Friendship

by Margit Sandemo

  “Did you give him things?” she asked, shocked.

  “Gifts of money; a loan sometimes. He was never without money. Yet when he found another, more generous man, he left me. So – what’s left?”

  Cecilie laid her cheek on his chest. “Oh, but you’ve been loved, Alexander! Loved, loved! Far more than I can put into words.”

  As he lay there, he could feel the warmth of her tears soaking through his nightshirt.

  “Cecilie?” he sighed, almost impossible to hear. “Oh, you poor young girl!”

  With that his arm fell limply back onto the bed. Cecilie stood up and saw his eyes were closed.

  “Oh, God, be merciful,” she whispered in desperation. “Please, dear God, be merciful ...”

  She opened her eyes again. She sensed a presence and found Wilhelmsen standing in the doorway.

  “Please excuse the intrusion,” he said, speaking in a hushed voice. “But there’s a young gentleman at the door asking to see you.”

  “Oh, not now, Wilhelmsen,” she sniffed. “Who is it?”

  “I didn’t quite catch his name. It sounded like “Tar-something ... and something of the Lind, I believe.”

  “Tarjei!” gasped Cecilie in amazement. “Thanks be to God! Thanks be to God!”

  She hurried out to the front hall, never thinking that God may not have been the right authority to thank for the telepathic ability of the Ice People.

  After the briefest of greetings, she explained rapidly to Tarjei about the sudden deterioration in Alexander’s condition and led him back to the bedroom at a run. As soon as he saw Alexander, Tarjei told Wilhelmsen to light every candle he could find around Alexander’s bed. Then he turned the Marquis onto his stomach.

  “But what have you done, Cecilie,” he demanded, alarmed.

  “I know it was my fault,” she sobbed unhappily. “We were exercising his leg. You know, I told you about the wonderful thing that happened.”

  “Yes, yes,” he replied impatiently. It was obvious that he doubted these imaginary improvements.

  “Then just a few days ago I became too impatient and bent his leg too much. Alexander screamed and said the pain went right through his body. After that, the changes came more easily – but they were very small. Almost invisible.”

  “I can well imagine!”

  Cecilie’s voice rattled on almost incoherently. “And after a few days Wilhelmsen noticed a small red patch here – and then it got worse. So I tried to contact you – by telepathy and ...!”

  “And you succeeded,” he said tersely. While she’d been pouring out her tale, Tarjei had been cautiously running his hands over Alexander’s back. The problem seemed to be centred in the middle, low down.

  “I believe ...”

  “What?”

  Tarjei moved his hands to a new position, probing very gently with his fingers. “I believe the bullet might have moved!”

  “Oh, no, Tarjei! Will it kill him?”

  “It could do. Now, Cecilie, we’ll try and remove it.”

  “Oh, will you, Tarjei, will you, please?”

  “Me? You’ll definitely be helping! And you too, Wilhelmsen!”

  “Of course, sir,” said the manservant, looking distinctly pale.

  “But Tarjei, what if he dies?” wondered Cecilie.

  “It’s very likely that he will. But if we don’t try, he most certainly will!”

  ***

  Because the patient was her beloved Alexander, Cecilie didn’t really want to take part in the operation. She didn’t have the courage for it and more than that she didn’t have the slightest wish to see what her husband looked like when he’d been cut open. But she was still prepared to do anything in the world that would help him stay alive. When all the basic preparations had been made, Tarjei gave his instructions.

  “Wilhelmsen, you fetch a bottle of brandy! Alexander’s unconscious at the moment, which is good. But if he wakes, he must be made drunk to kill the pain. I’ve treated him before and he knows what to expect. But before you do anything else, you must both wash yourselves! Cecilie, take this powder, it’s to stop the bleeding. Stir it into a bowl of warm water and have it ready at the bedside. My travelling clothes are quite dusty, Wilhelmsen. Please fetch me some cleaner ones!”

  The manservant stood wide-eyed and stared at Tarjei. What strange ideas were these? There could be no doubt at all that Tarjei was ahead of his time in the field of medicine, but he was far from perfect. For instance, he didn’t object when Cecilie helped him while she wore a dark dress with many layers of skirts and pleats that could hold dirt and dust. Neither did he order the servant to change his clothes or the bed linen, which was sweaty and soiled since Alexander had been bedridden for some days. But Tarjei did have his things well organised. His medical chest, which he’d carried with him all over Northern Europe, was soon open and everything was ready to begin the operation. When he brought out a very sharp knife and ran it back and forth over a candle, letting the sterilising flame play along its edge, Cecilie felt the blood drain from her cheeks. If only she could run away and hide with her hands over her eyes and wait until Tarjei told her that it was all over and Alexander was well again. But that would be the act of a coward, and Silje’s granddaughter ought not to be a coward. So she stood her ground, although her nervous swallow was loud enough for the others to hear.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked in a tentative voice.

  Tarjei passed her an empty bowl and one of the white napkins she’d found in the linen store.

  “Use this to wipe up the blood! Wihelmsen, you must see to Alexander. Hold him down if you must!”

  The servant nodded obediently. The scene in Alexander’s bedroom was bizarre. A large wardrobe in the new baroque style was in sharp contrast to the stricter lines of the other Renaissance furniture. The dark brown cupboard too, was extravagantly decorated with an orgy of creeping flowers and pompous cherubs blowing horns; the keyhole was conveniently hidden behind a swivelling flower. The bed, around which they were standing, was crafted in the same baroque fashion with turned bedposts and extravagant flowing decorations on the headboard and footboard. ‘I lay in that bed once,’ Cecilie thought absent-mindedly. ‘And now Alexander is lying there, in his most fateful hour.’ She could see that the muscles in the upper part of his back had become well defined, an obvious sign that he’d been using his arms a great deal. He was perspiring slightly and his shoulders glistened in the light from the many candelabra. Just above his waist, she could see the vicious red swelling, and Tarjei examined the injury for some time.

  Then he moved decisively and cut directly into the infected area. Cecilie closed her eyes tightly for a few seconds. Alexander didn’t move as blood and pus began to pour from the incision. Cecilie focused on swabbing the wound clean and soon found she had no time to be afraid. Tarjei expertly applied the solution to the edges of the flesh, but one napkin after the other had to be thrown away before the bleeding stopped. Tarjei signalled to Cecilie to help Wihelmsen keep Alexander perfectly still. Even the tiniest movement at this point could spell disaster. Tarjei eased the point of the knife very carefully into the open wound.

  “It has moved,” he whispered. “I can see it beneath the muscle.”

  “Can you remove it?”

  “Not without endangering his life. He’s been fortunate for it might have moved to a less favourable position. Instead it has come to the fore – almost.”

  Cecilie found she’d been clenching her teeth so hard that her jaw hurt.

  “Try, Tarjei. Please try!”

  “That’s what I’m doing.”

  “Why is the swelling so great?”

  “It’s the bullet. I believed that it might have been drawn out when the pus began to flow but it didn’t. The inflammation was in the flesh where the bullet entered his body. Now stay quiet; let me see.”
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br />   The silence in the room grew heavy. The dark sheen of the furniture reflected the warm glow of the candlelight. Wilhelmsen was terrified when he looked at Tarjei. He didn’t know this boy, he’d never heard of his grandfather and had no idea what secrets lay behind the high, wide forehead, which at that moment was wrinkled in thought. He was saying a silent prayer that the youth before him wouldn’t do anything ill judged.

  Little by little, Tarjei’s fingers probed deeper into Alexander’s back. Tarjei moved with great caution and deftness, and from time to time he was making new, careful incisions with the knife and asking for more napkins. Cecilie watched anxiously as they gradually disappeared.

  She could feel the perspiration dripping from her forehead. It was caused as much by her anxiety as the heat from the candles.

  Throughout the makeshift operation, Alexander hadn’t moved at all. He was lying so absolutely still that Cecilie stretched out her hand and rested it lightly on his back to feel if he was still breathing. To her enormous relief, she found that he was.

  Then Tarjei gritted his teeth and pushed his fingers downward with a sudden, determined movement. Alexander jerked violently in response for the first time and recoiled twice more in a fierce spasm.

  “Hold him still!” hissed Tarjei. “Both of you.”

  As Tarjei spoke, Cecilie was sure she saw a grimace of satisfaction cross his face – and a sudden surge of hope ran through her because she thought she knew why. Alexander had reacted and felt pain where before he’d been numb. Now she and Wilhelmsen were having to do their best to keep Alexander from moving by pressing down his shoulders.

  “I think I have it,” Tarjei said with a little murmur of triumph. “Just one minute more!” His left hand riffled among his instruments and found a strange sort of knife with a very twisted blade. Seeing the questioning look on Cecilie’s face, he said simply: “I’ve done this before!”

  Wilhelmsen and Cecilie were now restraining a patient who was regaining consciousness and she leaned closer to him to whisper in his ear.

  “Tarjei has come, Alexander. He’s operating and he has the bullet. Try to lie very still!”

  Alexander did his best but she could feel his body becoming tense and rigid as he fought the pain. He began to perspire and it became increasingly difficult to hold him down.

  “Relax,” said Tarjei, but it was easier said than done.

  Wilhelmsen picked up the glass of brandy he’d poured earlier and helped Alexander to take a few deep gulps.

  Tarjei waited while the alcohol took effect but his fingers kept a firm grip on the bullet. Blood was trickling out from the wound and Cecilie gently wiped away as much as she could. Then, as Tarjei had done earlier, she washed the wound with the solution wherever her fingers could reach.

  Tarjei had produced a new instrument, a thin pair of tongs, which he asked her to hold in readiness. She watched as he pushed the twisted knife carefully down and around the bullet and took the tongs from her. Then very quickly he positioned them both to get a good firm grip on it. Alexander screamed very loudly, but suddenly it no longer mattered that he moved: Tarjei was holding the bullet in his hand and there was a look of triumph on his face.

  But this moment of triumph lasted for only a moment.

  “Quickly, Cecilie, put your finger here! And the other hand here, we must stop the bleeding! Press as hard as you can!”

  Alexander took no notice of what happened after that. He had fainted, as had Cecilie. The room had begun to spin dizzyingly and the last thing she felt was Wilhelmsen’s strong grip on her arm. A little later she woke up and found herself slumped in a chair in her own bedroom. She decided at once that it would be best if she remained there.

  ***

  Back in his own bedroom, Alexander let out a yell. Tarjei’s heavy-handed treatment had obviously brought him back to consciousness. He yelled again, not as loudly the second time, but it was obvious that he was in great pain.

  “That’s enough,” said Tarjei. “Last year I sewed several stitches in the delicate skin of a young girl who hadn’t had a crafty swig of brandy beforehand as you have. She didn’t make a sound, and she was no more than nine or ten years old!”

  Alexander responded to this with a string of foul abuse but at least it put a stop to his screams. A few minutes later, Tarjei allowed Cecilie back in to see Alexander. He told her that he’d have to lie on his stomach for the first few days. Alexander wasn’t yet out of danger and so Tarjei promised to stay at Gabrielshus for one more week.

  Once the others had left the room, Cecilie bent down beside Alexander’s bed, determined to overcome the embarrassment of her ill-considered declaration of affection earlier that day.

  “Hello,” she said softly.

  “Hello there!” he replied, still perspiring with fever. “You did very well!”

  “The things I’ll do for you!” she answered. “Now you must rest. One of us will stay close by.”

  “Thank you.”

  Because she’d recovered in her room for some time, Cecilie watched over him first and Tarjei rested on her bed in case he’d be needed urgently.

  There were only two candles burning by the bedside now and she could just make out the dark hair that formed curls in the nape of Alexander’s neck.

  ‘So now he knows,’ she thought, feeling slightly pitiable. ‘I’ve revealed my true feelings. But what else could I do? He was dying and believed he had nobody in the world who cared for him. Of course it was foolish of me. It didn’t put a smile on his face, it only made him uncomfortable – and feel sorry for me. And yet I couldn’t let it remain unsaid. The urge to tell him came from deep within me. But at least he was pleased that I stayed here with him after I’d lost the child,’ Cecilie told herself, drawing comfort from the memory. ‘And that was despite the fact that he’d never be able to leave me and form dangerous relationships again. And he told me once how happy it had made him. So he does care for me – a little. As a friend. It’s just as well I didn’t tell him about the secret dreams I’ve had of him in the silent hours of the night,’ she thought, blushing inwardly. ‘Those irresistible temptations, the forbidden yearnings! Those are things he’d never forgive me for. ’

  She stopped her flow of thoughts, considering painfully the biggest question of them all. Can an intimate friendship such as ours really continue in this way between a man and a woman? I don’t believe it can – not over time. Sooner or later one of them will want to cross the line between friendship and love. And maybe this is where friendship comes to an end. All that’s left then might be despair for the unhappy one – and icy coldness from the other.

  ***

  Alexander was in a critical condition for several days, and everybody at Gabrielshus was on tenterhooks. Cecilie was probably the worst of all. But slowly, ever so slowly, he began to recover. After ten days, Tarjei told them that the wound was healing well and that he was going to continue his journey back to Norway. On the day on which he’d planned to leave, Cecilie went to ask him something about Alexander and found him writing a letter.

  “Who are you writing to?” she asked. “To Mama Meta?”

  “No,” he replied smiling and putting his hand over the paper. “I’m writing to a young lady.”

  “Well, Tarjei!” Cecilie exclaimed with delight. “How exciting! Who is she? What does she look like?”

  He bent his head thoughtfully to one side. “Very pretty – long dark tresses, big beautiful eyes and sweetly shaped lips. Skin soft as a rose petal.”

  “She sounds wonderful. Is she of good family?”

  “Born a countess. She lives in a fine castle.”

  “Goodness me! And how does she behave? With confidence, would you say?”

  “Oh, yes! I have to say that she does like to embrace a lot ...”

  “That’s a little outrageous.”

  “It is. And she�
�s often snotty-nosed!”

  “Tarjei! Please!”

  “And she’ll soon be eleven years old!”

  Cecilie stared at him and he gazed mischievously back at her. Then she burst into laughter.

  “You scoundrel! You tricked me! And I was happy to believe that you’d found a young lady at last!”

  “At last? I’m only nineteen.”

  “You’ve always seemed older than your age, Tarjei,” she said seriously.

  His smile waned suddenly. “Yes, I suppose I have. I grew up quickly working with Granddad all those years ago.”

  “Yes, you inherited the treasures of the Ice People at far too young an age. But he knew that he was soon to die.”

  “True. He taught me so many secret things that a child shouldn’t know. But what made me a man was when Sunniva died and Kolgrim was born. That was when my childhood also died, Cecilie.”

  She nodded. “I wasn’t at home then but I don’t think I could have endured such a terrible thing.”

  “No. When Kolgrim was born, it was as if fear had gripped a doomed world. That was how it felt to me. I was held by something horrifying – something that predicted uncertainty. It was a feeling that I’ve never been able to explain. I feared for my life, Cecilie.” He paused. “Kolgrim has changed since then.”

  “Has he?” she asked softly.

  Tarjei looked at the floor. “I’ve been away for so long. I’ve only heard how pleased everyone is with the change in him. Neither should we forget that he’s only a child and thinks as a child. I think his future is bright. But now I want to return home as fast as I can. I’ll see if I can involve him in good things – it will be interesting to see him again. Oh, Cecilie, I’ll be so happy to be back home at long last!”

  She’d been thinking of something else while he was speaking. Now with a start she said: “Yes, I remember what I was about to ask you. What are we to do about the treatment I was giving Alexander?”