Mysteries

by Knut Hamsun

  “No,” she said thoughtfully.

  “If I were you, I would put the money away at once. First of all, though, I would hang something before the window. Take that skirt over there!”

  “Won’t it be very dark?” she said. Still, she took the skirt and hung it up, with some help from him.

  “Come to think, we ought to have done this at the outset,” he said. “It might get sticky if someone saw me in here.”

  To this she made no reply. She picked up the money from the table, gave him her hand and moved her lips, but without being able to utter a word.

  As he still stands there holding her hand, he blurts out, “Look, may I ask you something: Isn’t it rather difficult for you to get by, I mean without help, without relief? ... Or maybe you’re getting some relief?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please forgive my asking. It just occurred to me that if they get wind of the fact that you have some money, they will not only stop your relief payments, but your money will be confiscated, simply confiscated. That’s why it’s important to keep our transaction a secret from everybody; do you understand? I’m just advising you as a practical man. Don’t tell a living soul about this bit of business we’ve had together.... Anyway, it just dawned on me that I ought to give you smaller bills, so you won’t have to change them.”

  He thinks of everything, every contingency. He sits down again and counts out some small bills. Not bothering to count carefully, he gives her all the small bills he has, picking them at random and rolling them into a wad.

  “There!” he says. “Now, put them away!”

  She turns around, unhooks her bodice and puts the money in her bosom.

  But once she has done this, he still doesn’t get up but keeps sitting there. “What I was going to say—do you happen to know Miniman?” he asks sort of casually.

  He noticed that her face turned red.

  “I’ve met him a few times,” Nagel continues. “I’m very fond of him, he seems to be as good as gold. Just now I’ve charged him with getting me a violin, and he will, don’t you think? But perhaps you don’t know him?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Yes, come to think, he did tell me he had bought some flowers from you for a funeral, for Karlsen’s funeral. Say, you know him rather well then, perhaps? What do you think of him? Don’t you trust him, at least, to carry out that assignment in a satisfactory manner? When one has to deal with as many people as I do, one must make inquiries now and then. I once lost quite a bit of money just because I trusted a man blindly, without making inquiries about him; that was in Hamburg.”

  And for some reason or other Nagel tells the story of the man who had caused him to lose money. Martha still stands in front of him, leaning against the table; she’s restless and says at last, quite vehemently, “Oh, don’t talk about him!”

  “About whom am I not to talk?”

  “About Johannes, Miniman.”

  “Is Miniman’s name Johannes?”

  “Yes, Johannes.”

  “Really, his name is Johannes?”

  “Yes.”

  Nagel falls silent. This simple piece of information that Miniman’s name is Johannes gives his thoughts a real jolt, even changing his facial expression momentarily. For a while he sits there quite speechless, before asking, “And why do you call him Johannes? Not Grøgaard or Miniman?”

  She replies shyly, lowering her eyes, “We’ve known each other since childhood....”

  Pause.

  Then Nagel says, half facetiously and with the utmost nonchalance, “Do you know what impression I have? That Miniman must be very much in love with you. Yes, it’s true, that’s how it strikes me. And I’m not greatly surprised, though I have to admit it’s rather bold of him. Don’t you agree? In the first place, he’s no youth anymore, and besides he’s also somewhat disabled. But goodness, women are often so strange; if they take it into their heads they will deliberately throw themselves away, with pleasure, even ecstatically. Heh-heh-heh, that’s women for you. In 1886 I witnessed something very unusual: a young lady of my acquaintance simply married her father’s errand boy. I’ll never forget it. He was an apprentice in the store, a child of sixteen or seventeen, without even the beginnings of a beard; but he was handsome, oh, perfectly delicious, that I must admit. Anyway, she threw herself upon this greenhorn with a furious love and went abroad with him. After half a year or so she came back, her love gone. Sad, isn’t it? Her love was gone! Well, for the next few months she was bored stiff, being married and all and therefore out of the picture; what was she to do? She bangs the table, snaps her fingers at the whole world and has her fling, sowing her wild oats, as it were, running around with students and store clerks, and ends up being called La Glu. What a sorry sight! But once again she astonishes everybody: after amusing herself for a couple of years in this admirable way, suddenly one day she begins to write stories; she becomes an author, and was said to be very talented. She was incredibly quick to learn; those two years among students and store clerks had ripened her to an extraordinary degree and taught her the trick of writing. She went on to write some very fine things. Heh-heh-heh. What a devil of a woman! ... Oh, but that’s the way you women are. You may smile, but you can’t deny it, not outright. An errand boy of seventeen can easily make them lose their heads. I’m sure Miniman doesn’t have to go through life alone either, if he makes an effort and puts his shoulder to the wheel. You see, there’s something about him that even impresses a man, well, it impresses me: he’s so pure at heart, so defiantly pure, and there’s no guile on his lips. Don’t you agree? Knowing him inside out, you must realize that’s true. On the other hand, what shall we say about his uncle, the coal dealer? A sly old fox, I imagine, an unpleasant person. I have the impression that it’s really Miniman who is keeping the business afloat. And so I ask, Why shouldn’t he be able to run his own business? In short, Miniman is capable of supporting a family any day.... You’re shaking your head?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Oh, I see, you’re getting impatient and bored with all this talk about a man who doesn’t concern you, and you have good reason to.... Say, while I remember—now, don’t get mad, all I really want is to help you as best I can—you ought to lock your door securely at night! Why do you look so scared? Please don’t be afraid, and forget any doubts you may have about me. I only wanted to tell you that you mustn’t put too much trust in anyone, especially now that you have some money to look after. Not that I’ve heard anything that suggests the town is unsafe, but one can never be too careful. Around two o’clock in the morning, you know, it’s fairly dark around here; I’ve heard suspicious noises even outside my own windows at just that hour. Well, you won’t get angry with me because I’ve given you this piece of advice, will you? ... Goodbye, then! I’m glad I finally managed to wrest the chair away from you. Goodbye, dear!”

  With that he shook her hand. In the doorway he turned and said, “Listen, you’d better say I gave you just a few kroner for the chair. No more, not a penny more, because then it will be confiscated, remember. I can trust you on that, can’t I?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  He left, taking the chair with him. Beaming all over his face, he snickered and laughed aloud as if he had pulled off a clever prank. “Good Lord, how happy she must be now!” he said, elated. “Heh, heh, she’ll have a hard time sleeping tonight, with all that wealth!”

  When he got back to the hotel, Miniman was waiting for him.

  Miniman had come from a rehearsal and had a bundle of posters under his arm. Oh yes, the tableaux promised to be very successful; they represented scenes from history and would be performed in varicolored light. He himself was a walk-on.

  And when would the bazaar begin?

  It would open on Thursday, July 9, which was the Queen’s birthday. But already this evening Miniman was going to put up posters in all sorts of places; they had even got permission to stick one up on the cemetery gate.... Anyway, he had come to let
him know about the violin. He hadn’t been able to turn one up; the only decent violin in town was not for sale, belonging to the organist, who would use it at the bazaar. He was going to play a couple of numbers.

  Well, there was nothing to be done about that.

  Miniman prepares to leave. As he stands there cap in hand, Nagel says, “But shouldn’t we have a little drink? You see, I’m sort of happy this evening, I’ve been lucky. Imagine, I’ve finally with great pains got possession of a piece of furniture which no collector in this country can match, of that I’m sure. It’s this chair. Take a look at it! Do you realize what a gem it is, a perfectly unique Dutch piece! I wouldn’t sell it for a fortune, by Jove I wouldn’t! To celebrate the occasion, I would very much like to have a drink with you, if you don’t mind. May I ring? No? But you can put up those posters tomorrow.... Oh, I simply can’t forget my good luck today! You don’t know, perhaps, that I am a collector in a small way and that one reason I’m staying here is to sniff out rarities? I probably haven’t told you about my cowbells either? Oh dear, then you don’t have any idea what sort of person I am. I’m an agronomist, of course, but I also have other interests. Anyway, as of today I’ve got two hundred and sixty-seven cowbells. It has been ten years since I began to acquire them, and now, thank God, I have a first-rate collection. And this chair here, can you guess how I got hold of it? Pure chance, a fluke! Walking along the street one day, I pass a little house down by the docks, and by force of habit I give a sidelong peek through the window as I go by. Suddenly I’m pulled up: I catch sight of the chair and see at once what it’s worth. I knock on the door and go in: I’m received by a white-haired lady getting on in years—uh, what was her name? Well, no matter, you probably don’t know her in any case; Miss Gude I believe it was. Martha Gude or something.... She doesn’t want to let go of the chair, of course, but I wangle so long that she finally gives her word I can have it, and today I picked it up. But the best part of it is that I got it for nothing, she gave it to me for free. Well, I threw a few kroner on the table so she wouldn’t have any regrets; but the chair is worth hundreds. I urge you to keep this to yourself; one would rather not get a bad name. Not that I have anything to reproach myself with. The woman had no business sense, but I, the expert buyer, was under no obligation to keep her interest in mind. One mustn’t be stupid, after all, one has to seize one’s chance, it’s the struggle for existence, right? ... Now that you know the truth of the matter, how can you refuse to have a glass of wine with me?”

  Miniman insisted that he had to get going.

  “That’s too bad,” Nagel continues. “I’d been looking forward to having a chat with you. You’re the only man in this place who interested me at first sight, the only one I care to keep an eye on, as it were. Heh-heh, keep an eye on, sure. Besides, your name is Johannes, isn’t it? My dear friend, that I’ve known a long time, though no one told me until this evening.... Now, don’t let me frighten you again. To my shame, I always have the misfortune to make people afraid of me. Oh yes, don’t deny it, you did stare in dismay at me for a moment, though I won’t exactly say you gave a start....”

  Miniman had now reached the door. He evidently wanted to give him short shrift and make a speedy getaway. The conversation was getting more and more unpleasant.

  “Is today July 6?” Nagel asks all of a sudden.

  “Yes,” Miniman replies, “it’s July 6.” With that he puts his hand on the doorknob.

  Nagel walks slowly over to him; going up really close, he stares him squarely in the eye, his hands behind his back. Without changing his position, he says in a whisper, “And where were you on June 6?”

  Miniman doesn’t reply, not a word. Terror-stricken at those staring eyes and that mysterious whisper, completely unable to grasp this desperate little question about a particular day, a date a month ago, he hurriedly tears open the door and tumbles into the hallway. Here he wobbles about for a moment, unable to find the stairs, while Nagel stands in the doorway calling to him: “No, no, this is all wrong, please forget it! I’ll explain some other time, some other time....”

  But Miniman didn’t hear anything. He was already downstairs before Nagel had finished speaking, and from there he ran—looking neither right nor left—into the street, across Market Square and over to the big town pump, where he turned into the first side street and disappeared.

  An hour later—it was ten o’clock—Nagel lighted a cigar and went out. The town hadn’t yet gone to rest; a great many people were seen strolling slowly up and down the road leading to the parsonage, and the streets round about still rang with laughter and shouts from small fry playing. Men and women were sitting on the steps chatting quietly in the mild evening air; now and then they called to neighbors across the street and received a friendly reply.

  Nagel walked down toward the docks. He saw Miniman go around sticking up posters on the post office, the bank, the school, and the prison. He did it, oh, so carefully and conscientiously! What pains he took and how unmindful of the time he was, though he might need to get to bed! Walking by close up, Nagel bowed, but didn’t stop.

  Shortly before reaching the docks, he was accosted by a voice behind him. Martha Gude stops him and says, quite breathlessly, “Excuse me, but you gave me too much money.”

  “Good evening!” he replies. “Are you, too, taking a walk?”

  “No, I’ve been in town, outside your hotel; I was waiting for you. Really, you gave me too much money.”

  “So, we’re starting that comedy all over again, are we?”

  “But you made a mistake!” she cries, dismayed. “There was more than two hundred in small bills.”

  “Oh, that’s it! Well, well, there were really a few kroner too many, one or two kroner over two hundred? All right, you can just return them to me.”

  She begins to unbutton her bodice, but suddenly checks herself and looks around, not knowing what to do. Then she apologized again: there were so many people, maybe she couldn’t take out the money here, in the street, she had put it in such a safe place—

  “No,” he hastened to answer, “I can pick it up, you know, just let me pick it up.”

  And they walked to her house together. They met several people, who looked at them with inquisitive eyes.

  When they got indoors, Nagel took a seat by the window where he had sat before, and where her skirt was still hanging for a curtain. While Martha was busy getting out the money he didn’t say anything; only when she was through and handed him a handful of small bills, some worn and faded ten-krone bills that were still warm from her bosom and which her honesty wouldn’t let her keep even overnight, did he speak to her, asking her to keep the money.

  But now, as once before, she seemed to suspect his purpose; giving him a doubtful look, she said, “No! ... I just don’t understand you.”

  He abruptly got to his feet.

  “But I understand you perfectly,” he replied, “that’s why I’m getting up and going to the door. Is your mind set at rest now?”

  “Yes—. No, you mustn’t stand by the door.” And, indeed, she held out her arms slightly, as if to pull him back. This queer spinster was too afraid to cross anybody.

  “I should like to ask you a favor,” Nagel then said, still not sitting down. “It would give me great pleasure if you agreed to—well, I would make sure to make it up to you some way or other: I want you to come to the bazaar Thursday evening. Will you do me that favor? It would distract you, there will be lots of people, lights, music, tableaux. Oh, please say yes, you won’t regret it! You’re laughing, why are you laughing? Good Lord, what white teeth you have, woman!”

  “I can’t go anywhere,” she replied. “How do you imagine I can go there? And why should I, why do you want me to?”

  He explained it all to her openly and honestly: the idea had come to him, he had been thinking about it for a long time; the thought had occurred to him already a couple of weeks ago, but it had slipped his mind until now. She should simply show up; s
he ought to be part of it, he wanted to see her there. If she wished, he wouldn’t even talk to her, so she wasn’t going to be bothered by him, that wasn’t the idea. It was just that he would be happy to see her with other people for once, to hear her laugh, see her be truly young. Please, she just had to do it!

  He looked at her. How conspicuously white her hair was, and how dark her eyes! One hand was picking at the buttons of her bodice, and this hand, a slight hand with long fingers, was grayish in hue; it was probably not quite clean, but it made a curiously chaste impression. Running up from the wrists were two blue veins.

  “Yes,” she said, “that might be amusing.” But she didn’t have anything to wear, not even a dress, for such an evening—

  He interrupted her: there were still three working days to spare; she could get whatever she needed before Thursday. Oh sure, there was plenty of time! So was it an agreement?

  Little by little she gave in.

  After all, one mustn’t bury oneself completely, he said; that way one would only lose. And besides, with her eyes, her teeth, oh, what a pity! And those small bills on the table would be for her dress, oh yes, no more nonsense! The more so as it was his idea and it had required an effort on her part to humor him.

  He said good night as usual, briefly, without giving her the slightest reason to feel uneasy. But when she saw him into the hallway, it was she who once again gave him her hand, thanking him for inviting her to the bazaar. Something like this hadn’t happened to her for many, many years, so she had lost the habit. She would behave nicely, though....

  The big child, even promising to behave nicely, though he hadn’t asked her to!

  XVI

  THURSDAY CAME. It rained a little, but in the evening the bazaar still opened in style and before a crowded audience. The whole town had showed up, people even came from the countryside to participate in this rare entertainment.

  When Johan Nagel entered the assembly hall around nine o’clock, there was a full house. He found a place way in the back, near the door, where he stood for a few minutes listening to a speech. Looking pale, he was wearing his yellow suit as always, but he had removed the bandage on his hand. The two wounds were almost healed.