The mist had thickened now. The air was filled with swarms of dancing midges. The clumps of marguerites along the path to Angelica Cottage had still not withered entirely, and the stubble fields were light green as in the spring. There was a cheerful smell of peat smoke and coffee in the kitchen. Magdalena came out to meet Frederik; they exchanged glances and she sighed as she took his hand and patted it.
Magdalena was alone at home with her youngest daughter, who was asleep in her cradle. The other two girls were playing with Alfhild out in the yard. Elias had gone down to the hospital together with Thomea and Liva.
Frederik went over to the cradle and pulled the cover aside to reveal a tiny child’s head covered with dark down. He raised his eyebrows at the sight, and for a moment was lost in thought. Good Lord, here lay a child, a tiny human child, waiting to grow up into this strange and sorrowful world that not even Verlandsen could understand…
“Come and have a bite to eat, Frederik,” said Magdalena. “You must be terribly hungry and thirsty; no one’s thought of giving you anything to keep you going, you poor thing. And aren’t you awfully tired, too? And what about your arm … Is there anything I can do to help you with it?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my arm,” said Frederik. He sat down. Magdalena laid the table. “You’re almost asleep, Frederik,” she said. “You look almost as though you were drunk. Look, when you’ve had something to eat what about having a snooze and getting some of your strength back?”
She went across to him and touched his arm. He felt her breath against his face.
“I’m not the least bit hungry, Magdalena,” he said. “Only sleepy. I’d rather lie down straight away, if you don’t mind.”
He pulled his damp jersey off and lay down in the alcove bed, dizzy with fatigue. He felt Magdalena’s hand spreading a blanket over him and caressing his head. Half asleep, he caught hold of it, and pressed it to his cheek. She got to her knees beside the alcove; he felt her mouth against his own and opened his eyes wide in amazement.
Magdalena looked at him with tears in her eyes. He took her head in his hands and kissed her, and suddenly all thought of sleep was gone; all that remained was a little dizziness.
“What is it we are doing, Magdalena?” he said tenderly, pulling her down into the alcove. It was suddenly dark in there – she had pulled the curtain to.
“We oughtn’t to do this,” she whispered breathlessly. “It’s all wrong. You mustn’t be angry with me, Frederik. I must go now … they could be here any moment. No, Frederik, let me go, my dear.”
As though in a dream, Frederik could hear the kettle boiling on the hearth and, muffled by the distance, the laughter of children playing outside.
The mist was dispersing again; it was once more raining heavily from low clouds. Together with their father, Thomea and Liva were on their way back to Angelica Cottage. They had been visiting the hospital mortuary. The women were dressed in mourning and their faces were half hidden behind black scarves. Elias’s stiff, blue Sunday Faroese cap perched on his head like a helmet, an absurd contrast to his tired, flaccid features.
Liva felt that everyone was turning round to look at them, and that curious faces were watching them from all the windows. As they passed Opperman’s house a voice called to her from the kitchen; a maid came out on the steps and beckoned to her.
“The mistress would like to talk to you,” she said.
Liva started. What could Mrs. Opperman want her for?
“Just carry on,” she said to Thomea. “I’ll catch up with you.”
Mrs. Opperman was lying in her bed in the big, light upstairs room. She was very thin, but showed none of the sickly pallor one might have expected; on the contrary, her face and arms were a dark brown. She took Liva’s hand and shook it warmly.
“You poor thing,” she said. “Yes, it’s hard for you, Liva. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you, but I so wanted to express my sympathy. Look, do have a seat here in the easy chair for a moment if you’ve time.”
Mrs. Opperman spoke fluent Danish. Her protruding eyes betrayed cool indifference, and made Liva feel uncomfortable. She looked around the spacious room. It was like a hospital; there was some strange apparatus bristling with electrical switches over in the corner. An adjustable mirror had been fixed on the bed head. From the window there was a view across to Opperman’s offices down on the other side of the harbour. She could see Opperman himself through the window, sitting at his writing desk.
“Do take off your scarf for a moment, my dear,” said Mrs. Opperman in a kindly voice. “I can’t see your face at all. No, of course, if it embarrasses you, Liva … that wasn’t the intention…”
Liva felt Mrs. Opperman’s cold seagull eyes fixed on her; it made her feel insecure, and she looked down.
“Life’s a strange thing,” said Mrs. Opperman. “There your brother was taken away, young and strong and with the future before him. And here am I, still alive, but tied to this bed for the rest of my life … useless, no good for anything, a reject.”
“But you hardly look ill at all,” said Liva in order to say something. “You look so sunburnt…”
“Yes, it’s that thing over there, the artificial sun-lamp,” said Mrs. Opperman pointing to the contraption in the corner. “But it doesn’t do me the least bit of good. No, I’ve been finished for a long time, Liva; I’m dying bit by bit. But let’s talk about something else…”
She closed her eyes. Her huge eyelids were blackish brown, verging on blue. Liva stared at the peculiar mirror above her head. Suddenly Mrs. Opperman opened her eyes and stared intently at Liva, searching, scrutinising. Then, slowly and quite calmly, she said: “Liva, I am not at all angry with you. I simply wanted to have a proper look at you; that’s all. You must forgive me.”
“Why should you be angry with me?” asked Liva in amazement.
Mrs. Opperman looked away. She raised her eyebrows, and her mouth contorted in a mournful little smile.
“Oh, Liva,” she said. “Don’t let’s put on an act. I know all about it. You mustn’t be embarrassed with me. I’ve become accustomed to that as well as to so much else. I have had to put up with it.”
“What have you put up with?” asked Liva in a whisper, flinching a little.
“My dear girl, you play your part well,” smiled Mrs. Opperman.
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Liva, getting up.
Mrs. Opperman closed her eyes again. The smile remained hovering on her lips. She sighed. “Liva,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll forgive me. You’ve nothing to fear from me, lying here completely helpless. You’ll forgive me for having my spies out. You know Amanda: she’s been here for eight years and she’s my only real friend. She’s on my side, you know, and she’s my little spy. I’ve got it all from her. No, don’t be angry, Liva. Let’s talk about it calmly.”
“If only I knew what you think I’ve been doing,” said Liva, looking the sick woman frankly and fearlessly in the eye. Suddenly, and contemptuously, she added: “For you can’t possibly think I’ve had anything to do with your husband.”
Mrs. Opperman still lay with her eyes closed. She nodded and said in a low voice: “Yes, Liva. I know you have. You see that mirror above my head. It can be fixed so that with the help of another mirror I have here in bed I can see out of the window. I saw the bombs fall on the Fulda. I saw the aeroplane and everything. It didn’t worry me, for I’m used to death staring me in the face. But then, afterwards, I saw you and my husband down in his office. You had a drink. Remember?”
To her horror and disgust, Liva felt she was blushing scarlet. “I didn’t drink anything,” she said in a hollow voice.
“Well, it doesn’t matter, in any case. You were alone, and I could see you standing close up to one another.”
“We didn’t,” said Liva, shaking her head. She sat down on a stool. She felt strangely helpless.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Mrs. Opperman without opening her eyes. “Because you wen
t back that evening in the dusk. And that time you went in through the vestibule. And you were disguised. You had a rust-coloured bonnet on and you were bending forward as you walked. I’ve got good eyes, Liva. And from Amanda I know that you were together from seven to about eleven, four hours.”
“That’s not true, Mrs. Opperman,” said Liva. “May the earth swallow me up if it’s true. May misfortune strike me.”
“Heaven forbid,” said Mrs. Opperman. “Oh well, that was the first time I discovered what was going on between you. But later Amanda … yes, I’m sorry, Liva, but it does concern the man who’s supposed to be my husband, doesn’t it. Later, Amanda listened at the door and under the window and she heard you and Max together in the office. Several times.”
Liva shook her head all the time. She was gradually realising that this pitiable woman before her was demented. She would talk to Amanda and get it all cleared up.
“Liva,” said Mrs. Opperman. “Come here, let me shake hands with you again, and then go home. You are young, you are poor, but you might perhaps become a rich wife … if you can hold on to him. And if you can stand him.”
Mrs. Opperman raised her huge eyebrows and gently shook her head. Then, in a low voice, she added: “For he is dreadful. Dreadful. He may not be an evil man, Liva, for at times he can be so kind and nice. Perhaps he is more like an unreasonable spoilt child. He does terrible damage, he tears things apart, and then he regrets it afterwards. Oh, he has done me so much harm, Liva. And he has torn so much apart for me. Perhaps not everyone would have survived it. I’ve been almost out of my mind, too. I have, really. I am not religious, Liva, but many’s the time I’ve thought that if Satan exists, then he is called Max Opperman. But bit by bit I suppose I’ve learned to deal with him. For he has to be treated like a child. In a way he is not so much evil as childish.”
Mrs. Opperman gave Liva a sideways glance. There was a little smile in the corner of her eye, and she said warmly, as though speaking in confidence: “He’s not a real man, Liva. I suppose you know that yourself, although you’re so young. In any case, you’ll discover it sooner or later. As a woman you’ll find no satisfaction in that poor devil. You’ll see. But he’s wealthy, and if you become his wife, you’ll be a wealthy woman. No, Liva, don’t be angry. We’re talking to each other as friends, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” replied Liva in order to put an end to it. “But I must go now, Mrs. Opperman. Good-bye.”
“Come again, my dear,” said Mrs. Opperman. “Promise?”
Liva made no reply. She felt confused and sickened and had broken out in a sweat. Down in the kitchen she came across Amanda on her way up with coffee and cakes on a tray. “Wait a moment,” said the old maid, opening the door to the sitting room. “Here, sit here a moment, and I’ll be back presently.”
Liva remained in the doorway. Her heart was beating wildly. The big, light room was opulently furnished, shining with well-polished mahogany; the deep armchairs were enormous, the size of bulls, and they were upholstered in some material with a bronze sheen. Standing against the wall at the end of the room there was a big harmonium with a double row of stops, and the walls were covered with paintings in broad gilt frames. And the bound books in the big bookcase in the corner glittered with gold, and standing under a glass cover on top of the bookcase there was a clock of gold beaten as fine as lace. The door to a side room was surmounted with an embroidered biblical text and the words: God Bless Our Home. It was indeed an imposing room. But it seemed not to be used much, for it smelt enclosed like a storeroom. There were several photographs on the harmonium; one of them was a wedding photograph of Opperman and his wife; she was beautiful in her white silk dress and with a myrtle wreath in her frizzy hair. The bridegroom was wearing a dress coat and holding a pair of starched white gloves in his hand. His smile was the one she knew of old, and in general Opperman had not altered very much during the eight years he had been married. The bride was a little taller than the groom.
Amanda returned. “Why are you standing here?” she asked. “Do come into the sitting room.”
Liva looked imploringly at the old maid and touched her hand. “Amanda,” she said. “I didn’t know that Mrs. Opperman was … confused. I mean that she rambles a little. Doesn’t she, Amanda? She’s mad, isn’t she?”
Amanda opened her eyes wide, and her lips contracted into a tiny circle. “Mad? No, she’s ill in a different way, but there’s nothing wrong with her mind. No, Mrs. Opperman is really very bright, very intelligent.”
Everything turned black before Liva’s eyes. She pulled herself together and said severely: “Then what’s all this nonsense she’s talking about me and Opperman? And what about you? Because you’re supposed to have seen and heard us together, and God in Heaven knows it’s not true. Do you understand me, Amanda? It is not true, I say.”
Amanda turned away a little, recoiling slightly as though afraid of being hit. She muttered something, clearly enough for Liva to hear it: “No, it’s not a lie, it’s certainly not a lie. I’ve seen it all. And Opperman’s not denied it, either. And the mistress is both brighter and more intelligent than the two of us together…”
“It is a lie,” whispered Liva and repeated it in a loud voice that resounded through the hall and staircase: “It is a lie. I’ll make Opperman swear that what you say is a lie. I’ll have you in court for your evil gossip, you’ll see.”
Amanda had gone over to the kitchen door and stood holding the handle; there was a tiny canny smile playing in the corner of her eye, but she avoided looking at Liva, and kept on muttering as though talking to herself: “Opperman … yes, of course, he’ll back you up, good Lord, of course he will… But the mistress is neither daft nor mad, I’ll guarantee that, and she isn’t even angry with you, ’cause that’s what she’s like.”
Liva moved across to the old maid, grasped her limp hand and forced her to look her in the eye.
“Don’t you understand how terrible and shameful this is for me?” she asked in a subdued voice. “I’m engaged to be married. I’ve never had anything to do with anyone except my fiancé. I have had nothing to do with Opperman, Amanda, nothing, nothing. You mustn’t ruin everything for me with your gossip. My fiancé might hear it, and then what? He might die from it, Amanda, because he’s seriously ill. Don’t you see what a terrible sin that would be?”
Liva’s voice grew more and more imploring and appealing: “You must believe what I say, Amanda. You must help me. You must get Mrs. Opperman to see that it is all a misunderstanding. Do you hear? It must be someone else you’ve heard in with Opperman in the evenings. I’ll get to the bottom of it, Amanda. Will you believe me then, if I get to the bottom of it?”
Terrified, Amanda sought to drag her hand free. Suddenly Liva let go, and the old maid quickly slipped into the kitchen and closed the door behind her. Liva could hear her muttering and scolding to herself in there. Then Mrs. Opperman’s voice rang out from the bedroom: “Amanda. Come here immediately.”
Liva picked up her scarf, which had fallen to the ground. Hesitantly, she stepped out into the rain. Now she recalled Mrs. Opperman’s words: “You had a rust-coloured bonnet on that evening.” Frøja Tørnkrona from the restaurant usually wore a rust-coloured bonnet. It might be Frøja Tørnkrona who was meeting Opperman in secret. Of course it was Frøja. She would go with anyone.
Liva decided to go back and try to make Amanda see that it was not her but Frøja who had been meeting Opperman. But the maid was nowhere to be seen. She was presumably up in the bedroom with the mistress. Yes, now she could hear them talking to each other up there; she could hear Amanda’s excited voice. She would not go up. She stood for a long time in the hall and heard them whispering up there. And all of a sudden she felt herself gripped by fury. With all her strength she shouted up the staircase: “They’re all lies. They’re all lies. I’ll have all three of you in court.”
Then she went out in the rain again; once more things went black before her eyes. How could she put an end
to this nightmare? She felt a need to confide in someone who could understand her. Magdalena, for instance. Or Simon. Or Opperman himself … Yes, why not go across to him now and demand an explanation, force him to confess to his wife and Amanda that it was Frøja Tørnkrona who was paying visits to him in the evening.
She hurried down to Opperman’s office and found him alone. He got up from his desk and came towards her.
“Oh, Liva,” he said in a kindly voice. “You come here? You remember you have time off today and until funeral is over? But, oh, you are so dreadfully sorrowful, Liva. You speak to me?”
She knocked his outstretched hand away and said hoarsely: “I have just been up to see your wife. She’s accusing me of having an affair with you. I won’t put up with it. It’s Frøja or someone else who’s having an affair with you. You’ve got to admit it, Opperman. I’ll force you to admit it.”
Opperman glanced at Liva; she was terribly pale; her eyebrows and black eyelashes looked as though she had put too much make-up on them. He bent over his desk and fiddled with some papers. His hands were trembling. “My dear, my dear,” he said tonelessly. Finally he sat down, took a paper knife and sat for a moment rocking it between his fingers.
The Black Cauldron Page 13
