Barbara

by Jorgen-Frantz Jacobsen

  The parson was as though intoxicated by it. Christian Scriver’s Treasures of the Soul lay on the table and was so delightfully sweetened. Barbara clapped her hands. She suggested that they should write a sermon straight away – now, immediately. But Pastor Poul said no. He wanted to think about it first. They could start tomorrow.

  Barbara said she would come early the following day. She was so blissfully happy; she kissed him again and again when she went.

  “Now I am sure we shall have a wonderful time together. For, you see,” she added in a quiet voice, “I can now be part of everything you do. Don’t you see?”

  Pastor Poul walked around for a long time and knew neither what he was doing nor what he was saying. He caught himself reciting two lines of a hymn:

  Hallelujah, God is great

  And heaven replies: Amen.

  Barbara came the following day ready to write. She had so many quills with her that the minister had to laugh. He asked whether the geese up in Kalvelien were completely naked now that Barbara was going to write a sermon. But she explained that she had spoiled her pens so because she wrote so quickly.

  She sat down enthusiastically at the table, placed the paper obliquely in front of her, put her head on one side and, as soon as Pastor Poul started to dictate, set about writing eagerly, her tongue protruding just a little from her mouth. Her hair fell a little down over her forehead; her face became more and more flushed as the pen scratched and sputtered.

  Never had Pastor Poul imagined anything like this – that this beautiful woman should become his obedient and eager assistant. His happiness increased like a bubble and grew light and unconstrained. Suddenly, all his emotions deserted him; he thought of other things and had ideas. Barbara’s bookish qualities, God help her, were probably not exactly outstanding. But as she sat there she could presumably be of help to him. Yes, even those simple geese were the instruments of the spirit and learning, for they were the source of the quills. For a moment he was filled with elation. Then he became disheartened. In his relationship with Barbara he had never had any sense of superiority, only of devotion. He felt a deep want and went over and stood by the window and made himself a peephole through the condensation on it. All was green and luxuriant outside, and mist was drifting across the grass.

  Barbara put in a full stop, ceased writing and looked up: “What more?”

  She brushed her hair from her forehead and was flushed with excitement.

  “Let me see what you’ve written.”

  She handed him the sheet. It was adorned with big letters, dancing about enthusiastically, untidily and all rising towards the right top corner of the paper. The spelling was indifferent, but readable.

  Then he discovered something and in a voice full of pain exclaimed, “Jesus.”

  Barbara did not at first understand what he meant. She suddenly blushed scarlet.

  “Barbara. Oh, you can’t even spell Jesus.”

  “Oh.” She quickly snatched the sheet from him, sat down again and with the tip of her tongue between her teeth and with a scratching pen she quickly and determinedly crossed out Jeses and wrote the word properly above it. Then she handed him the paper, happy and almost triumphant.

  But Pastor Poul did not take it. He sat on his chair, pale and staring at her. Barbara grew confused. It looked at first as though she was searching in her bag for some brightly coloured stone with which to gladden him again. But her heart was too wise. She suddenly understood who Jesus was and grew unhappy.

  She went across to Pastor Poul, but he held his face in his hands. She was embarrassed and fiddled uncomfortably with his shoulder and then she gently touched his hair and his cheek, finally whispering quite softly in his ear: “You mustn’t be angry with me.”

  He made a fierce movement.

  “Get away, you… you… it is not me you have to ask for forgiveness.”

  Barbara went over to the window and drew some helpless signs and lines in the condensation. She was miserable, overcome with shame and despair. And the clergyman was filled increasingly with concern. He sat there slumped in his chair. This was the first time there had been an angry word between him and Barbara. He quite forgot his anger. And yet he could not persuade himself to go across to her.

  “Of course,” Barbara finally murmured in a broken voice, “of course this was a terribly silly idea of mine. For I am not worthy… I’m a sinner.”

  And she drew an array of long lines in the condensation. It looked as though she was undertaking some very important task.

  Pastor Poul sat in silence for a time. Then he asked her: “Are you… are you a very great sinner?”

  Barbara turned towards him. Her eyes were intensely fearful as she looked at him.

  “Yes.”

  Then she ran across and knelt before the priest and embraced his knees and hid her face. And so she knelt for a long time without either of them saying a word. But this time it was he who played just a little with her hair.

  He was fundamentally embarrassed. What had he done? He did not know what it was that this reminded him of. Perhaps it was some dream. But it was at any rate something very shameful. He began to see himself as a tiny man, an insignificant man with the pointing finger of a Pharisee. But here was a great sinner, a woman weeping before him.

  Suddenly, he came to think of Simon the Leper’s house and his heart was delivered. He had it. He got up and leafed in the Bible to the seventh chapter of St Luke.

  “Barbara, will you listen?” he asked.

  She nodded, sullen and silent.

  “And behold. A woman in the city who was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster box of ointment, and stood at his feet behind him…”

  Barbara sat in total silence while he read to her. She gave Poul an occasional stolen, frightened look. But he read on to her about the woman’s humility and about the Pharisee’s self-justification, and he reached Jesus’s parable of the man who had two debtors. “The one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell me therefore, which of them will love him most?”

  Barbara started. It was as though something suddenly dawned upon her and she was on the point of making an exclamation.

  But the parson continued to read more of Jesus’s words: “And he turned to the woman and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman?”

  Now Barbara was trembling and she became very embarrassed. For she was the woman, of course, and her heart had turned into an alabaster pot of ointment. Never had she given and never had she received as now.

  “I entered into thy house, thou gavest me no water for my feet; but she hath washed my feet with tears and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest me no kiss, but this woman since the time I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet. My head with oil thou didst not anoint, but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment. Wherefore I say unto thee, her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much, but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little.”

  As these last words were read to her, Barbara started to brighten up. Her golden eyes shone, afraid and happy. But Pastor Poul sat motionless and silent. He was completely taken aback. He had learned something quite new about God’s infinite mercy.

  “Thank you, Poul,” said Barbara. She was dreadfully ashamed. “I thought God had rejected me long ago,” she whispered, embracing him blindly and passionately as never before.

  But Pastor Poul had to say to her, “Dearest of all, I am not the one to be thanked. I will go outside for a time so you can be alone here as in a closet and thank God for His words.”

  How she managed to thank God, Barbara scarcely knew herself. But if it was sweet – and that it undoubtedly was – it was also short. For one two three, she was outside in the open with Pastor Poul, chirping like a bird.

  The fog was dispersing and was now illumined by the sun’s rays. A gentle warmth was weaving its way in through the
drizzle, gently burning their skin. And the green infield of Midvág lay smiling among the figures created by the rising mist. Buttercups and cowslips shone golden in the grass. But every blade was still heavy with dew.

  It was ebb tide now, but that was of no significance.

  Barbara was happy; she took Pastor Poul by the arm and said that they should go up to the lake, to Sørvág Lake.

  When they reached the brown heath, the sun was shining in all its splendour, and the heather and the earth became dry and good to walk on. Pastor Poul walked along pondering at what had happened. It was such an inconceivable joy to him that he could scarcely believe in it. The pearl had been found now, for God and Barbara had become reconciled.

  But Barbara was not thinking so much. She was walking quickly and dancing about. She was a great sinner and Jesus was her friend. She was merely thinking that Pastor Poul was not happy enough. She walked close to him and held on to his arm and interlaced her fingers with his. Then she gave him a consolatory smile and said as though to a child, “You are a sinner as well, aren’t you, Poul? Yes, of course you are. We are both great sinners.”

  Pastor Poul did not know whether to laugh or cry. He said “Alas!” and was both burdened and happy. And Barbara smiled and consoled him still more and was not far off turning to lies and saying that even if he didn’t owe 500 pence, the figure was rapidly approaching 450. But then she held back and gave him a sympathetic look. For in her heart she knew that he did not even owe 50. Poor, good Pastor Poul, she so loved him.

  Pastor Poul had a feeling that her Christianity would not stand a theological test. But he merely smiled at the thought and remembered the words of the Scriptures: unless you turn and become like children… That tinder-dry book The Treasures of the Soul at home on his table had only confused his mind and hidden God’s true love from him.

  They reached the water. There it lay, black and shining, and the green and brown ridges surrounding it were reflected in it. Pastor Poul had often visited these places. When visiting his parishes of ease at Sørvág and Bø or going out on the lonely island of Mikines, this was the way he took. And he had walked out here in lonely, troubled hours. But he had never been out at Sørvág Lake together with Barbara and he felt it was a new, serious world into which he was introducing her. He had had a host of beautiful ideas regarding this area, and he longed to tell her of them.

  There was a cluster of tiny huts by the lakeside. They were not houses for people to live in, but peat stores and boathouses. But it nevertheless still looked like a small village. And just at this time there were a crowd of busy people there. The people of Midvág cut their peat in the summer in the Sørvág fields on the other side of the lake, and this was just the time when the first peat was dry and ready to be transported across the water.

  Pastor Poul and Barbara sat down in the heather. A single, heavily laden boat was approaching land.

  “When I come here,” said the parson, “I always have to think about Lake Gennesareth. I don’t know why that should be. The first time I saw this lake it was like an old dream coming back to me. But then I realised that it was simply the idea of Lake Gennesareth.”

  Barbara hardly replied to this and perhaps she did not entirely understand it. But her bright eyes showed how she admired Pastor Poul and how her heart clung to his every word.

  “These houses over here,” he went on, “strike me as being just like Capernaum.”

  “Capernaum,” shouted Barbara happily. It was now as though she better understood and suddenly felt she could take part in the conversation. “Capernaum! Was it not in Capernaum that… that…”

  But then she turned to eagerly pulling heather up and looking down into the ground: “Wasn’t it there that thing happened, you know…?” And she was again embarrassed.

  The minister thought for a moment and then replied that St Luke said nothing about where it happened, but it could well be that it was in Capernaum, for Jesus often went there.

  Barbara said that it was probably Capernaum. Her face was radiant and she became very engaged for now she had a role in the story told by Pastor Poul. This was a splendid big stone that she presented to herself, and her eyes shone golden in the sun.

  “In general,” said Pastor Poul, “Jesus went around in all the small villages by Lake Gennesareth, and sometimes he was over on the other side, out in the desert, preaching. I always think of that place as being over there where you can see people working.”

  Barbara sat for a time, chewing a blade of grass. Then, all of a sudden, she said:

  “You remind me of Jonas, my first husband.”

  Pastor Poul did not know what to think of this and he made no reply.

  “You always remind me of Jonas,” Barbara went on. “I thought that straight away – the very first time I saw you.”

  “Oh, that time in the entrance to the Royal Store?”

  “Yes, I had simply gone down to see what you looked like.”

  “Were you very fond of Pastor Jonas?” asked the priest.

  “I’ve never been as fond of anyone as I was of Jonas. We always talked to each other just like you and I have done today, about all kinds of things, and we were never tired of being together. That was at Vidareidi… it was wonderful. But then he died, and I missed him terribly. I always, always wished it could be like that again when I was married to Jonas. But it never was.”

  She threw a sprig of heather down.

  “What did you talk about then, you and Pastor Jonas? About God?”

  “About God as well. About everything. I don’t remember all that well; I was so young in those days, but when Jonas talked about God it always made me happy. It was not like when…”

  She suddenly stopped.

  “Like what?” asked Pastor Poul excitedly.

  “Like when Anders started on his everlasting reproaches and sermons and …”

  “Pastor Anders? The dean from Næs?”

  “Ugh yes; he’s a dean now. I suppose people have been kind enough to tell you that I was once betrothed to him? But I couldn’t stand him. Always full of… retribution and condemnation… and he was always seeking to improve me.”

  “Were you so much in need of improvement?”

  Barbara looked down: “I needed a husband like Jonas; that was all I longed for and the only thing that could keep me away from… from sin.”

  This last word she only managed to utter after what seemed to be a great effort. It sounded entirely alien to her lips. But then she suddenly pulled herself together and added: “He gave me stones for bread.”

  “So did you tire of the word of God?” the minister asked.

  “Yes,” said Barbara. “I grew tired to death. But I didn’t forget Jonas, and I kept on thinking that perhaps another might come… one who was like Jonas and could make everything well again.”

  “And then Pastor Niels came?”

  “Pastor Niels!” It was as though Barbara had forgotten that she had ever been married to someone called Pastor Niels. But then she suddenly burst out: “Poor Niels! Aye, it was dreadful. And it was Dr Balzer who was responsible for it all. He made such a mess of that leg. I hate that fool.”

  The minister fell into deep thought. Then, at last, he asked: “Yes, but was Pastor Niels not able to lead you back to the Word of God?”

  Barbara seemed at first to pull a face, but then her features softened and she said quietly, “I was terribly fond of Pastor Niels. You must believe that even if I was often a beast to him. We were terribly good friends. But… but… you know: he had such a dreadfully dreary, squeaky voice.”

  The minister turned away and looked down at the ground and felt quite dejected. There he saw a tiny spider busy between heather and blades of grass.

  But Barbara got up, brushed something off her clothes and exclaimed:

  “Come on; let’s go down to the water. Perhaps we could get across to the other side on that boat.”

  Pastor Poul followed her. She took his hand again and intertwin
ed her fingers in his; then she looked up at him and said, “Now we are at Lake Gennezareth and going into Capernaum, aren’t we?”

  And when they entered Capernaum, she embraced him and said, “You mustn’t die, you know. I can’t do without you.”

  She was very serious, and she was trembling.

  When they reached the water, the boat was unloaded and ready to set out again. Pastor Poul and Barbara were allowed on it. They sat down on the narrow thwart in the stern, close to each other. The boat was full of peat litter and the oars creaked and squeaked against the bone-dry thole pins.

  All around them lay the vast shiny surface of the lake, and the reflection of the afternoon sun glittered on it and dazzled them. But over on the shore there was the dark shadow of the mountain, and in the waves as the boat cut through them there were also cool, black patches. Barbara held her hand down in the water and let it run through her fingers.

  The peat lands were a dark area with black peat bogs. They looked like wounds in the earth. But the air was clear and echoed with the voices of grown ups and children working round about. There were the cries of curlews and golden plover standing on piles of heather, and here and there, where people were preparing food, smoke was rising into the air. It was a smoke that tore at their eyes and burned them, but it was sweet and strong like some kind of brandy. There was thyme in it.

  Barbara said that walking in the peat like this was one of the things she liked best. She dragged Pastor Poul round from one family to the other and wanted to know how far they had got and when they thought the last peat would be dry enough to take across. They were given something to eat by one of the families. These were poor people, but Barbara praised the food and persuaded the minister to do so as well.

  There was an old woman helping to carry the peat down to the water. Like all the others, she bore it in the Faroese manner in a leyp. This was a big wooden creel carried on the back and held in place by a woollen band around the forehead. The old woman was on the point of collapsing beneath the burden. Her neck was strong and tough enough and her face showed great determination. But her legs could scarcely carry her.