Barbara

by Jorgen-Frantz Jacobsen

  Then a sound was heard from the bedroom, at first a slight sound, but one that rapidly became louder. It was all too obvious that someone was snoring. Andreas glanced into the room and at the foot of a bed he could see Samuel Mikkelsen’s crossed legs. He wanted so much to laugh; his voice became weak and unrecognisable; sweat broke out on his forehead; he read and read while the house was shaken by the law speaker’s snoring. But the congregation still sat there piously with their faces hidden. Only Armgard looked straight ahead – her face looked as though of stone.

  Andreas gabbled away; he was himself almost insentient. He was constantly overcome by an urge to laugh; it was a sickness, an attack of cramp. He had already read numerous pages, but there was still no prospect of the word amen. He felt like a disabled ship, out of sight of land and without a compass, being tossed on the wild ocean of Brochmand’s eloquence. The next time he had to turn a page, he turned several. He did not himself know whether it was two or four, and it made no difference for there was still no amen to be seen.

  Then Armgard spoke: “Wait, Andreas,” she said. “Turn back a page.”

  Andreas turned back a page and to his delight he discovered an amen. He looked gratefully at his aunt and made to read the remainder of the sermon.

  “No, Andreas,” said Armgard. “You have not got back to Christmas Day yet.”

  Andreas looked at the book in some confusion. At the top of the page it said Lesson for the Feast of St Stephen. He understood not a word of it.

  Armgard had risen. She gave a resounding bang on the table. “Turn back, turn back, confound you. God forgive me for what I say. Sitting there and reading page after page about St Stephen on Christmas Day! What are you thinking of? Turn back to the place where you cheated the first time.”

  Andreas turned back, page after page, all of which he had read. And finally he found the amen to Christmas Day. It was on one of the pages he had jumped.

  Armgard had sat down again. “Read from the place where you cheated,” she repeated brusquely.

  Andreas started to read again, as obedient as a small child. There was a painful silence when he finally said amen. But at that moment the law speaker appeared suddenly in the doorway to his bedroom, refreshed and smiling.

  “Thank you very much indeed,” he said, “for taking that on. If only we could read Danish as fluently as you can.”

  “Aye, my friend,” agreed Farmer Halvdan in his old man’s falsetto. “Your reading is heavenly, just as good as a Danish pastor’s. But you read it a little too fast for my old ears.”

  Andreas was still a little embarrassed. The listeners came one after one to shake hands with him and thank him for the reading. Last of all came the law speaker’s sons, dignified and silent like the others, but inside illumined with laughter.

  Farmer Halvdan and Farmer Justinus had begun to take their leave. The law speaker asked them to stay and said they were letting Christmas in.

  “Dear friend,” they said. “Are we not letting Christmas out? We have had everything we could wish for. Both the gospel and the sermon.”

  They left, dignified but merry.

  Andreas stood out on the croft. His heart was light; he was already getting over that slight mishap of his. When all was said and done, it was not in order to read prayers and sermons that he had come to Vágar.

  Samson emerged. He slapped his shoulder: “You are not exactly the emperor’s friend now,” he said with a laugh.

  “I wonder whether I would have been in any case,” thought Andreas. He could hear the church bells in Midvág in the distance.

  Pastor Poul’s dinner on this Christmas Day was a rather hasty affair. The service at Midvág had dragged on, and he had scarcely arrived at Jansegard before the crew arrived that was to take him to Sørvág. The day was so short, they said. It was best to travel by daylight. But they had to wait for a time in the hearth room, which was perhaps something they didn’t mind.

  Barbara was a little sulky.

  “You have to admit,” she said, “that it’s no fun for me to have to celebrate Christmas in this way. And then that you are going to Mikines. I assure you that there has never been a priest on Mikines at Christmas before. If you get there you can risk the sea turning rough so you can’t get away for months. This idea is sheer madness.”

  “Yes, dearest of all,” said Pastor Poul, “but you wouldn’t let me go out there last summer or during the autumn. It can’t be put off any longer now. The folk out there haven’t seen their minister yet although I have been in the parish for over a year. Their children are running around unbaptised like heathens. Some people can’t get married and others are lying in unsanctified ground and have never had a funeral ceremony. They have plenty of reason to reproach me out there, so you must understand I was forced to promise this.”

  “To go at Christmas?”

  “Something had to be done. To make up for my negligence, you understand.”

  “There has never been a minister out there at Christmas.”

  “For that very reason, Barbara. And by the way there is no guarantee that the weather will be good enough tomorrow for me to leave. And in that case I will come back to you, you know…”

  But Barbara was not to be mollified and remained sullen, and the meal ended as it had begun, in a bad atmosphere. The minister had just put on his travelling clothes and was ready to go when he chanced to look out of the window.

  “We have visitors,” he said. “Or more correctly, you have visitors. If I am not mistaken, it is the law speaker’s sons coming across the sand.”

  Barbara brightened up. She hurried over to the window.

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s Samson… and Mikkel… and …”

  “And Jacob, I suppose?” said the parson.

  “No,” said Barbara. “It isn’t Jacob. It’s…”

  At that moment, the minister saw how her face was completely transformed. She went away from the window, speechless and extremely confused. She looked almost as though she had received an unexpected blow to her face.

  The minister quickly looked out again. A terrible presentiment had struck him. He immediately recognised Andreas Heyde’s careless gait and his fair face. He was the one leading the three.

  Pastor Poul turned to his wife. She was still in turmoil, and when she started to speak, she was not in complete command of her voice.

  “That’s too bad,” she said. “Those men are not going to find anyone at home. I’m coming with you… as far as the harbour. Then they can wait if they have the time.”

  She was in a great hurry as if she was afraid. She quickly found some warm clothes to put on and hurried out together with Pastor Poul. The oarsmen, in some surprise, followed them.

  The weather was calm and cool. There was hoar frost on the ground, and all the small pools were covered with ice as clear as glass. Barbara repeatedly took her husband’s arm and held him tight. As they moved further away from Jansegard she slowed her pace and finally walked quite slowly.

  “You must come back to me soon. Promise?”

  She said it in a low voice and as though afraid. Otherwise, she had said nothing. She was very serious and gave him a look that was full of pain.

  “I will come as soon as I can,” said Pastor Poul. “I might already be here tomorrow if the weather shows signs of changing.”

  “Yes, it will. I’m sure it will,” Barbara insisted.

  “Oh, God help us, Barbara,” exclaimed the minister. “Can you forget me in three days?”

  Barbara did not immediately reply, but finally she said, “Dearest Poul. You know what I want most of all. That’s all I can say. Hurry back home.”

  And while the oarsmen were well ahead for a few moments, she flung herself on his neck and embraced him passionately. Then she stroked his face and looked at him with sadness in her eyes. They had passed the ridge. The great expanse of water lay before them. When they reached the small group of houses they had once called Capernaum, the oarsmen dragged a small boat
from a boatshed and pushed it into the water. The thin ice close to land was splintered with a shrill sound. Pastor Poul took his leave.

  “Come back soon,” was the last thing Barbara said. She was quite emotional.

  The boat slid silently away from land. The cold winter light lay on the surface of the lake. Barbara went home. Pastor Poul sat watching her as she moved up through the heather, quick and upright. She did not look back.

  Weatherbound

  Pastor Poul was awakened early by his host the following morning. The weather was calm and the sky was bright with stars. If he wanted to go to Mikines, said the man in Sørvág, conditions could not be better at this time of the year. They offered to row him out there straight away.

  He asked them whether they thought they could also row him back the same day. Their reply was that this was in God’s hand, but if he finished quickly at Mikines they would try to wait for him at the jetty. Provided the sea didn’t turn rough. It all depended on that. For if the weather was not good at Mikines it would be just as impossible to come alongside as it would be to put off.

  After this, Pastor Poul could not but keep his promise to pay a Christmas visit to Mikines. But he shuddered to think of all the stories he had heard about people who had been stranded for months out there simply because of high waves at the landing stage, and he knew that he would not feel safe again before he was well away from that island.

  It was still dark as they rowed out through the long Sørvág Fjord. It was a demanding journey they had before them, one that was hardly ever undertaken during the winter. Mikines was so far out to sea, the most distant of all the Faroe Islands. And the village and the landing stage were right over on the western end of the island. Altogether they would be rowing some eleven or twelve nautical miles from Sørvág.

  The men looked up at the starry sky and thought the good weather would probably last all day. They pulled at the oars and rowed with a will. Dark promontories and frost-covered fells slipped past on either side. When they came to the mouth of the fjord, they could glimpse the distant island of Mikines in the starlight, rising like a single mountain from the western sea and with its peak shining white. But its slopes were black and steep and left no room for the snow.

  It was not long before the stars gradually began to grow paler, and by the time the boat reached the open sea, day had dawned. Mikines grew before the prow in the early winter sunshine, fiery red and raw in its wild, rugged splendour. It was at once a revelation and a nightmare.

  It was still early in the day when they arrived in the little village on the western tip of the island. There was great excitement when the boat appeared, and no sooner had Pastor Poul set foot ashore than the bell up in the pitiful little turf-covered church started ringing merrily and launching its sounds in the light morning. It was a happy day for everyone on Mikines.

  The path up to the village was long and steep. Pastor Poul went into the churchwarden’s house and allowed himself a hasty breakfast and then he went straight on to the church, where everyone had gathered. Everyone except the men from Sørvág, who had gone down to their boat again.

  Pastor Poul held a service, a brief service, but one without unseemly haste. The sun shone all the time in through the small windows, confirming that the weather was holding. Four children were baptised afterwards and a young couple entered the married state. Then there remained nothing but a couple of graveside ceremonies. Pastor Poul went out among the withered grassy mounds of the graves, and the little church bell sang out once more over the entire village. When this was done, the clergyman’s errand was finished. The weather was unchanged. Pastor Poul went back to the churchwarden’s house and prepared to leave. He had feared that the people might delay him with a meal and refreshments, but it was as though his host understood him and knew he wanted to get away again as soon as possible.

  He was already on his way down to the landing stage when a man came running after him and stopped him with some confused words. He wanted him to come back and baptise a child.

  “Baptise a child?” asked Pastor Poul. “Why was the child not at church?”

  “Well, because it had not been born yet.”

  Pastor Poul was annoyed. He understood from those accompanying him that they were irritated by this man and were most inclined to send him off. But he did not want to look difficult.

  “Then let me baptise it quickly,” he said and turned to hurry back.

  “You ought perhaps to have refused,” said the churchwarden. “That idiot ought to know that you haven’t much time… on a winter’s day… and so late in the day as well.”

  “Where is the child then?” asked Pastor Poul harshly as he entered the unknown man’s house.

  Its owner made a ridiculous, pleading gesture: “The child… the child isn’t born yet… that’s to say not quite… not quite born. But I assure you,” he continued in a pleading tone, “that my wife is very quick. It will be there in no time.”

  “For God’s sake, Hanus, are you completely crazy?” exclaimed the churchwarden. “Are you trying to make a fool of the minister? What are you thinking of?”

  “It’ll be here so soon, in no time,” Hanus Elias assured them.

  At that moment, Pastor Poul considered going. He was sufficiently angry to do so. Why he still did not leave was something he was always unable to explain to himself later, although his thoughts in later years often turned on this disastrous moment.

  They had waited for something like a quarter of an hour when a sudden gust of wind shook the house. Pastor Poul looked out and noticed the wind briefly move the withered grass on the neighbouring roof. The sun was no longer shining.

  Hanus Elias came in at that moment, pleading and beseeching. “Oh please, don’t go. The child is born. It only needs to be washed a little. Oh, please… surely you don’t have to hurry like that?”

  “Come on then. Bring the child, damn it!” said Pastor Poul, stamping on the floor.

  He started wandering furiously backwards and forwards in the room. The churchwarden had gone outside to look at the weather. He came back and said, “There is no time to waste.”

  “It’ll be all right, it’ll be all right,” wailed Hanus Elias.

  The wind blew again through the grass on the neighbour’s roof. There was the sound of a child’s shrill cry. Three breathless men came running along: they came to fetch the minister. At that moment the child was brought out. Half an hour had been wasted.

  Pastor Poul baptised the child like lightning. When he asked its name, the godmother hesitated a little. The child was to have five names. Pastor Poul gave it three, and the moment amen had been said he was out of the door. All the men present ran with him.

  Once they had a clear view, they could see the boat far below them, fully manned and rocking violently just off the landing stage. But otherwise the sea looked quite calm, and a touch of sunshine could still be seen over its surface.

  Pastor Poul ran for his life down the cliffs. The entire village was on its feet, and everyone had but a single thought: would the minister manage to get away?

  He reached the furthermost flat rocks. The boat was rocking only a couple of yards from him – a bold leap was all that was needed. Pastor Poul knew that it was his happiness that was at stake, and his heart was in his mouth. Time after time, the boat approached land, but each time it had to withdraw hurriedly to avoid being smashed against the rocks. It rocked more and more violently in the rough water. Perhaps he might have leapt on one occasion if he had been an experienced seaman. But he was not. But now the best of the Mikines men gathered around him. They were ready to help him in any way possible, and they shouted to the men on the boat that if necessary they would throw the minister on board to them if they would make sure to catch him. But no opportunity presented itself. It was too late. The sound of the waves falling and rising against the coast was already beginning to drown the men’s voices: it was the surf that was taking over. Once more the Sørvág boat made a daring atte
mpt to come close, but it was little more than a polite gesture. It was hopeless.

  Then the accident happened; one of the men from Mikines who had been among those gesticulating and shouting the most slipped on the smooth rocks and fell in the water. He was quickly grabbed by the others and pulled ashore again, dripping wet. It was Hanus Elias.

  The churchwarden rebuked him severely: “That served you right. Now you’ve gone and ruined everything, you misery. You just can’t behave like other human beings. Go home and be ashamed of yourself. You can see now what a lot of trouble you’ve caused.”

  Shameful and dripping wet, Hanus Elias went back to his house. Caused? What had he caused? Just caused the minister to stay on Mikines. Was that such a catastrophe? When you were a clergyman and could be given hospitality by a man like the churchwarden. And at Christmas time as well!

  But the minister stood as though paralysed and with despair in his heart he watched the boat row away. When it had got some way out, it raised the sail and moved off quickly.

  “Aye,” someone said: “they will have a good wind and the current’s in their favour as well.”

  The churchwarden turned to Pastor Poul. “That was most unfortunate,” he said. “Perhaps you would accept my hospitality and stay at my house now?”

  Pastor Poul spoke few words after this. Twenty-four hours ago he had still been a radiantly happy man, and even an hour ago he had been full of confidence and hope. Now he was helpless in a trap. His misfortune was so great that he could scarcely conceive of it.

  Farmer Niklas, the churchwarden, thought to himself that the minister was more upset by this misfortune than was reasonable.

  “The weather is not really bad,” he said, “and as far as I can see, there is no sign of a gale coming. It’s just the direction of the wind that is so confoundedly unfortunate. But if the delay isn’t more than a day or two? Let’s hope for the best.”