by Knut Hamsun
A woman stands at the counter making purchases; several small parcels, wrapped in different kinds of paper, are lying beside me. The clerk, who knows me and knows what I usually buy, leaves the woman, wraps a loaf of bread in a newspaper straightaway and puts it in front of me.
“No—actually it is a candle this evening,” I say. I say it very softly and humbly so as not to irritate him and spoil my chances of getting the candle.
My answer came as a surprise to him, it was the first time I had asked for something other than bread from him.
“Then you’ll have to wait a moment,” he says, turning back to the woman.
She gets her things and pays, handing him a five-krone bill on which she receives change, then leaves.
The clerk and I are now alone.
He says, “And then there was your candle.” He tears open a pack of candles and takes one out for me.
He looks at me and I look at him, I cannot bring myself to voice my request.
“Oh, that’s right, you paid already,” he says suddenly. He says simply that I had paid, I heard every word. And he begins to count out silver coins from the till, one krone after another, fat shiny coins—he gives me back change on five kroner, the woman’s five-krone bill.
“There you are!” he says.
I stare at these coins for a second, feeling that something is wrong; I don’t reflect, my mind is a blank, I’m just stunned by all this wealth that lies gleaming before my eyes. I gather up the money automatically.
I stand there outside the counter, dumbfounded, vanquished, annihilated; I take a step toward the door and stop again. I direct my gaze at a certain point on the wall; a little bell in a leather collar hangs there and, beneath it, a bundle of string. I keep staring at these articles.
The clerk, who thinks I would like to strike up a chat, seeing that I’m taking my time, says as he tidies up some wrapping paper floating around on the counter, “It looks like we’re going to have winter now.”
“Hmm. Yes,” I answer, “it looks like we’re going to have winter now. It does look like it.” A moment later I add, “Well, it’s none too early.3 But it does, indeed, look like it. It’s certainly none too early, for that matter.”
I could hear myself uttering this drivel, but took in each word I spoke as though it were coming from another person.4
“Do you really think so?” the clerk says.
I put the hand with the money in my pocket, grabbed the latch and left; I could hear myself saying good night and the clerk answering.
When I had gone a few steps away from the stairs, the shop door was flung open and the clerk called after me. I turned around without surprise, without a trace of fear; I just gathered the coins in my hand and prepared to give them back.
“Here you are, you forgot your candle,” the clerk says.
“Ah, thank you,” I answer calmly. “Thanks! Thanks!”
And I walked on down the street, carrying the candle in my hand.
My first rational thought concerned the money. I went over to a street lamp and counted it afresh, weighing the coins in my hand and smiling. So, in spite of everything, here I was magnificently helped out—impressively and wonderfully helped out for a long, long time! And I stuck my hand, with the money, back in my pocket and went off.
I stopped outside a basement eatery on Storgaten Way, considering coolly and calmly whether I should venture to take a light lunch right away. I could hear the clatter of plates and knives inside and the sound of meat being beaten. The temptation was too great, I went in.
“A beefsteak!” I say.
“A beefsteak!” the waitress called through a service hatch.
I settled down by myself at a small table just inside the door and began to wait. It was somewhat dark where I sat, I felt fairly well hidden and started thinking. Every once in a while the waitress glanced over at me with a certain curiosity.
My first real dishonesty had been committed, my first theft, compared to which all my previous shenanigans counted for nothing; my first tiny, big fall. . . . Very well! There was nothing to be done about that. Anyway, it was all up to me, I would straighten it out with the shopkeeper afterward, later on, when it was more convenient. I didn’t have to go any further down that path; at the same time, I hadn’t undertaken to live any more honestly than other people, there was no agreement. . . .
“Will the steak be coming soon, you think?”
“Yes, quite soon.” The waitress opens the service hatch and looks into the kitchen.
But what if the matter came to light? What if the clerk were to get suspicious, began to ponder the episode with the loaf of bread, the five-krone bill the woman got change for? It was by no means impossible that he would someday catch on, perhaps the next time I went there. Oh, dear me! . . . I shrugged my shoulders on the sly.
“Here you are!” the waitress says kindly, putting the steak on the table. “But wouldn’t you rather move to another room? It’s so dark in here.”
“No, thanks, just let me stay here,” I answer. Her friendliness touches me all of a sudden and I pay for the steak right away, giving her whatever coins I get hold of in my pocket and closing her hand over them. She smiles, and I say in jest, with moist eyes, “Keep the rest to buy yourself a farm. . . . Oh, you’re welcome!”
I began to eat, grew more and more ravenous every minute and gobbled up big chunks without chewing them.5 I tore at the meat like a cannibal.
The waitress came over to me again.
“Wouldn’t you like to have something to drink?” she says. And she bends down slightly toward me.
I looked at her; she spoke in a very low voice, almost shyly. She lowered her eyes.
“I mean a pint of beer or whatever you’d like . . . on me . . . no charge. . . . If you’d like to . . .”
“No, thank you very much!” I answered. “Not now. I’ll come back some other time.”
She withdrew and sat down behind the counter; I could only see her head. A strange person!
When I was through I walked straight to the door. I felt sick already. The waitress got up. I was afraid to enter the lighted area, fearing to expose myself too much to this young girl who had no idea of my misery, so I said a quick good night, bowed and left.
The food began to take effect, it gave me great pain and I wasn’t allowed to keep it for very long. I emptied my mouth in every dark corner I passed, struggling to suppress the nausea that was hollowing me out afresh, clenching my fists to make myself tough, stamping my feet on the pavement and furiously gulping down again whatever wanted to come up—but in vain! I ran at last into an entranceway where, hunched over and blinded with the water that flooded my eyes, I emptied myself once again.
Overcome by wrath, I walked down the street sobbing, cursing the cruel powers, whoever they might be, that were persecuting me so, blasting them with eternal damnation and everlasting torment for their meanness. Those powers showed little chivalry, mighty little chivalry indeed, take it from me! . . . I went over to a man who was staring through a shop window and asked him in all haste what, in his opinion, one should offer a person who had gone hungry for a long time. It was a matter of life and death, I said; he couldn’t stand beef.
“I’ve heard that milk is supposed to be good, boiled milk,” the man answers, utterly astonished. “Who are you asking for anyway?”
“Thanks! Thanks!” I say. “Yes, that may be quite good, boiled milk.”
And I go my way.
At the first café I came across I went in and asked for some boiled milk. I got the milk, gulped it down hot as it was, swallowed every drop greedily and left again. I headed for home.
Then something strange happened. Outside my gate, leaning against the lamppost and flush in the light from the lamp, stands a person whom I can make out dimly already a long way off—it’s the lady dressed in black again. That same lady in black as on the previous evenings. There was no mistaking it, she had shown up on the very same spot for the fourth time. She
stands perfectly motionless.
I find this to be so odd that I instinctively slacken my steps. At this moment my thoughts are in proper order, but I am all worked up, my nerves being irritated by my last meal. I walk straight past her as usual, get almost to the door and am about to step inside. Then I stop. I have a sudden inspiration. Without trying to understand why, I turn around, walk straight up to the lady, look her full in the face and say, “Good evening, miss.”
“Good evening,” she answers.
Beg pardon, but was she looking for somebody? I had noticed her before, could I help her in any way? “My sincere apologies, by the way.”
Well, she wasn’t quite sure . . .
Nobody lived along this entranceway except for three or four horses and me, it happened to be a stable and a tinsmith’s shop. I was afraid she was on the wrong track altogether if she kept looking for somebody here.
She turns her face away and says, “I’m not looking for anyone, I’m just standing here.”
Really, she was just standing there, standing there like that night after night just because of a whim. That was a bit odd; the more I thought about it, the more puzzled I became by the lady. Then I decided to be bold. I jingled the coins in my pocket and invited her straight off to have a glass of wine with me someplace or other . . . to celebrate the coming of winter, heh-heh. . . . It didn’t have to take very long. . . . But maybe she’d rather not?
No thanks, she thought she’d better not. No, she couldn’t do it. But if I would be so kind as to walk with her part of the way, then . . . It was quite dark going home, and she felt uncomfortable walking up Karl Johan Street alone at such a late hour.
“With pleasure.”
We started off; she walked on my right-hand side. A peculiar, lovely feeling took hold of me. The consciousness of being in the presence of a young girl. I didn’t take my eyes off her throughout our walk. The perfume in her hair, the warmth radiating from her body, this fragrance of woman that surrounded her, that sweet breath every time she turned her face toward me—all this streamed in upon me, penetrating irresistibly all my senses. I could just barely make out a full, somewhat pale face behind her veil and a high bosom that strained against her coat. The thought of all that hidden loveliness, whose presence I sensed under her coat and behind her veil, was bewildering to me and made me idiotically happy without any sensible reason. I couldn’t hold back any longer and touched her with my hand, fingering her shoulder and smiling daftly. I could hear my heart pounding.
“How strange you are!” I said.
“Really? In what way?”
Well, for one thing she was plainly in the habit of standing motionless in front of a stable door night after night for no purpose whatsoever, just because it came into her head. . . .
Oh, but she might have her reasons for doing that. Besides, she loved staying up late at night, she had always liked that a lot. Was I myself keen on going to bed before twelve?
I? If there was one thing in the world I hated, it was going to bed before twelve at night. “Ha-ha!”
“Ha-ha, there you see!” And so she would take a walk like this in the evening when she had nothing better to do. She lived up on St. Olaf Place—
“Ylajali!” I cried.
“What was that?”
“I only said Ylajali. . . . All right, go on!”
She lived up on St. Olaf Place, a rather lonesome spot, with her mama, who it was no use talking to because she was so hard of hearing. So was it to be wondered at that she liked to spend some time out of the house?
“No, not at all,” I answered.
“Well, what then?” I could tell by her voice that she was smiling.
Didn’t she have a sister?
Yes, an elder sister—how did I happen to know that? But she had gone to Hamburg.
“Recently?”
“Yes, five weeks ago.” Who had told him that she had a sister?
Nobody had, I just asked.
There was a silence. A man walks past with a pair of shoes under his arm, otherwise the street is empty as far as the eye can see. Over by the amusement park is a long shining row of colored lamps. The snow had stopped. The sky was clear.
“Good heavens, aren’t you cold without an overcoat?” the lady says suddenly, looking at me.
Should I tell her why I wasn’t wearing an overcoat? Let her know my situation right away and frighten her off, now just as well as later? How delightful it was, though, to walk here at her side and keep her in the dark a little while longer. I lied and answered, “No, not at all.” And to change the topic, I asked, “Have you seen the menagerie in the amusement park?”
“No,” she answered. “Is it worth seeing?”
What if she took it into her head she wanted to go there? Into all that light, among so many people! It would be far too embarrassing for her, I would scare her away with my shabby clothes and my emaciated face, which I hadn’t washed for two days. She might even discover I didn’t have a vest. . . .
So I answered, “Well, no, I guess it’s not worth seeing.” Then some happy thoughts occurred to me which I made use of right away, a few cheap words, leavings from my dried-up brain: What, after all, could one expect from such a small menagerie? In general, I wasn’t interested in seeing animals in cages. The animals know that you are watching them; they feel those hundreds of curious eyes and are affected by them. No, let us have animals that don’t know you are watching them, those shy creatures puttering about in their winter lairs, lying there with somnolent eyes, licking their paws and thinking. Eh?
Yes, I was certainly right about that.
It was the animal with all its peculiar awesomeness and peculiar wildness there was something special about. Those stealthy, noiseless steps in the dead of night, the soughing and eeriness of the forest, the screeching of a bird flying past, the wind, the smell of blood, the rumble from space—in short, the spirit of the wild in the wild beast. . . .6
But I was afraid that this bored her, and the feeling of my extreme poverty beset me anew and weighed me down. If only I had been reasonably well dressed, then I could have made her happy with that walk in the amusement park. I couldn’t understand this person who was able to take pleasure in letting herself be escorted up the whole length of Karl Johan Street by a half-naked tramp. What in God’s name was she thinking of ? And why was I putting on an act like this, smiling at nothing like an idiot? What sensible reason did I have for letting myself be dragged along on such a long walk by this dainty bird of paradise? Wasn’t it, in fact, taxing my strength? Didn’t I feel the chill of death go straight to my heart at even the gentlest puff of wind that blew our way? And wasn’t madness already clamoring in my brain from mere lack of food for many months on end? She even prevented me from going home and sipping a bit of milk, another spoonful of milk I could maybe keep down. Why didn’t she just turn her back on me and let me go to blazes . . . ?
I grew desperate; my hopelessness drove me to extremes and I said, “You shouldn’t really be walking here with me, miss; I compromise you in the eyes of everybody by my clothes alone. Yes, it’s quite true, I mean it.”
She’s taken aback. She looks quickly up at me, without a word. Then she says, “Good heavens!” Nothing more.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
“Oh dear, don’t say such things. . . . We haven’t got very far to go now.” And she walked a little faster.
We turned the corner at University Street and could see the lights on St. Olaf Place already. Then she walked more slowly again.
“I hate to be indiscreet,” I remark, “but won’t you tell me your name before we part? And won’t you lift your veil for just one moment so I can see you? I would be so grateful.”
Pause. I was waiting.
“You’ve seen me before,” she answers.
“Ylajali!” I say again.
“You followed me once for half a day, all the way home. Were you drunk that time?” I could hear again that she was smi
ling.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I’m afraid I was drunk that time.”
“That was mean of you!”
Contrite, I admitted it was mean of me.
Then we were at the fountain—we stop and look up at the many illuminated windows of number two.
“This is as far as you can walk me,” she says. “Thanks for taking me home.”
I bowed, not daring to say a word. I doffed my hat and stood bareheaded. I wondered if she would give me her hand.
“Why don’t you ask me to walk back with you part of the way?” she says playfully. But she looks down at the tip of her shoe.
“Gee,” I answer, “if you only would!”
“Sure, but only a little way.”
And we turned around.
I was utterly bewildered, I didn’t know which way was up anymore; this person turned all my thinking topsy-turvy. I was enchanted, wonderfully glad; I felt as though I were dying from happiness. She had expressly wanted to go back with me, it wasn’t my idea, it was her own wish. I gaze and gaze at her, growing more and more cocky, and she encourages me, drawing me toward her by every word she speaks. I forget for a moment my poverty, my humble self, my whole miserable existence, I feel the blood coursing warmly through my body as in the old days, before I broke down. I decided to feel my way with a little trick.
“By the way, it wasn’t you I was following that time,” I said. “It was your sister.”
“Was it my sister?” she says, greatly astonished. She stops and looks at me, positively expecting an answer. She was asking in dead earnest.
“Yes,” I answered. “Hmm. That is, it was the younger of the two ladies who were walking ahead of me.”
“The younger? Aha!” She laughed, at once loud and sincerely, like a child. “Oh, how sly you are! You said that just to get me to lift my veil. I understood that much. But you won’t get your way . . . for punishment.”
We began to laugh and joke, talking incessantly all the time; I didn’t know what I was saying, I was happy. She told me she had seen me once before, a long time ago in the theater. I was with three friends and I had behaved like a madman; I must have been drunk that time too, she was afraid.
