Last Stories and Other Stories (9780698135482) (54 page)

On the last day, standing side by side, the Pedersons overlooked the few sailing-ships in the VÃ¥gen; and devouring the chilly breeze, which was purer by far than the air in most port cities, the water streaming blue and grey, they promised to be brave and true to each other. Half a dozen undermanned herring-boats were heading out to sea in hopes that the silver wealth might have come back; they went slowly, slowly sailing, their brass bells faintly ringing.

And so the emigrants ascended the gangway, Øistein and Kristina and all the other young women with their white collars buttoned up to the throat, stern old men, wide-eyed children, all the families leaving behind their white-painted wooden houses, disconsolate fishermen altered into hopeful farmers, butterwives who'd sold their fat sweet cows for next to nothing (the buyers being apprised of their circumstances), beneficiaries of the short passage on the pretty ship
Hyndla,
bound for Québec, the leavetakers' view of them interrupted by many tall cables. Among them stood Kristina's Aunt Liv in her lace shawl and collar, sternly seeing them off, and at the last sadly bending her head like a good cow before the axe. Øistein hastened into steerage to guard their place and possessions. The smell was nauseating, but he could certainly get used to it. Glancing around him, he found that he knew no one except for Reverend Johansen, who had intended to leave last spring but stayed to care for his mother in her final illness. Well, there were so many families in the narrow white houses of Stavanger! And from the sound of their speech, some people must be from Hjelmeland or Suldal. The reverend and Øistein nodded to one another. Kristina would be pleased. When she came down, her husband pushed his way back onto the foredeck, ostensibly to wave farewell to Aunt Liv and Cousin Eyvind. He looked down and saw a fish skeleton hanging complete just beneath the surface of the oily harbor. Swans, gulls and pigeons bickered on the pier, the coy sun gilding the cobblestones for an instant. The young man now gazed across the water and up the street, into the house where he and Kristina had lived. Øistein had always been remarkable for his eyesight, and so he made no mistake when he perceived how upstairs the windows parted, and in the widening column of darkness between the pairs of triple panes, a pallid face, never before seen, gaped its mouth at him. But two other men jostled him, and he swung round, ready to defend himself if need be; the men apologized, and they all agreed that three weeks belowdecks would be superior to attic-dwelling forever in Stavanger. Cousin Eyvind waved his hat at Øistein and went away. Aunt Liv sought to make herself conspicuous for that instant, but the crowd half crushed her. She too used to stand in the sheds with her hands buried in the silver hoard of herring.
And before anyone expected it, the
Hyndla
was underway, the glamor of separation now gracing those tiny, narrow white houses which shone so softly through the beech trees.

At first the instants of their voyage were distinct, like mackerel-bubbles in dark seaweed at dawn. Kristina told herself that she must never forget this creamy dawn sea so black and orange around those low Norwegian islands which resembled translucent flints knapped and polished down by giants. Øistein held her hand. Once they reached America, they might not find such leisure again, at least not until they were old. The water seemed viscous, and the red sun-shield shone over the islands. All day they sped toward the short passage, which Captain Gull had explained was a trifle narrow in spots, this being the reason he had not replaced the
Hyndla
with a larger ship (doubtless, thought Øistein, the true reason must be that Captain Gull lacked the means—and thank goodness for that, since otherwise he would have increased the fare, perhaps even up to Nils Kielland's price). It was peculiar, to be sure, the way they kept on following the coast northward, when America lay to the west; but no doubt the master knew what he was about. There came another dawn to the black sea, the ship foaming through ribbons of green-chambered white lace on either side; and still the ship lay never so far off the coast as to be out of soundings. By now several children had vomited, making the stench of dirty feet and fish-oil even less pleasant, but Kristina reminded herself that she was not some rich girl who can afford to get queasy in her stomach from a surfeit of butter. And wasn't this preferable to the stink of the herring-barrels? She went among those young mothers who wore lovely lace at their throats—attic-sharers, no doubt, from those square-windowed wooden little houses—and tried to be helpful; sometime she might need the same. Then she attempted sitting on the edge of her bunk, but the ceiling was too low. Pulling out her trunk, which had formed a very close acquaintance with three others beneath the bed, she seated herself on it and began to knit a pair of socks for her husband, who had gone above in hopes of establishing a business association with some other men. Presently she grew melancholy, because somebody was flatulent and the ship tilted nauseously on the rushing grey ocean, with hasty
low sunlight glancing unpleasantly into the scuttles, and something unknown to her whistling and piping outside. Kristina was a landswoman; she had never been on a ship before. An icy feeling established itself behind her breastbone, or maybe higher up than that—almost up to her collarbone, in fact, but there and only there, like burning cold metal inside her; she felt that she could not get warm; well, no, it wasn't just there anymore; her wrists were freezing where they emerged from the sleeves; her toes were numb. Just as she had begun to wish they had never set out for America, a shaft of sunlight turned the royal grey water into blue, revealing many forested islets, cormorants and seals. So the weather came and went, in conjunction with her moods, and they approached the short passage, after which every passenger would be compelled to resume the weariness of getting a living.

Early next morning the helmsman was fixing their position by means of careful sextant angles, as Øistein approvingly perceived. This must be the place where they would turn straight west, out into the Atlantic.

But why's that fellow folding in the spinnaker sail? a Hjelmeland man said, as if to himself. Two tall sailors approached him. They inquired: Is it to tell us our business that you'd be wishing?

Øistein was sorry for the Hjelmeland man, but ours is a hard world, and so he turned away.

The
Hyndla
was shortening sail, for a fact. Perhaps her master had determined to take in extra water or supplies.

Greeting Øistein, the reverend gazed over the side and remarked: I almost became a fisherman like my father.

Then you escaped a bad destiny.

So it seems. But where did the herring go?

We fished them out, that's all, said the Hjelmeland man. Greed and folly. And if they ever come back, we'll do it again.

Without a doubt, said Øistein.

The rising sun-shield's three or four reflections skipped across the water like a stone; then there were nine of them, and they merged into a vermilion road between wrinkled dark islets. The topman was yanking in the throat halyards of the foresail, and Øistein went down to see whether Kristina needed anything. She looked nauseous but smiled at him, knitting a sweater.

Come on up, wife, and see the eider ducks swimming.

His wife beckoned him closer. When he leaned down toward her, she whispered in his ear: That Dorthe Magnusson from Suldal has been complaining since dawn. When she went topside to take some air, someone stole a pound of tea right out of their trunk.

A shame, said Øistein, shaking his head. Can we spare her a bit of ours?

Of course, only—

Now go take a turn on deck, and I'll mind our goods.

Thank you, husband.

He sat there in the close air, passing the time with a Suldal man named Bendik Hermansson, whose brother had already emigrated to that district called Minnesota. By all accounts, a man had room to breathe over there. The Indians used to make trouble in those parts, but nowadays they were practically finished. Land and cattle were cheap. Øistein listened, embellishing his own dreams for himself and Kristina once the passage should widen out into American infinitude. Like most of the others, he had a gift for patient endurance, so that the hours receded easily, green and grooved like Norwegian islands. When Kristina returned, looking much better, they lunched on hard bread and tinned herring from Mr. Kielland's store.

It was best not to be overexacting in one's expectations as to the duration of the short passage. Captain Gull had said something about three weeks. But of course it might go a week more or less, depending on accidents. Anyone from Stavanger knew about stormy weather, not that any was in the immediate offing, for when Øistein climbed the ladder to the foredeck, the late afternoon sun peeped out to gild a lovely tree-hedgehog of coast, and off the stern lay a pastel island of high yellow and green shadows, the ocean almost reddish-grey against it. Ahead stretched a promontory of some sort. The
Hyndla
was sailing parallel to a cloud-pleat, aiming for a ridge of blue knuckles (the sea very calm, the glass falling slowly). Two sailors footed in another sail. Bendik Hermansson, who had also sought out good air just now, remarked that he had never seen such peculiar seamanship. Øistein declined to reply, for he had begun to
wonder whether this fellow talked too much to no purpose. So they stood smoking their pipes while the glass fell a trifle further, and presently the waves roughened, so that the grey sea was sliming the scuttles belowdecks as the grey coast grew blurry. Preferring to delay his return into the odors of vomit, fish-oil and fouled diapers, Øistein remained on deck for another half-hour, until one of the Suldal men said he could make out some sort of high black shining, about two or three points on the starboard bow.

Now the sea began to foam in earnest, and waves rained down across the scuttles. The passengers were all good Norwegians, even the landsmen, so however they might have felt, they showed no fear of those glassy, icy sheets of spray in the milky sea. Presently the horizon disclosed mountains like the long black teeth of a wool comb. Øistein, who had never sailed far up the coast, but trusted in his calculations of how far the
Hyndla
had gone, supposed that this might be Ytre Sula or Sandøyna, not that either place boasted cliffs as grand or dark as this.

Passengers to their berths, said Captain Gull. The sailors were already unreefing the mainsail, an action which the former herring fishermen among the emigrants thought incomprehensible. Now the foresail had descended, and they were winching down the spar.

Belowdecks the four-tiered berths ran perpendicular to the ship's axis, interrupted by a narrow corridor. At the top of each bunk on its corridor-facing end was a knurled knob whose purpose Øistein had not perceived. Two tall sailors now came in and gave each knob seven turns. With each turn the berths contracted a little into the wall. Kristina inquired what they were doing. A sailor said: You'll see. It's a narrow passage.

And so they approached a cliff of hard grey rock, which suddenly gaped open for the
Hyndla
to enter, then closed behind her. All the passengers could tell was that the scuttles went dark—for the passage was as narrow as the Vågen itself, that long sea-mouth whose jaws are studded with hordes of white wooden house-teeth.

Following up his earlier supposition, Øistein decided that they must have turned in to the Sognefjorden, which is the widest introitus hereabouts, but not a single town appeared; moreover, two of the Suldal men
had fished the fjord as far up as Balestrand on many an occasion, and they swore that this was no place they had ever seen. Bendik Hermansson, however, was certain of their proximity to Balestrand, for there was nowhere else that they could be. Now it is common knowledge that as it runs upstream at Balestrand, the Sognefjorden jogs sharply north by northeast and narrows into the Færlandsfjorden, presently passing Sogndalseggi to the east before reaching the many-armed spider-lake called Jostedalsbreen. Even if they could have somehow missed Sogndalseggi, which was practically impossible, the Suldal men said, the channel should have widened out. And why they should be carried deep inside Norway was beyond them. Bendik Hermansson persisted in his position that they had not yet reached Balestrand. Once Øistein, who was of a practical disposition, realized that they knew no better than he where the
Hyndla
had carried them, he returned to his berth to see how his wife was getting along. Reverend Johansen sat on a trunk, reading aloud from his Bible. An old man was groaning and vomiting. The women knitted. Kristina had grown quite fond of the minister, and in truth she might have wondered once or twice how it would have gone with her, had she married so distinguished a man. He had just come to the verse which runs:
Carry me, O L
ORD
, that I may cross this circle of guttering fire; and against my enemies lend me Your sword that strikes on its own. Against the trolls deliver me; from the blue flames deliver me, that I may come safe into the Kingdom.

There was a fisherman named Einar Sigvatsson, who had sailed widely in the days when people still hoped that the herring might be found. His brother had finally persuaded him to go out of the country. So both Sigvatssons were on board, with their wives and children, together with Einar's mother-in-law. Kristina and Øistein had struck up a liking for that family.

Coming back on deck once the whistle sounded the all-clear, Øistein discovered that the
Hyndla
appeared considerably smaller, for not only had all her sails disappeared but even the mast was broken down, its lowest stalk lashed tight against the deck and the remainder unscrewed into lengths of pole. Meanwhile the sailors were already turning certain
knurled knobs upon the corners of the forecastle cabin, so that its roof crept down toward the deck. This accomplished, they unstepped the walls to fold them in. Now they turned other screws, and all along either side of the
Hyndla
uprose a low wall of oarlocks.