Try putting on skirts and a corset, then let us see who is the most agile, she says with a laugh.
That would be you, Haldora, I am sure, he says.
It’s so long since I walked. During my first time here I walked a lot. I loosened my corsets and strode freely, either alone or in the company of my husband. I haven’t the courage any longer. I didn’t realize I missed it so much.
We shall walk together, he says, as often as you want.
The Madame looks at him; she sends him a pretty smile that is almost relieved of the aftermath of rape and abortion.
They strive to follow the coast in a northerly direction, but find it less than easy. The island has no natural beaches and its coast is intersected by coves and inlets separated by steep, wet inclines. The Madame’s boots often become stuck in cracks; she plumps into puddles and slips on the smooth rocks. Yet she insists they go on. Eventually they find themselves confronted by a drop of several hundred fathoms and retreat. They sit down some distance from the abyss.
I can hear the sea, she says. You never hear it in the colony, even though we live at the shore.
There are always waves on the open sea, he says.
She has let down her hair. It blows in the wind. He feels it brush his cheek.
Inland, to the east, they can see tall fells, snow and glaciers. He tells her of the landscape there.
I am like a blind person, she says despondently. I need someone to tell me what the world looks like.
Can you not say to your husband that you would like to accompany him on his trips? Falck suggests.
He will not take me.
Have you asked?
I can feel it. And I would only get in the way of his activities.
But you are his wife.
Exactly.
Perhaps he is afraid you will catch a cold, he says.
Yes, she says, rather curtly. There is an explanation for everything.
Before getting to their feet again to walk back, she leans towards him to be kissed. He kisses her as usual on the cheek.
Thank you, Morten, she says. What would I have done without you?
You would be compelled to take a lover.
You are better than a lover, she says. You are a friend.
When they return to the colony the Trader is standing outside the colony house, watching them.
Jørgen, she says, are you back already?
Yes, is it inconvenient?
No, my dear, it is lovely to see you. The missionary and I have had the most marvellous walk in the wilderness.
Magister, says Kragstedt.
Trader.
They look at each other. Falck thinks he perceives a smile on Kragstedt’s lips.
Go in and get some warmth inside you, says the Trader. The Magister and I have a matter to discuss.
Madame Kragstedt goes up the steps. She glances briefly at the two men, then disappears into the house.
Falck endeavours to sound friendly. What might the Trader want?
To talk to you about that confounded cooper. Come, let us go down to the warehouses.
They pass between the buildings and amble out on to the wooden jetty. As they reach the end, Falck says: The Trader wished to speak to me about the cooper?
The happy husband, indeed. I hear there is a new document?
That is correct. Though the document in itself is of no consequence. Its value is merely symbolic.
Exactly, says the Trader. And that is why I have relieved him of it, so that he will not go about and be reminded the whole time that you have made him believe he is married.
They have turned and proceed now back along the jetty. Kragstedt is half a pace in front. Falck stops. The Trader continues a few paces, then turns and looks at him.
I accuse the Trader of blasphemy, says Falck.
Have you any idea how much harm you have caused that poor man, Magister Falck?
I have written a full report on these events, says Falck. And I understand that I shall have to furnish it with an addendum, putting you, most honourable Trader, in a very bad light indeed.
Such a report, supposing the Magister is telling the truth and that he intends to submit it, will be his letter of resignation, says the Trader.
The document carries signatures, says Falck. Among them Madame Kragstedt’s.
He sees the Trader clench his teeth. Kragstedt narrows his eyes into a glare.
Where is this document?
Where is the marriage certificate?
Hm, says the Trader. I suggest we make a little exchange.
As you wish.
You have won a battle, Kragstedt says. I give you credit for that. But you will lose the war. Mark my words.
Give my regards to your lovely wife. Falck cannot stop himself.
Sunday, and the sun is beaming down. It is eight o’clock in the morning and a crowd has gathered outside the Mission house, both christened and heathen, as well as the entire colony crew, with the exception of the Overseer Dahl, Constable Bjerg and the Trader. The cooper, Dorph, arrives in polished boots, black-tailed coat and white stockings; his military whiskers are brushed back, he is without wig, his hair dark and frizzy and gathered tightly at the neck, from where it fans out between his shoulder blades. He carries his two daughters in his arms: they cling to him. The cooper fixes his gaze upon Magister Falck, who stands waiting at the Mission house door. The bride is more humbly clad in a pale-blue linen dress and kamik boots edged with dog fur. She bears the infant on her arm. The eldest child, the blue-eyed angel boy, is absent.
Falck greets the cooper and his wife. We are waiting for Madame Kragstedt, he says, then we shall proceed.
I hope all will be in order this time, says the cooper, and puts down his two daughters. And that the Trader will not ruin everything again.
Bear in mind that this ceremony is merely confirmation of what is already a fact, says Falck. You have been married for several weeks, but now we are allowing the whole colony to witness the nuptials. The Trader would not have the nerve to go against his own people; it would be foolish of him indeed. Ah, the Madame arrives.
They turn and see Madame Kragstedt on her way from the colony house. Her long red gown billows about her person, edged with a colour ful drawstring border that resembles a garland of flowers. On her head she wears a rust-red cap with a veil of muslin that falls all down her back and mingles with her thick, mahogany hair. The crowd falls silent. They turn their heads and watch as she approaches. She passes the smith with a confident smile and approaches Falck and the happy couple.
Welcome, Madame, says Falck, his eyes consuming her. Where is your husband?
My husband is sleeping, she replies in a low voice. I gave him a measure of laudanum in his wine last night, as you advised.
Excellent, Madame Kragstedt. Let us hope his sleep will be long and refreshing. He addresses the crowd, projecting his voice: Welcome to the house of the Lord on this splendid Sunday, heathens and Christians, Greenlanders and Danes, adults and children! You shall now be witness to the performance of holy rites, the joining together of two people who love each other. Let us take this delightful sunshine to be a sign of the Lord’s approval of this marriage, and let no man, however powerful, break this pact.
Amen, says the cooper.
He steps aside and the crowd moves to enter the Mission house. At the same moment the colony bell begins to peal.
Who rings the bell? Falck demands angrily. I have expressly asked that it not be rung today on account of the Trader.
I think it is our own Constable Bjerg, says Madame Kragstedt. Perform the ceremony before my husband comes and intervenes.
The wedding proceeds peacefully. When it is done Falck addresses the congregation in the tightly packed room: This little ceremony you have attended has not in itself joine
d these people in matrimony, rather it is mere confirmation in public of a union that has already taken place in the presence of witnesses. We have chosen to repeat the service today for the pleasure and edification of the colony’s inhabitants, and so that all shall know that the cohabitation of our cooper and his Maren has been blessed by the Lord and may not be broken by any living man.
Magister Falck!
He has already seen the Trader in the doorway. Now everyone turns to look. Kragstedt approaches. His clothes are untidy, his hair dishevelled. He stares out over the Mission house room with eyes that are bloodshot. Under his arm he carries the colony’s flag in a bundle. In his hand is a pistol.
I have taken down the flag, he says in a thick voice. Our sacred flag shall not be tarnished by this unlawful act. Now everyone will go home and in the name of His Majesty King Christian the Seventh I hereby arrest you, Magister Falck!
He waves the pistol slackly. Those closest to him step back in fright.
That pistol is not loaded, says Falck. No one is going to help you carry out your orders.
The Trader sways slightly. He wipes his face with a corner of the flag. Falck grips his shoulder to steady him. He wrenches himself free and points the pistol at him.
You are the Devil himself! he says. You have destroyed my marriage. You are turning people against me.
At this juncture the congregation breaks into song, led by Bertel, who conducts them with great, sweeping movements of his arms. They sing in harmony. The Trader retreats a couple of paces, staggers to the door and leaves. Several hymns are sung. Then, little by little, the Mission house empties, leaving Falck alone with Madame Kragstedt. They go outside together. The Trader is sitting on a rock; he stares at them listlessly. The Madame approaches him; she squats down and strokes his cheek.
My poor husband. Now we shall go home and I shall have Sofie make you a nice cup of cocoa.
The Trader leans towards her and rests his head against her shoulder. She pats him on the back and glances at Falck. He goes over to the cooper’s to take part in the celebrations. A little later he sees the Trader and the Madame go, hand in hand, back to the colony house. On the cooper’s wall hangs the third marriage certificate Falck has drawn up. In his own opinion the most artistically successful of them all.
An early morning about a week after the most recent of the weddings, he sees the Trader’s boat glide out of the bay and head to sea. Two men are seated in the vessel. In the telescope he recognizes the Trader and Rasmus Bjerg. He asks around and is told that the Trader has departed south to Godthåb, probably to speak to the inspector.
I don’t hope the Trader drowns on his way, says the cooper.
Indeed, says Falck, neither do I. On the other hand, he adds, God’s judgements are unsearchable.
Amen, says the cooper.
Some peaceful days follow. It is nearly autumn. He feels at home now in this cycle: short, hectic months of summer followed by darkness and tranquillity. Every morning he stands upon the rocks outside the colony and scans the sea for the Trader’s boat. But the Trader does not appear. September passes, October presents itself in silence. But not Kragstedt. The Madame tries on her black dress. Falck helps her adjust it, his mouth full of pins. He reads aloud to her from Candide, seated opposite her, the Madame’s feet resting in his lap. The widow appears so as to be of service to the Madame, or for Falck, but they send her away.
One morning a notice appears on the door of the warehouse. People stand reading it and discussing its contents. Falck’s heart sinks. He has seen the Trader’s boat, moored at the jetty.
He goes down to the warehouse and sees that the notice is signed by Inspector Rømer. He narrows his eyes and reads:
By order of law: Be it hereby notified to inhabitants of the Colony and to crew appointed to the Trade, that:
The marriage of cooper Carl Julius Dorph and Maren Jensdatter is declared invalid.
1. Cooper Carl Julius Dorph shall, with effect from the date on which the present notice may be read in the Colony, consider himself discharged from his services as cooper of the Trade, thereby relieved of all attendant privileges, including dwelling, provision, and warrant to move freely within the Colony and its surrounding district.
2. Any person showing disobedience in respect of the present notice, and of Colony Manager, Trader and Commandant Jørgen Kragstedt, will likewise be considered to be discharged and will be liable to prosecution and punishment.
Dieterich Rømer
Inspector, Southern Inspectorate, Godthåb
27 October 1790
It is in large part as he had anticipated, with the exception that there is no mention of his own role in the matter. He had been expecting – and had come to terms with – his dismissal. The fact that the Trader and Inspector Rømer, his two worst enemies in the country, completely omit to name him in writing is almost the hardest part of it. The burden of guilt as regards what has occurred, and what will occur, rests thereby entirely on his own shoulders.
In the evening he drinks what aquavit is left in his bottle, then whatever he can find in the way of wine and ale. He wakes to a pounding noise and thinks at first it must be his hangover thumping in his head, but then it is repeated. Outside stand several men with torches in their hands. Their voices are a clamour and for a moment he is afraid they have come to drag him away and place him in chains on the Trader’s orders. Then he begins to grasp fragments of what they say. Something has happened. The cooper. The blubber house. In the name of Jesus!
He pulls on his coat and steps into his boots and follows the men down to the harbour.
The smith stands guard at the blubber house. He opens the door for the priest and lets him in. A large torch has been placed in a holder on the wall inside the door. It lights up the cooper’s heavy frame from below, the body hanging by a chain over the boiling tub, face twisted in sanctimonious despair.
He swings still, says the smith at his side, looking up. It must be less than half an hour since he jumped.
What are you waiting for? says Falck. Get him down, for goodness’ sake!
By an intricate muddle of ropes and knots, the cooper has made it nigh impossible for his body to be returned to the ground. A posthumous joke, though no one laughs, apart perhaps from the cooper himself, wherever he may be.
It’s Magister Krogh all over again, says the smith, labouring to loosen the rope that holds the cooper aloft, the rope which in turn is attached to the chain by a myriad knots. The carpenter, the cook, Constable Bjerg and two of the colony’s native constables struggle to steer the cooper’s body away from the blubber boiler, while Falck supervises the removal from a safe distance. And yet the cooper slides from their hands and plunges into the tub. Falck turns away in disgust as the smell of boiling human flesh fills the room of the blubber house. Boat hooks are called for, the men curse. Eventually they haul him up, though are unable to touch him because of the heat, and he is deposited on the stone floor with the same sound as a dead fish. Falck steps forward and squats down at the body. The cooper’s face is swollen from the hot oil, he stares up at the ceiling with an affable, greasy grin.
Outside the blubber house stands the cooper’s wife. Falck approaches her. She carries the infant on her arm. The retarded boy is with her. He calls out for his father in Greenlandic, a manic, braying voice. Someone holds him back to stop him from running inside.
Falck pats the wife on her shoulder. He does not know what to say. He feels an urge to vomit. Then Kragstedt is there. He looks content. Now look what you have done, he says. May I be the first to congratulate the Magister.
The Seventh Commandment
A Salute to the Mad King (1791)
The Seventh Commandment, as it is most plainly to be taught by a father to his family:
‘Thou shalt not steal.’
What does this imply?
Answer: T
hat we should fear and love God, so that we may not rob our neighbour of his money or possessions, nor acquire the same by spurious merchandise or by fraudulent traffic; but to assist him in improving and protecting his property and livelihood.
Darkness has crept over the land. When the sun retreats to the south, the ice projects silently from the north. The frost is like a barber’s blade against the cheek. The edge of the ice lies a day’s march away, say the hunters, the only ones to defy the cold, clad in ragged kamik boots and worn-out anoraks of canvas whose most vulnerable points are lined with old issues of Københavns Adresseavis.
The snow crunches beneath Morten Falck’s thin leather soles as he hurries home from his weekly pilgrimage to the Trade office, where the overseer has handed out his allotted provision. The Trader himself was absent, a fact for which he is thankful. Kragstedt avoids him as far as possible for the moment, and Morten Falck avoids Kragstedt. He has not visited the Madame for some time. The intimacy that had occurred between them had become oppressive and the easiest remedy was to slide apart. He has seen the Trader and his wife stroll from the colony, arm in arm, returning ruddy-cheeked, and he has felt pangs of jealousy on this account. He misses his visits with the Madame, the warmth of the Trader’s parlour, their discussions of the novels they are reading, the good aquavit, the grandfather clock measuring the stagnancy of time. He misses the confidentiality of another human being. And yet he sets store by solitude.
However, he does pay visits to the Trader’s loft. He secured the keys while seated in the Trade office one afternoon, waiting for the overseer to come. They were there in front of him and he took them, that is to say his hand took them. Once home again with his modest provision in a bag, a week’s food and drink, he took out the keys and pondered what to do with them. Eventually he decided to use them for their proper purpose: to open a door. Since the autumn he has thus been well provided with groceries. Roselil still gives some small amount of milk. He has thought of having her butchered. The expenditure and the bother involved in keeping her is more than her scarce quantities of milk can compensate for. But he has not the heart to have her put down. The smith has gradually adopted her and will under no circumstance hear talk of her slaughter, though he will not pay for her maintenance either.
The Prophets of Eternal Fjord Page 34