Barbara

by Jorgen-Frantz Jacobsen

  And something could happen, of course.

  The door had once more been opened to the storm and the din. No one had noticed it during the confrontation – it was probably some woman or other. Now they all saw that the new arrival was Barbara, the judge’s daughter.

  Everything was different all of a sudden. Even Gabriel was different. Beach Flea had stopped in the middle of the word bamboozler; his fist fell like some idiotic accidental shot on the royal desk. There he stood, in his stocking feet, Oh Jesus, putting on an act!

  It was not that Barbara enjoyed any particular respect. She spoke kindly to the ordinary men and was never haughty. But when, on an evening of storm and wind, the sun suddenly shines on the circle of men…

  “Have you any silk ribbons that I could buy?” came the sound of her voice.

  “Silk ribbons.” Gabriel pulled himself together. “Oh, silk ribbons.”

  Barbara, the sun, suddenly developed a knowledgeable wrinkle between her eyes, pouted and started to choose and reject. Beach Flea very cautiously tiptoed out to his place, but – Barbara’s skirt was hiding his clogs.

  “But we shall be having some more silk ribbons tomorrow,” said Gabriel. A gleam came into his eyes.

  “Tomorrow?”

  Her voice suggested amazement.

  “Yes, or the day after.”

  “What do you mean?” Barbara’s voice suggested still more amazement but at the same time bordered on laughter.

  “Oh, do stop it, Barbara,” said Gabriel affectionately: “Don’t try to kid me that you are the only person in the whole of Tórshavn not to know that the Fortuna is off Nolsoy.”

  “God knows…”

  Barbara became obstinate, and indignation started competing with the slight laugh that rose in her throat.

  “Aye,” Beach Flea intervened now, standing with his legs apart and making explaining movements with his hands, “we saw it, Tommassa Ole and Marcus the Cellar and Samuel the Hoist and me, while we were out fishing this morning.”

  Barbara suddenly let the sun shine on Beach Flea.

  “Did you? Then why is she not coming in?”

  Beach Flea was bathed in light and felt honoured and he eagerly shook his head. “No, there’s no getting into the harbour here in this weather.”

  “Oh no, of course.”

  “And haven’t you heard of the new Vágar parson, who’s on it either, Barbara?” asked Gabriel.

  “Of course I know that a new parson’s coming for Vágar.”

  She sounded a little irritated and abandoned the silk ribbons.

  “Aye, as I say,” Gabriel went on, “when the ship arrives tomorrow or the day after, you can have all the silk ribbons you want. But I suppose that’ll be too late?”

  “What do you mean?” Barbara was again somewhere between being insulted and smiling.

  “Nothing. I simply mean that’ll be too late to bedeck yourself for the parson. Because then he’ll already be here.”

  The men looked at Gabriel in amazement. He was certainly Barbara’s cousin. But to taunt her in just the same way as he taunted anyone else…! They gave her a furtive look. There she stood in the golden candle light with a smile on her lips. Not at all angry. It was almost as though she felt some subtle delight in the revelation.

  Then she turned towards Niels the Punt, with her voice full of delight: “Is your little daughter better, Niels? I will come round with something for her tomorrow.”

  She went towards the door and started to push it open. Beach Flea, who had got his clogs on meanwhile, sprang across to help her. There was just a trace of a smile in his angry face after she had gone. They were probably all smiling a little. Something in her laughter as it rose in her throat seemed to float there like some melodic sound in the scent of cardamom. A vision had come and gone. The shabby men had become reverential.

  But then Gabriel broke the silence: “This is a bit bloody thick! I’ll swear that she’ll be going down tomorrow to entice the new parson when he comes ashore just as she did with Pastor Niels and Pastor Anders when they arrived.”

  There was outrage in Gabriel’s voice.

  Oh of course. They all knew that story. Barbara was already the widow of two parsons, Pastor Jonas on the Northern Islands and Pastor Niels on Vágar. Pastor Niels had died only a year ago. A third, Pastor Anders of Næs, with whom she had been betrothed in between, had had second thoughts in time. He had not suffered a tragic fate. It was said that Barbara had brought about the deaths of both the men to whom she had been married. There had been a lot of talk about this in various places in the islands, and some people had called her evil Barbara. But that was probably mainly in the outlying villages. Those who knew Barbara said that she was not evil by any means. And as for the people of Tórshavn, her fellow-townspeople, she had never been at cross purposes with them. On the contrary. But Gabriel simply had to find something scornful to say.

  Ole the stocking buyer and Rebekka’s Poul came in from the warehouse with their lamp. They had finished. And it was time now to go home for supper. All the men broke up and tramped out among the pack houses, over Reyn, past the church and home to their huts.

  Gabriel was suddenly alone in his shop. He was a big man, a king to his customers, and now everyone had heard that he could even go as far as to taunt Barbara. But it hurt Gabriel a little somewhere or other deep down inside. He was only human. And in his merchant soul, too, there resided a hidden touch of folly. It was nothing. Perhaps it was simply a little dog howling at the moon when no one could hear it. He was all right; he had his wages and he earned a little extra. And he would probably be made manager one day. Or perhaps even bailiff, for he had good contacts. And as for his lonely state, there was always Angelika, who came to him in his lodgings when he wanted her to. Everything was well organised; he managed well. But now there was this cousin Barbara, who had been married to two clergymen. She had celebrated weddings with far more men; he was well aware of that; he was bright, and nothing went unnoticed. It was a disgrace to the family and a source of scandal in general. But if things came to that pass, why had she never celebrated a little wedding with him? It was such an obvious thing. It could surely be arranged quite easily.

  But now this new parson was coming.

  The little dog inside Gabriel started howling pitifully with its snout right up in the air. Then he suddenly had an idea. He exploded in a little whistle: Of course!

  When, shortly afterwards he was in the manager’s office with the keys, his plan had been laid.

  “Where have you been, Barbara Christina?” asked Magdalene, the judge’s widow, somewhat coldly and testily. She had been sitting by the bureau in the best room going through some old things.

  Barbara was cold and more or less wet through after being caught in a shower. “You are always at that bureau, mother. Why don’t you stay out here in the hearth room, where it’s warm?”

  “Good heavens, I have put some peat in the stove.”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t give off any heat, as you well know.”

  They ate their supper in silence. Then the mother returned to her fine room with the bureau and the two poor miniatures hanging on the whitewashed walls. “Don’t you think your father might have kept some money hidden in a secret compartment in the bureau?” she asked in the doorway.

  “You ask that question every day. I don’t believe that story any longer. If there were any, we would have found that compartment long ago.”

  When Gabriel knocked on the door and entered an hour later, he found Barbara dressed in a woollen petticoat and sitting close to the fire. A pair of stockings had carelessly been thrown down just as she had pulled them off. She was sleepy and tired, and the arrival of her cousin awoke no feelings of femininity in her.

  Magdalene came in from the sitting room and asked her nephew what news he had. “Don’t sit like that,” she said, turning to her daughter. “You could put some more clothes on.”

  “Oh, Gabriel’s no stranger,” said Barbara
sullenly.

  No, Gabriel was no stranger. He could sit here and see her white arms and neck – as a matter of course, too much of a matter of course. That was the trouble with it. Her skin was uniquely lustrous. Could that be because she had been in the tub?

  It was not long before Magdalene went back again. But Barbara yawned.

  “Barbara, would you like some silk ribbons and clothes and that sort of thing?” asked Gabriel in a voice that was suddenly confidential in tone.

  Barbara started; her eyes suddenly sprang to life and her voice took on a warm tone: “Have you got some?”

  “I might be able to get something for you.”

  “Where? Where?” Her entire body had suddenly come to life; her face shone in radiant, almost comical anticipation.

  “You mustn’t say a word about it,” said Gabriel.

  “Of course not,” she shouted impatiently; she was trembling, radiant and secretive. That little laugh of hers rose in her throat.

  “I have quite a lot out there in my place,” whispered Gabriel.

  “Do you mean that? Out in the store. Shall we go straight away?”

  It took only a moment: a chest was opened, a drawer pulled out, and Barbara was again in skirts and shoes with a scarf around her neck and deeply complicit. Gabriel was a little taken aback, and his mouth relaxed.

  At that moment, Suzanne Harme, the bailiff’s daughter, arrived.

  “Isn’t this fun,” burbled Barbara: “What do you think? I’m going over to the Store with Gabriel to look at some silks and dresses that he has there. Isn’t that exciting? It’s so nice you came.”

  That was not what Gabriel was thinking. A great hope sank within him. Bloody hell!

  “Over in the shop?” said Suzanne. She seemed to shudder a little. She was dark and elegant. She wrinkled her forehead.

  “Isn’t it just so exciting?” Barbara repeated.

  “I don’t know. Now, this evening? Won’t it attract attention? And father’s the bailiff, you know.”

  “You don’t usually bother very much about that,” Gabriel burst out. “But we can manage perfectly well without you, you know.”

  “Oh no.” Barbara didn’t agree.

  “Well, father has an office in the Store,” said Suzanne. “And what if we are caught, Gabriel?”

  “Oh. Don’t you think the bailiff’s ever sold a yard of material? What about that time the Dutch East-Indiaman was here? But in any case the bailiff’s office isn’t up there in my space – at least not this evening.”

  “Mother, I’m going across to Suzanne’s for a while,” Barbara shouted as they went out. They made their way through Gongin in pitch darkness. The rain was gusting malevolently, both from above and below. They groped their way forward and had to tread very carefully.

  “But this is smuggling,” Suzanne determined.

  Barbara uttered a deep laugh. Exciting. She had to take Gabriel’s arm. Gongin was the only continuous street in Tórshavn. Otherwise just a few odd alleyways between the scattered houses and huts, Skot as they were called, often so narrow that there was scarcely room for two people to pass. They reached the top of Reyn, Reyn, where the school, the parsonage, Reynegaard, and the church stood. They went across the churchyard. Behind the church, in Church Alley, was the entrance to the shop, the northernmost of the buildings belonging to the Royal Store. Gabriel put a huge key in the lock. The pitch darkness, the sudden silence and the heavy air felt oppressive to the two young women as they stepped into the blackness of the warehouse. Gabriel felt his way forward, finally found a lamp, struck a light and lit it. They ascended a steep staircase and crossed the long loft. Their shadows fluttered across the creaking floor planks. The withered roots of the grass on the roof hung down here and there between the rafters. Suzanne shuddered and clung to Barbara.

  They went into Gabriel’s lodging over in one of the gables. It was a small room with alcoves, a wall cupboard and chests.

  “Do you never come across Master Naaber here?” asked Suzanne in a voice suggesting mirth mixed with anxiety.

  “Master Naaber – who’s that?” asked Gabriel.

  “Don’t you know? No, of course you weren’t born here. All the people of Tórshavn are frightened of him. He is supposed to haunt the lofts out here in Tórshavn at night.”

  “I’ve never seen him.”

  “He wears a black, pointed hood and talks to himself. And when he looks at you, he has yellow eyes.”

  Gabriel didn’t like to hear this. He started to light some candles, making rather a noise as he did so.

  “Haven’t you seen the Council either?” Suzanne went on.

  “The Council, what are you talking about?”

  “Yes, the Council.” Suzanne’s eyes opened wide. “The seven men. They meet in one of the buildings – I don’t know which – and sit at a long table.”

  It was beginning to run cold down Gabriel’s spine. Suzanne was carried away with her own words. Her face was just a little distorted. Her voice was low and tense: “Several people have seen them. They sit there quite silently and write and write and seal letters.”

  “Be quiet,” shouted Barbara vehemently. A shudder went through her and she gave a rather weak smile.

  “You’re crazy,” said Gabriel.

  They all fell silent. The weak light from the candlestick quite failed to penetrate into all the corners in the little room. Bare woodwork, dark from age, could be glimpsed through the magic wrought by the gloom. Suzanne’s eyes were still curiously radiant. But then Gabriel started to unpack, and colours blossomed from mysterious hiding places. The little room was suddenly transformed, the oppressive feel broken. Greedy female hands grabbed after the materials and spread them out; white fingers ran through crackling silks; the poor furnishings were bathed in light and radiance. At first there was nothing but silent wonderment and shining eyes. A hushed springtime had been created beneath Master Naaber’s turf roof – it rose mound-like on four planks; the two women sat spellbound.

  Gabriel, shopkeeper and lover, played his cards intelligently; he did not waste his trumps, but went about things in a matter-of-fact manner and allowed the drama to develop like a firework display. The occasion was his. He did not break the silence, but simply let one miracle take place after the other.

  “But Gabriel,” said Suzanne in a sudden fit of reason, “where did you get all this?”

  “Do I need to tell you? I haven’t stolen it.”

  “You must have been dealing on the quiet with some sly Dutchman or Englishman.”

  Gabriel made no attempt to deny that. It sounded quite good. The truth was actually that it was one of the Royal Store’s own skippers he had been working with.

  “And you have silk stockings as well,” exclaimed Barbara in amazement and delight.

  “Goods are power,” thought Gabriel. He suddenly had a vision of Barbara’s wet woollen stockings that had lain by the fireplace, all drab and ordinary. He thought he had made a splendid trick and made another bid: “Just look here.”

  He took a pair of brocade shoes out and placed them beside Barbara’s feet, which were all dirty with mud from the street.

  Both women were wide-eyed. Barbara drew her feet back, a little embarrassed by the contrast, but a moment later she wanted to try the shoes. Gabriel had no objection to this; indeed he even wanted to help her, knelt down and removed her shoe. Barbara’s foot was simply in a coarse woollen stocking, but never mind about that – small and supple as it was it fitted perfectly in the fine shoe; indeed the shoe was, if anything, too big. Oh, that blasted Suzanne! Why had she come? Suddenly, Gabriel saw a dizzying perspective of what lost opportunities the moment held. He had so many things that Barbara would perhaps not have been unwilling to try!

  His heart was thumping. And then it happened that his bright intellect suddenly let him down. He took out a fine garter. Would Barbara like to try that as well?

  Barbara almost gasped and she looked at Suzanne. Then she laughed and said affably:
“But a garter isn’t something to try on, Gabriel.”

  Suzanne looked up, slightly confused, with a brief wrinkle on her brow, and then, with sudden enthusiasm, said, “Let me try those shoes.”

  Barbara rose. “What would a dress in this stuff look like?” she asked, starting to drape herself in some flowered material.

  “Now, if I had a skirt like this and then these shoes,” said Suzanne, shaking her foot a little under a length of silk.

  “Oh, just look here,” exclaimed Barbara enthusiastically. She pulled something out of the pile and held it up to the light.

  Gabriel tried to join in, but they did not listen to him. And suddenly it was clear to him that his wares had completely put him out of the picture. The two women had launched themselves into an intoxicated discussion about clothes; they selected and rejected, felt and tried. Barbara’s eyes were shining; she was shouting with delight; she was becoming more and more beautiful in her enthusiasm for beauty.

  “I think I had better have my dress off,” said Suzanne.

  “I think I will, too,” said Barbara.

  Their dark costumes were wet and shapeless from the rain and made the fine garments damp when they tried them on. Suzanne had already started to undo her bodice when her eyes caught sight of Gabriel:

  “Oh, Gabriel, go and leave us alone for a bit, will you?”

  “Oh, that’s not quite fair,” said Barbara.

  Suzanne directed a thoughtful, searching look at Gabriel. Then she came to a conclusion: “No, we can’t have you in here looking at us.”

  And Gabriel went.

  By chance discovered in his own room and thrown out like an unwelcome dog! He was furious. This was his splendid, great plan. And here he was standing out in the desolate loft. They had probably already forgotten him in there. He went backwards and forwards with his lamp, angry, but also really uncomfortable. Master Naaber! The gale had increased and lay like some unceasing, superior pressure on the building – an inexhaustible song of a thousand voices in torment. He reached the other end of the loft, by the Chapterhouse and looked out through the small window. The west bay was covered in spume and the froth shone through the darkness. The Chapter – were they now sitting at the counsel table somewhere or other in the Royal Store buildings? Perhaps no more than a few yards away. That confounded girl Suzanne – producing that story just this evening. She was not going to have to sleep alone in this building tonight.