He realizes Dorph could lodge a complaint for having been addressed in such a manner by a native. Most likely the pulley is stuck, he says, to smooth things over. He can see the crew gathered on the deck; they look up at the cow and parley.
But who would bring a cow, and what’s it to do here? the cooper says.
The cow belongs to the new pastor, says the Overseer Dahl, noting something on a slate. It is a milch cow. Its milk is highly nutritious, it restores the sick and keeps those who are well in vigour.
Does it help against pains in the chest? Bertel enquires.
Milk is like medicine, says the Overseer, for once deigning to look at him. It helps against this and that. If it survives the unloading we might all have a glass.
If it is the pastor’s cow, then I shall ask for a glass for my boy, says Bertel.
I’m sure he will receive all the milk he wants, Bertel Jensen, says the Overseer. After all, he is to assist the pastor in his duties, so it’s only natural he keep his catechist in good health.
Dorph asks the Overseer if he thinks the ship has brought his marriage licence. I have waited years as it is, he complains.
I know nothing of any marriage licence, Dahl says dismissively. He shall have to wait until the mail is brought ashore.
But I live in sin! the cooper exclaims dramatically.
Don’t we all? Dahl retorts. Dorph is not nearly as put upon as he thinks. Nevertheless, I wish him all the best in the matter. He withdraws with his slate.
The boat lays to, and two men clamber on to the quayside. The captain follows them, bringing with him some of the light and fresh weather of the sea. He straightens up and smiles. He is clad in a long coat and white stockings to the knee. His hair is quite short. Bertel recognizes him from previous arrivals, a corpulent man with a pockmarked face and agreeable countenance. The Trader and his wife walk forward to greet him, the former raising his hand in salute to the tricorne hat he has donned for the occasion. Kragstedt is in full commandant’s uniform, silver-buckled shoes and a short wig. At his belt is a sabre. Madame Kragstedt wears a floral dress trimmed with gold flounces. Bertel is quite familiar with the garment, Sofie having recently brought it home with her to mend. She put it on and together they jumped into the bed, there to play the Trader Kragstedt and his wife. Bertel smiles at the thought. He catches Madame Kragstedt’s eye and is glanced by her brilliant smile. Bertel looks down at the ground. The captain slides one foot forward in front of the other in the way of the true galantier and bows, takes her hand between his thumb and index finger and raises it to his mouth, touching it lightly with his lips. Apparently a joke, Bertel thinks to himself, for all three laugh. But then they know each other from the year before. The Danes and all their peculiarities, understood by them alone. They walk back together along the quayside, the men’s sabres swinging at their rears as they cross the planks, the Madame’s dress a billowing rustle. They ascend the little slope to the colony house, where the bell still tolls. Kragstedt barks out an order to the ringer, a native employee of the Trade:
Enough, man, or we’ll all be deaf!
The bell goes quiet. They enter the house.
The winch seems to be working again. The cow is lowered in stages into the ship’s boat, whereupon some men follow, clambering over the bulwark and descending by way of the rope ladder. The oars are put into the water; they move up and down like the wings of some mechanical bird. Bertel sees a man in a black coat and wide-brimmed hat with a high crown standing in the bow, his gaze fixed upon the land. He must be the new priest. He begins to boss the men about. His agitation apparently concerns the animal that now lies tethered in the bottom of the boat. One of the seamen loosens the ropes around the cow’s legs, shouts and commands are heard from all quarters, the cow kicks its hooves and the boat rocks perilously. And then it is brought ashore onto the quayside, where the priest speaks soothingly to it while holding its muzzle and scratching behind its ears. Folk stare, especially the natives, who gape, literally, in disbelief.
A reindeer! They exclaim. Why has this fool taken a reindeer across the sea? Where are its antlers? Look, its teats are as big as a sack of blubber!
Bertel does not dare to approach the priest as long as he is standing with the cow, which tosses its head and lows. Without realizing, he has removed his hat and stands clutching it before him, in hesitant sub servience. The cooper steps up to the priest. He takes the cow by the rope and leads it over to the blubber house to be tethered. The beast strains against the rope and lows. The priest asks for water to be brought and the cooper fetches the fire bucket. The cow lowers its head and drinks. It urinates, a gushing torrent upon the planks of the quay. The priest addresses the cooper. Bertel cannot hear what is said, but the cooper removes his hat and bows courteously. The priest looks about him. Bertel sees that he sways slightly, rocking backwards and forwards.
Bertel Jensen, he says with a bow. Catechist. And the Magister is our new priest, I take it.
The priest looks at him and extends his hand. Bertel takes it in his. Morten Falck. I am to replace the missionary Krogh. Where is the missionary?
Kicked the bucket, honourable Magister. Passed away, I mean.
Of what did the good priest die? Was he ill?
It was more an accident, Magister, says Bertel, hesitating.
What kind of an accident? Falck looks him in the eye.
He hanged himself, says the cooper, now returned. Inside here, in the blubber house, honourable Magister. When they cut him down, the body fell right into the boiling tub, but we fished him out again with a boat hook. Sizzling more than a suckling pig on a spit, he was.
My goodness! says Magister Falck. I must remember to find a more suitable place should I wish to accompany Mr Krogh.
If the Magister’s thinking of doing himself in, it best be done away from the colony, Bertel blurts out.
But the priest takes it with good humour. He pats him on the arm. A joke, dear Jensen. I assure him, I have no immediate plans to do such a thing, but am fit and healthy in body as well as in mind.
I see, says Bertel, and catches the priest’s eye. Would that be on account of the milk?
The priest wanders off along the quayside, then returns. Bertel studies him. He is a tall man, stout and broad-shouldered. His eyes
are blue, but the thick pigtail that hangs down his neck would indicate that his hair is dark and crinkly.
So this is Sukkertoppen’s famous colony? says the priest in a jovial tone. Not much to look at.
The district’s a good size, says the cooper. Several days in any direction. Bigger than Jutland’s mainland from Skagen to Flensborg.
Indeed, says Falck. A colossal land and only a handful christened.
There’s plenty to be getting on with for a pastor, says the cooper. Idol worship, murder and heathen darkness all around. The Magister Krogh had to give up, God rest his soul.
The soul of a suicide finds no rest, says Falck.
Perhaps he just stole a march on something worse, says the cooper. The Magister was losing his senses, kept hearing trumpets and hymns, and saw dead people wander across the heavens.
Indeed? How interesting. A shame I did not have the opportunity of making his acquaintance.
The cooper suggests they move the cow on to the land, where it may munch the fresh grass. They loosen its tether and find a place below the colony house where they fasten its rope to a rock.
Do not be afraid, says Falck to Bertel. She will not kick. She is as good as the day is long and appreciates human company. He pats the beast on the back and Bertel does likewise. He feels the hide tremble and withdraws his hand. It feels greasy. He wipes it on his shirt.
It looks sad, he says. Most probably it knows it is to die soon.
Falck looks at him angrily. She most certainly is not to die, excepting the fact that we all must, sooner or later, you take heed of it. Perhaps this cow will survive us all. Her name is Roselil, by the way.
Hello, Roselil, says the cooper, petting the animal in a way Bertel finds rather intimate and odd. Oh, I’ve not seen a cow since I was a boy. A man could start missing his home.
Bertel knows he should refrain from comment, but priests have always made him want to utter inappropriate things. Who is to make sure the natives don’t kill the cow and put it in their cooking pots? he blabbers.
This seems to give the priest pause for thought. Does he think there is a risk of it?
There’s a lot of meat on a beast like that, says Bertel. He senses he has the pastor’s full attention and can allow himself to say what he wants. The savages are most bloodthirsty and cold-blooded, and cunning to boot. They won’t hesitate a moment if they get the chance to do it in.
I shall ask the Trader to post a watch, says the priest pensively.
Perhaps it would be best to slaughter it straightaway, Bertel suggests, before the savages get there first. Then we might all have fresh steaks.
The priest pales. Bertel bows with a smile, then walks back to his home. He has spoken far too much, but cannot help but gloat over having alarmed the priest.
Sofie is up now, making porridge for the boy, who lies on his bed, flicking through one of his magazines.
When you get up I’ll show you something, says Bertel.
The boy looks up at him over the page. Show me what?
Wait and see. But I promise you, you’ve never seen anything like it before.
Bertel goes up and kisses Sofie on her neck. She twists and shoves him away with her shoulder, then glances up and laughs. She bares her teeth and growls at him. He pretends to be afraid. The boy looks across at them from the bed. But when Bertel looks back at him, he retreats behind his magazine.
I must be off in a minute, says Sofie.
Of course, to wipe the Madame’s arse.
There’s a big dinner on, I have to wait at the table.
I’ll give the boy his porridge. You go.
She puts down what she has in her hands and sticks her feet into her kamik boots. She kisses him fleetingly, then the boy, and is out of the door. A pot on the stove spits clumps of boiling porridge.
Where is Mother going? asks the boy.
To help out at a dinner at the Trader’s. A ship has come.
He could bite off his tongue. But now he has said it. The boy becomes ecstatic and rushes over to the window in his bare feet. He eats not a mouthful of food until they have been down to the harbour to see the ship and greet its crew, who tramp up and down the quayside. Afterwards they walk up to the place where the cow stands tethered.
A cow, says Bertel. A real live cow. Who would have thought such a thing?
A heifer, says the boy. I think it’s a heifer.
Yes, I suppose you can tell by its teats, says Bertel.
It’s called an udder, says the boy.
The milk can be drunk, Bertel tells him.
I know. You can make porridge from it, and cheese and butter.
It seems no one can tell you anything you don’t know already, says Bertel.
The boy grins. I read it in a book.
And what are you going to be when you grow up?
A sailor, says the boy, and laughs. A sea captain.
I think there are two of us to decide on that, says Bertel, and gives the boy’s ear a playful tug. What do you want to be?
A priest, says the boy dutifully and looks up at his father. His blue eyes sparkle.
That’s right, says Bertel. Think of it, the first Greenlander to be ordained into the clergy! You’ll show them we’re no stupider than them.
Two days later. A knock on the door. A young woman is standing outside. She gives him a folded piece of handmade paper.
From the priest, she says.
And who might you be?
She says nothing.
Do you work for the priest?
She shakes her head. He asked me to give you this, that’s all.
He unfolds the paper and reads the cramped handwriting:
Dear Bertel Jensen, I am not quite well and would be indebted to him if he came hither! Morten Falck, missionary.
What is the matter with the priest? Bertel asks. He is not drunk, I hope?
He might be ill, I don’t know. He looks like a ghost.
Bertel studies the woman closer. Where do you come from? I don’t think I have seen you before.
From up north.
Holsteinsborg?
She raises her eyebrows in the affirmative.
What are you doing here in the district?
I am here with my daughter, she says. I live in the communal house.
With the savages? Has the priest at Holsteinsborg not christened you?
I am unchristened, but the old Missionary Oxbøl has been diligent in his teachings.
Indeed, I know all about the missionary and his teachings, Bertel replies curtly.
The woman looks over his shoulder into the parlour. I can look after your boy, she offers.
But you have a daughter of your own.
Milka. She is five years old, a pleasant girl. We can come here in the daytime, the children can play together. I can clean and cook.
We have no need. This is an ordinary house, we have no servants here. My wife and I take care of our own domestic matters. And my boy needs peace and quiet, not friends.
She lowers her gaze. Bertel is annoyed at her, and at himself for the pangs of guilt he now feels. She is a mixture like him; most likely her life is hard if she is alone with a child. He wants to shut the door, but it would entail shutting it in the woman’s face and he cannot bring himself to do so. There is something about her that makes him wonder.
Do I know you? he asks.
She shrugs. Naluara.
Is there anything else you want?
Perhaps the priest has need of a housekeeper, she suggests.
Yes, perhaps. I can ask him. But he cannot take you in to live. You understand that, of course?
I can read and write, she informs him. Oxbøl taught me.
He would seem to be your benefactor, the Missionary Oxbøl.
He is the
girl’s father.
Old Oxbøl? Bertel stiffens. He doesn’t know what to say. You let the priest lie with you? he enquires reproachfully.
Maybe it was that Holy Spirit of his. It didn’t feel like it, though. Is the Holy Spirit made like you men?
Mind your blaspheming tongue, woman. I ought to beat you for that.
I won’t hit back, she answers impertinently.
No, and I would advise you not to. Anyway, now that you’re here, hm. I shall speak to the priest. Go now.
I’d rather be here.
Tired of the clergy, is that it? Thinking to try one of your own kind instead?
Being catechized can be painful, she says. A girl risks becoming with child.
The new priest is not like that. I’m sure you would be one to ruin him, though. He lets out an involuntary chuckle. It’s worth a try, I suppose. Let me speak to him. Perhaps he will take you on.
At last she leaves. He watches her as she walks away. Her strong posture, her buoyant stride. Where have I seen you before? he thinks.
He finds Falck sitting on the step in front of the Mission house in his vestments, marble-white feet protruding from beneath the hem of his cassock. He is staring at something up on the fell, but when Bertel looks he sees nothing.
Magister Falck? he ventures, and can tell by the sound of his voice that he has now returned to his subservient role, though his hat remains upon his head.
Slowly, the priest turns his gaze towards him.
Can I be of assistance, Magister?
God bless him, Bertel Jensen.
Is the Magister ill?
Not ill, exactly. But then not quite well either, it would seem. It must be some sort of land sickness after the long sea voyage. This entire continent pitches and heaves worse than any vessel in a storm. And the Trader’s hospitality doesn’t help.
Bertel says nothing.
Is it always like this? Falck enquires.
Like what, Magister?
The Prophets of Eternal Fjord Page 21