Ida Brandt

by Herman Bang

  “We’ll put that on the worktable,” said Ida.

  There was a knock on the door, but it was only Nurse Kjær.

  “Oh-h, this is fun,” she said, standing at the end of the table. “It looks splendid.”

  All the candles were lit, and three lamps shone down on the flowers.

  “Yes, don’t you think so?” said Ida, happily shaking her head. “But just watch now,” she said and she lit the small lamps, yellow and red, around the table.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” said Nurse Kjær again, surveying the silver and the flowers and the puddings. “That’s splendid.”

  “Yes,” said Nurse Helgesen: “It’s quite festive. And the room is not too small by any means.”

  Ida wanted to go, but there was a knock on the door again. It was a porter with compliments from Dr Quam. Dr Quam had at the last moment felt the need to contribute something and had bought a box of candied plums with a coloured picture of a Spanish dancer on the lid.

  “They are princess plums,” said Nurse Kjær, who knew the label. Nurse Helgesen put the fruit on one side.

  “It’s so nice of the doctors to show an interest in one.”

  Ida was up in her room, where her yellow dress still lay in its large muslin cover. She had just lit the spirit lamp in front of the mirror when there was a knock at the door. It was Nurse Boserup, who really had to “borrow something to have around my neck”.

  “Are you waving your hair?” she said suddenly from over in the middle of the floor.

  “Well, I was just trying,” said Ida blushing deeply.

  Boserup had found a tulle shawl with long fringes in one of Ida’s drawers.

  “Are you going to use those two pins?” she said suddenly, pointing to a solitaire that she took and fixed to the shawl while at the same time expressing the opinion that waving only made one’s face look older.

  “No, it really looks nice in the light,” said Ida.

  “Oh well, if you can be bothered. You wouldn’t catch me doing it. But there’s no accounting for taste. Goodbye, I’ll see you later.”

  Ida locked the door; she wanted to be alone now that she was going to put her dress on.

  The nurses had arrived downstairs, one after the other, each new arrival being greeted with exclamations at her dress. “Oh, just look at Friis, oh, just look at Friis,” they shouted, and then they fell silent again; no one really knew what to say because they all felt they had to say something more than usual; and yet again they started to talk about the table standing in the middle of the room and looking almost too splendid, while Nurse Helgesen kept saying that they should sit down; and the nurses sat along the walls, with their shoes poking out from under their dresses, as though they had never been in this room before.

  Only Nurse Friis, sitting in an easy chair a little away from the wall and with her hands crossed on her lap, reviewed it all and stopped at the outdoor plant on the worktable.

  “That must be Boserup’s,” she said to Nurse Kjær. “Heavens, it’s like her to limit herself to that sort of price. But the table looks nice.”

  “It was Ida who arranged it,” said Nurse Kjær, going around to everyone and saying: “That’s Ida.” She always called her by her Christian name when she was not present.

  Ida felt that she became all flushed as she stood outside the door and then opened it and entered and Kjær shouted:

  “Miss has been waving her hair.”

  All the ladies rose from their seats and Nurse Kjær and Nurse Friis clapped their hands until everyone followed suit, while Ida stood there, blushing in the light, and a whole circle formed around her yellow dress.

  “She looks wonderful,” said Nurse Kjær, breaking out of the circle and embracing Ida as though she wanted to crush her.

  Things had become a little livelier, and Nurse Helgesen was heard to say that perhaps they could begin, when there was another knock on the door. It was Eichbaum and Quam, who shook Nurse Helgesen’s hand and said: “No, we’ve not been invited, but we assumed our honest faces would ensure that we could come in.” Meanwhile, Karl went around making deep bows, dressed in a Parisian frock coat, the lining of which rustled a bit when he moved.

  Nurse Helgesen, who was quite flattered by his formal manner, said:

  “Mr von Eichbaum, it was so kind of you,” and she took his long, cool hand before Karl bowed once more, while Josefine, high-bosomed and with hussar’s braiding on her dress, offered the sauce around and the ladies, a little slowly and almost solemnly started to help themselves to the pudding. But Quam, who stood there looking around at all those tightly corseted nurses, said to Nurse Kaas:

  “This is too damned formal.”

  And he took the Madeira and started to fill the glasses to liven up the mood. “Nurse Brandt,” he said, “you must help me.”

  Ida emerged from the corner over by the bleeding heart plant, where Nurse Friis had until that moment been examining the yellow leaves like some kind of specialist, and she took the tray with the glasses.

  “Have you provided this?” said Karl in a strangely quiet voice as he took a glass.

  He stood there with his glass.

  “You look so lovely,” he said in the same tone, and she felt that she simply did not recognise his voice.

  She spoke without looking up, presumably saying something about his flower.

  “One has to do something to be welcome,” said Karl, but it was as though he was giving her some secret message.

  Then Nurse Kjær came from behind and put her arm around Ida.

  “Yes, isn’t she beautiful?” she said, as it were drawing her close.

  “Yes, I can hardly recognise you ladies,” said Karl.

  “No,” said Nurse Kjær: “We so rarely dress up.”

  Ida went on. She seemed to be so graceful in appearance, so delicate, as she bent forward over the nurses and offered them a glass.

  “What did that dress cost you?” asked Boserup as Ida went past, and the nurse sitting beside her laughed. Quam was telling stories down at the end of the table and the ladies moved their chairs closer together and rose and helped themselves. Ida could hear that Karl was also laughing over there by Nurse Kjær.

  “Brandt made the pudding,” Josefine announced as she went round offering it to the others.

  “There was a cry of delight when the door opened to Sister Koch, and Quam shouted: “Cheers, Sister Koch,” while they all drank to her.

  “Oh, there are men here as well,” said Sister Koch, whose party dress was limited to a clean collar.

  “Yes, two,” said Karl with a bow.

  “So I see,” said Sister Koch, and they laughed again.

  They started laughing at anything, talking in loud voices, talking past each other, while Nurse Boserup discussed the association and Nurse Kjær and Nurse Krohn made themselves corsages from the flowers on the table.

  “Kjær’s stealing, Kjær’s stealing,” came a shout from the other end.

  “It’s becoming lively here,” said Ida; she was radiant as she went past Karl.

  Nurse Boserup continued talking about the association: they were naturally not getting any backing from the King Frederik Hospital.

  But Quam shouted from down at the end of the table:

  “We don’t want to hear about that, we don’t want to hear about that,” and he banged his spoon on his plate.

  “We don’t want to hear about that, we don’t want to hear about that,” they all chorused.

  They all knocked their spoons on their plates – all except Nurse Helgesen and Nurse Kaas – and all the ladies laughed, while Boserup drew her chair back and said: “I didn’t know there were children here as well.”

  “Well there are,” said Quam, and they all banged their spoons on their plates.

  “Sshh,” said Nurse Helgesen.

  There were two knocks on the door.

  “Hush, the patients can hear us.” It was the night watchman.

  They suddenly all fell quiet, wi
th the same expression on their faces; and they heard the door again, the door in to the “noisy ward”.

  “Never mind,” said Quam: “They damned well make plenty of noise often enough.”

  But Nurse Kaas, taking advantage of the silence, rose, while Nurse Helgesen as though of her own accord moved up to the place of honour near the flowers, and Nurse Kaas tapped her glass.

  Karl slipped past Ida. They had said little to each other, but it was as though he was always where she was.

  “Are you not going to sit down?” he said.

  And she seated herself on a chair close to where he was standing.

  “Is it not hot in here?” she said, putting a hand to her forehead.

  Although seemingly only speaking with half her voice, as though the night watchman’s knock on the door was still resounding in their ears, Nurse Kaas made a speech in praise of Nurse Helgesen as one of those who raised the standing of their profession.

  “Now we must give three quiet cheers,” said Quam.

  He beat the time with his hands and whispered “Hip, hip…” the others joining in, whispering in the same way, pouting their lips and laughing quietly.

  “That was that,” said Quam: “That’s how loud you shout hurrah in Ward Six.”

  “Now we’ll chink glasses,” he said, and, walking on tiptoe, with his glass in his hand, he led the way while the others tiptoed after him, treading carefully on the floor, in single file, up to Helgesen.

  “Hurrah,” said Quam.

  “And thank you for the Madeira.”

  Sister Koch said: “Oh, I suppose I’ d better join in,” and she stepped in behind Ida, with an empty glass. But from down in her place Nurse Boserup said:

  “You must excuse me for chinking from my place.”

  “Well, it’s you I must thank first of all,” said Nurse Helgesen, chinking her glass with Ida.

  “Oh,” said Ida, surveying the flowers and candles and everyone there. “This is such a wonderful evening.”

  Josefine, who had been up to fetch more wine from Ida’s room, was standing down by the door with Nurse Kjær.

  “She really has such a lovely face,” she said.

  Sister Koch turned to her empty glass. “Have you got a drop more for me?” Josefine hurried to fill the ward sister’s glass. “Yes, thank you for looking after me,” said Sister Koch to Nurse Helgesen.

  “This was where you were sitting,” whispered Karl to Ida.

  And Ida sat down as before.

  But Sister Koch thought it was time for coffee now, assuming they were to have coffee. Quam offered her a cigar, and Karl passed the cigarettes around while they all, secretly, looked at his fine silver cigarette case. “May we?” said Nurse Kjær looking at Nurse Helgesen. But Nurse Friis was a gifted exponent of the art of smoking and could blow blue smoke rings down among the white candles before they were dispersed.

  “Look at that,” said Ida. She was watching the fine smoke.

  “I think we should have a song now,” said Nurse Krohn.

  Nurse Helgesen wanted to raise objections, but Nurse Krohn said: “We’ll only hum of course. We often do in our rooms.”

  “Ida,” she said, “you lead. Let’s sing ‘Fly bird, fly’.”

  They moved the chairs a little further back, and, half humming as they looked into the candles, they quietly sang:

  Fly, bird, fly, o’er the darkening lake

  Darkness descends on the ling.

  Now will the sun the deep forest forsake

  Day has once more taken wing.

  They continued to sing in low voices, as though far away behind a closed door. Nurse Kjær gently rocked backwards and forwards, and Nurse Helgesen joined in, singing in her contralto voice. Josefine, who was standing at the door as though on guard, joined in as well, with her hands on her hips.

  A singer am I and so must I know

  The joys and the sorrows of love.

  All that the heart can suffer of woe

  That must I sing of, my dove.

  The singing ceased, but no one moved.

  “Now they’ve bought Ludvigsbakke,” said Karl.

  “Have they?” She turned half toward him. There were tears in her eyes.

  “Yes.”

  They started to sing again.

  “Are they going to pull the big house down?” asked Ida slowly and very quietly.

  “Yes,” said Karl.

  The others went on singing, but Karl said, and Ida scarcely heard the words:

  “We should have had it.”

  Ida did not move.

  But suddenly Quam interrupted the singing:

  “If we’ re going to sing, we must have less light in here.” And he set about blowing out the candles in the candelabra, while Nurse Friis laughed and helped him. “Now,” said Quam, “the big lamps as well. But the stars must shine.” And he left Ida’s small lamps to burn on.

  “But then we must open the door to the stove,” said Nurse Kjær. She failed to get it open and said: “Ida, come and help me.” Ida got up and opened the door. “Sit here,” said Nurse Kjær, pulling her down on the little pouffe.

  “There,” said Quam. “Now the lighting’s right.”

  They started to sing again, perhaps rather more slowly, with their faces turned towards the glowing coals. Ida had closed her eyes.

  Fly, oh bird, fly o’er the waters’ dark surge

  Now draws the night its deep sigh,

  Whisper the trees with tremulous urge

  Telling that morning is nigh.

  The singing stopped. Round about in the darkness, the tiny glows of the cigarettes could be seen along with Sister Koch’s cigar, which was like a sort of lighthouse.

  “Don’t you know a song about Jutland?” said Karl quietly but audibly over in the dark.

  “Yes, Ida does,” said Nurse Krohn.

  “Oh yes, sing one,” said Nurse Berg. Ida had not reacted.

  “Sing,” whispered Nurse Kjær.

  Looking up into the darkness, clearly but very gently, while it looked as though she was only half opening her lips, Ida sang the song about Jutland.

  Jutland here betwixt two seas

  Like a runic stone does lie…

  She hardly stopped after the first verse, but continued to sing. Nurse Kjær had leant her head on her shoulder.

  “That’s a jolly nice song,” said Quam when Ida stopped; but Karl said nothing, he merely sat staring at her face.

  “Come on now, Eichbaum,” said Quam. “Now we’ re jolly well going to have a dance.”

  There was subdued laughter and shouting in the darkness. “Are you mad, doctor,” said Nurse Helgesen, who loved to dance.

  But Quam had lit a wax matchstick. “Be careful of all those things, be careful,” shouted Nurse Kjær, who had got up as though she intended to hold on to them herself. And in no time the table had been moved aside and the chairs were gone.

  Nurse Kjær and Nurse Krohn sang, still quietly, over by the stove, while Quam swung Nurse Helgesen so the steps could be heard in the dark.

  “Shall we?” said Karl with a bow. He chose Nurse Friis.

  Ida joined in the singing. It was as though her voice led the others in greater joy than she herself realised.

  “This is fine,” said Quam. He and Nurse Helgesen waltzed past in the semi-darkness like a pair of great shadows. There Karl glided past, so upright, with Nurse Friis.

  “Let us,” said Nurse Kaas to Nurse Boserup, and they started to dance. Nurse Boserup led.

  Quam nudged Josefine who had come forward a little to watch the ward sister letting herself go.

  “This is lovely,” said Nurse Helgesen when they stopped.

  No one was singing except Nurse Kjær and Nurse Friis now that Eichbaum had released her.

  “Come on,” said Karl, and Ida followed him.

  They did not speak as they danced slowly, in the darkness. Nurse Kjær, who was still sitting on the pouffe, sang more gently. The wicks in the small lamps f
luttered a little until they went out.

  “They’ve stopped singing,” whispered Ida.

  All was quiet for a while, as though they were all tired, and the tiny lights from the cigarettes had gone out all around.

  “Well, I think it would be best if we had our faces illuminated,” said Sister Koch, starting to light the lamps again. The ladies blinked in the glare as though they had just wakened.

  “Well,” said Quam: “I think we should drink to Nurse Brandt. Damn it all, it was she who made the pudding.”

  He drank to Ida, and Nurse Kjær ran around to ensure they all had glasses in their hands.

  “Yes, she deserved that,” said Nurse Kjær.

  Josefine, who was standing by the table putting the plates together, touched Ida’s back from behind and also wanted to drink to her, in secret.

  “This is my first glass,” she said, and she had tears in her eyes.

  Karl came over to Ida and chinked his glass against hers.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  It was not long before they broke up, but Ida wanted to stay and help Nurse Helgesen prepare for the night. She said goodbye to Quam, who was already standing in the doorway, and to Karl.

  “Goodnight,” she said, taking his hand.

  “Goodbye,” said Karl, still in the same tone.

  Ida stayed with Nurse Helgesen. They put the flowers in water and they cleared the table. Ida put the sofa down and made her bed. Then she went.

  All was quiet in the noisy ward and there was a light on for Nurse Petersen who was on night duty. Ida went slowly upstairs with her candle.

  “It’s me,” said Karl suddenly from up in the darkness on the stairs.

  Ida started and made no reply; her face was merely pale against the raised candle, but she opened her door and closed it behind them.

  “Was it all right I came?” whispered Karl.

  Ida smiled at him:

  “Yes,” she said.

  ∞∞∞

  Morning had arrived.

  Karl sat on the edge of Ida’s bed.