One evening the quiet was broken by Bandon’s angry voice and the sobs of a child. Eidi looked out the window and saw in the dusk Bandon dragging the boy she had met at the market down the steps of the shop. At the foot of the steps he raised his hand, and Eidi was just about to dash out and thrust herself between them when her ear started to howl. She stopped in her tracks.
“I’ll teach you to steal!” shouted Bandon, and gave the boy a resounding box on the ear.
Then Bandon turned on his heel and strode into the house. The boy sat down on the lowest step and hid his face in his hands, sobbing.
Eidi crept into the yard and went over to the boy. The watchdog growled but stayed lying where he was.
“Come with me,” Eidi whispered. She took the boy’s hand and helped him up, then led him into the weaving room.
His nose was bleeding. She made him tilt his head back and hold a wisp of wool to his nostrils.
“What happened?” she asked.
“He found out I’d been stealing raisins,” the boy said, and hiccuped at the ceiling.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. He nodded.
She brought out the rest of the food Lesna had sent with her; she hadn’t taken time to finish it.
She put lamb chops and bread and cheese on the table, and the boy began to devour it, still holding the tuft of wool to his nostrils.
“What’s your name, by the way?” she asked.
“Hink,” he muttered behind the wool with his mouth full.
“Hink?” she repeated.
He chewed what was in his mouth and blurted, “No. Tink!” before taking another bite.
He ate everything she had laid out. In the meantime, she packed her things together, and then they left the room. They gave the chop bones to the watchdog, who wagged his tail when Tink took them to him.
“Come and see me tomorrow,” whispered Eidi before she slipped through the courtyard entryway toward home.
When she stepped into Lesna’s living room, Rossan was sitting by the fireplace with a blanket over his knees, knitting a stocking. Lesna was patching a pair of Kotka’s trousers.
“Well, how did it go today?” she asked.
Eidi was just about to tell them about Tink when a very faint sound, like the shrill hum of a mosquito on the way toward her ear, startled her and made her think again.
“Fine,” she said. “I finished the brown shawl with the black stripe-check. I put alternating black and brown fringe on it.”
“Sounds good. I hear round about that Bandon is pleased with you,” said Lesna.
“And so he thundering well should be,” muttered Rossan above the winking knitting needles.
9
The next evening, while Eidi was again sitting at work at Bandon’s, she had a sudden impulse. She left the loom and crossed the courtyard to the main house, where she slipped through the little door to the kitchen.
The cook wasn’t there. A single candle burned on the table. Eidi looked around and caught sight of another candlestick in the window, with a stump of candle in it. She took this and lit the stump with the candle on the table.
There were several doors off the kitchen. Behind one of them she heard the cook cough. That one must have led to the cook’s room. Next came the door to the cellar. The darkness behind it smelled of mold and crumbling plaster. The next door was locked. It was very narrow and almost certainly opened onto the pantry, since a faint whiff of sausages and meat pie seeped through it. Behind the last door was a staircase to a long corridor half a floor up. She went along this, assuming that it led to Bandon’s big room.
At the end of the passage she stopped in front of a heavy oak door. She knocked on it hesitantly. There was no answer. She waited for a moment and listened in the darkness. All was still. So she went in.
The room was very dimly lit by the glow from the fire. The chair behind the massive desk was empty. She went toward the fireplace and the two big leather chairs that stood with their backs toward her.
“Come and sit down,” said Bandon’s voice suddenly from beyond one of the chair backs.
It was as if he had been expecting her.
She drew nearer to the brown leather chairs. There he sat, running a finger around the edge of a fine, polished glass he held in his hand. A square decanter filled with a deep red liquid stood on a little table by his side.
She sat down gingerly in the empty chair and looked at him. His full red lips gleamed moistly against the dark-tinged, smooth-shaven jaw. He went on staring into the flames while he set the glass on the table, drew the stopper from the decanter, and refilled the glass to the brim.
“He had a nosebleed,” she said.
“He did, eh,” said Bandon without looking at her.
A spark flew out of the fire and landed on the stone floor almost at her feet. It blazed up a moment before it went out.
Bandon spoke again. “Most people tend to think that the colors you see in fire are yellow and red, maybe white, but nothing else. But that’s because they haven’t really looked. Look at that knot of wood over there in the corner of the stove. Can you see the green flame on the underside? In its innermost core it’s as blue as a kingfisher’s wing. I’m convinced that all the colors in the world can be found in burning things.”
“I expect you’re right,” said Eidi.
She could feel the warmth of the fire making her stiff, tired body surrender. She leaned back in the chair and let her arms slide from the armrests onto her lap. They sat in silence for a while.
“They say I have a lot of children,” Bandon began. “And it’s probably true—the womenfolk used to like me when I was young. I don’t know those children and I never have and I suppose I never shall. Fortunately or unfortunately, who’s to tell. At any rate, they aren’t troubled with a father who never wanted to be one. Or wanted to be a husband, for that matter. Except for once.”
Eidi sat very still so as not to distract him. He had emptied his glass, and he filled it again before he went on.
“She came on a ship one day, when they were holding the market. She was alone, and anyone could see she was with child. She hadn’t many wares to sell, and what she did sell were her last bits and pieces, all that she had. I bought the whole lot and offered to marry her. I had fallen in love with her the minute I saw her.
“I was so used to the girls wanting me that I couldn’t imagine she would refuse me. She did, though; she said she didn’t know me, which was fair enough. But I felt that I’d known her all my life.
“So I hired her as my cook. And I courted her as I’ve never courted anyone. And at last I got her consent. But she wanted to wait with the wedding until after she’d given birth.”
Bandon stopped speaking and sat looking into the fire awhile; his finger began following the rim of the glass. Eidi noticed the broad gold ring he wore on his right hand. His voice was low as he continued. “It was a hard birth. The boy lived through it. She didn’t. I gave her a golden ring to wear in her grave.”
He emptied his glass in one swallow and set it on the table. “So now here I sit with a youngster I never wanted instead of her, the one I did want.”
He refilled the glass. “He killed his mother, he did.”
Eidi was about to protest, but a tone in her ear made her stop.
She said nothing but sat waiting, without knowing what it was she was waiting for. Then she looked across at Bandon, who had leaned back in his chair again.
“A baby can’t help being born,” she said at last.
He didn’t answer.
After a moment he got up, went over to a table against the wall, and opened a little wooden chest that was on it. He took something out of it and brought it to her. He took her hand, put something in it, and then sat down again. “That’s for you, if you promise me to keep it always.”
A little golden arrow, mounted on a pin to make a brooch, shone on her palm.
“I promise,” she said as she stood up. “Thank you.”
“There’s a can
dlestick over there on the table,” he said, without turning his head. Eidi saw now that the candle she had brought from the kitchen had burned out some time ago.
“Thank you,” she said again, and went quietly out the way she had come.
10
The sky hung low, as heavy and shaggy as the underbelly of an old dog. The wind whipped the screaming of the gulls far and wide. The fishing boats hugged the coast and caught next to nothing. All the petals had fallen from Lesna’s roses. The thyme and sage had been cut and tied into bunches that hung on the rafters in the kitchen. Eidi shivered all night in her cold little room and longed to be off.
Rossan had finally bought a horse, a handsome, dark-brown animal with a light-brown mane and tail. Now the horse stood in the stable and whickered secrets in Lesna’s horse’s ear, secrets that only horses know.
When Eidi closed her eyes at night, she saw miles and miles of cloth with stripes and checks in every color wool can have.
And during the day she sat in the poorly lit room and strained her eyes at the loom. Tink came by every day, sat down hungrily at the table, and stuffed himself, so that Lesna complained about Eidi’s great appetite.
Eidi had taught Tink to sew fringes on the shawls, and Bandon turned a blind eye and let them carry on, because the shawls sold well, and there were never enough of them in the shop.
“I’ll be leaving soon.”
Tink raised his head and stared at her. His gray-green eyes gleamed with mute terror. His jaws stopped chewing, and he sat there stock-still with his mouth full of food.
“Eat up,” said Eidi, bending over the loom, and he gulped down the mouthful.
He said nothing, and neither did she, but shortly afterward there came a long-drawn-out sniff, and she glanced up at him.
“Oh, Tink!”
His nose was running freely, and his eyes were wet with tears. She reached out a hand to stroke his hair, but he jumped to his feet and plunged out of the room.
She didn’t run after him, because she counted on him showing up again when he got hungry. But he didn’t come the next day, or the day after. Not until a couple of days later did she hear his step in the short corridor that led to the weaving room.
He came in and sat at the table. Eidi put food in front of him: slices of cold beef, parsnips seasoned with herb vinegar, a piece of bread, and a couple of crisp small cakes filled with nuts and raisins.
“It’s my birthday today,” he told her.
“Is it? Many happy returns! Did you get lots of presents?”
Tink nodded and showed her a little knife that the old, bent-backed servant had laid beside his bed.
“And these here,” he said, pulling a pair of knitted mittens out of his jacket pocket. “I got these from the cook. And the shop clerk gave me these.”
He pulled a twist of paper containing raisins from his other pocket.
“What did you get from Bandon?” Eidi wanted to know.
“Nothing,” answered Tink, and put the mittens and the packet of raisins back in his pockets. “He’s always hated my birthday. He doesn’t want me to have been born. He says it’s my fault my mother died.”
“He misses her.”
“So do I,” said Tink, sighing.
“I want you to have something from me, too,” Eidi said hurriedly. “I’m going to weave you a neck scarf, and you can choose just how it should look.”
His face lit up, and they were soon engrossed in looking over the different-colored wool and debating checks and stripes and length of fringes. Then Bandon suddenly appeared in the doorway.
“Didn’t I tell you to take that crate down to the ship?” he bawled at Tink. “And there it still stands in the yard!”
“I tried, but I couldn’t lift it.”
“Damn it, that’s because you sit skulking with the womenfolk all day!” Bandon lifted his hand and stepped toward Tink.
“You’re not to hit him,” said Eidi, getting to her feet.
Bandon turned and looked at her without lowering his hand. She looked directly into his pale face with the moist lips and the drops of sweat under the grizzled curls. His brown eyes looked almost black.
“And you’re not to hit me either,” she said sternly.
He let his hand fall, but the look in his eyes warned her not to dare interfere ever again. Then he grabbed Tink by the shoulder and dragged him out of the room and up into the yard.
Eidi watched as he shook the boy while he rained abuse on his head. She clenched her fists in fury, and the howling in her head nearly drove her mad.
At last she could stand it no longer. She flung herself across the room and out the door, only to see Bandon shove Tink down into the potato cellar at the side of the dog kennel. The watchdog broke into frenzied barking when Bandon let the trapdoor fall with a crash. Eidi retreated swiftly into the passage as he turned back to the main house.
Tink’s desperate screams mingled with the wild barking of the dog. Eidi held her hands over her ears, and still heard it all.
For the rest of the day Tink sat in the dark cellar. Eidi didn’t dare do anything, because Bandon was continually crossing the yard to the shop to fill his decanter, then going back again to the house.
Evening was falling, which made Eidi even more sorry for Tink, until she remembered that he had been sitting in the dark all day long.
She had been weaving his scarf the whole time, and even though in a way it was stealing from Bandon, to give his wool away without asking, that didn’t worry her. After all, why shouldn’t Bandon give Tink a birthday present, even though he didn’t know he was doing it?
It was almost dark when Eidi saw the head clerk come down the steps of the shop with Bandon, who locked the door after them. The clerk left by the courtyard entryway, and Bandon went over to the main house with his replenished decanter.
Eidi wrapped the finished scarf around her neck, tiptoed to the yard door, and listened. The only sound she could hear was a cautious growl from the kennel.
“Nice doggy,” she whispered. “Just look what I have for you!”
She tossed a thick slice of beef over to him, and she could hear his tail thumping on the cobbles as he snatched up the meat. Then she walked right up to him and held out another piece, and the dog went on wagging his tail.
She scratched him behind the ears the way she had seen Tink do, and the dog let her and went on lying where he was.
Then she stole over to the cellar door and tried to open it, but it was much too heavy.
“Tink,” she whispered, but no one answered.
“Tink!” she called a little louder.
Not a sound.
“Tink!” she shouted, loud and short, and a soft rustling and a subdued “Yes” told her that he had heard her.
“Push up on the trapdoor,” she whispered, “and I’ll get you out.”
She heaved on the door herself for all she was worth, and on the other side she could hear Tink bracing his feet against the steps, and at last the trapdoor gave a little, only to fall back again.
“Once more, on the count of three,” she whispered.
“I can’t,” groaned Tink.
“You’ve got to!”
Just as she said it, the watchdog began to bark. Only a few short barks, but enough that a window in the house opened and Bandon’s voice bellowed into the night: “Shut up, dog!” The dog stopped barking, and the window was closed.
“Both together now,” whispered Eidi. “One! Two! Three!” and the trapdoor came open and fell to the side with a crash.
Someone lit a candle in one of the windows. Eidi reached down into the darkness, grabbed Tink’s hand, and pulled him toward her.
“Run!” she said urgently and dragged him out of the entryway and through the narrow streets as fast as she could go.
Only when they were right up by Lesna’s house did they slacken their pace, and Eidi let Tink rest in a narrow alley close by while she crept up and peeped through the windows. Rossan and Lesna were
sitting in the living room, just as usual.
Eidi fetched Tink and led him across the house yard, through her little room, and into the stable. There she took the scarf from her neck and draped it around his.
“Happy birthday,” she said.
Then she pointed to a narrow ladder leaning under a trapdoor in a corner.
“Climb up into the loft and hide,” she said. “And stay there no matter what happens. I’ll bring you something to eat.” Tink did as she said.
Alone, she sat on her settle bed for a minute to gather her wits. Then she stood up and went across to the living room.
11
When Eidi joined Rossan and Lesna, she tried her best to seem just as usual. She told them what she’d been doing all day, as she always did. In her tale she altered Tink’s neck scarf to a shawl for the shop.
Then she asked Lesna if she could make herself a bite to eat before going to bed. Lesna looked at her, shaking her head.
“I don’t think I ever met anybody who could eat like you. Where do you put it all? Because it doesn’t show on you. Anyway, it’s not good for you to eat just before bedtime.”
Nevertheless Lesna got up, went to the kitchen, and brought back a platter with cold meat pie, a hard-boiled egg, a slice of thickly buttered bread, and three little pickles.
“Thanks very much. I’ll just take it over to my room,” said Eidi.
Rossan sent her a searching look but said nothing. Lesna sat back down with her knitting. “You do that. And sleep well,” she said without glancing up. But Rossan’s eyes followed Eidi all the way to the door.
As she shot the latch on the outer door of the room, a click sounded in her ear, and the little, shrill howl began. Eidi set the platter on the footstool by her bed and hurried into the stable.
Tink stuck his head out when he heard her coming.
“Hide yourself really well,” whispered Eidi. “Crawl right down under the hay in the far corner.”
Tink nodded and withdrew. She hurried back to her room and closed the inner door, shoving the footstool against it, as if she never went into the stable that way. She took off her clothes and laid them on the stool, shoved the platter under the bed, blew out the candle, and burrowed deep under the covers.
Eidi Page 4