The Black Cauldron

by William Heinesen

  But she would write first. She would have to confide in him that very day.

  Liva leant back, sighed deeply and shut her eyes. A merciless little voice deep down inside her said with harsh and painful clarity: “Johan will never recover. He’s lying waiting to die, just like Mrs. Opperman. He is going to die. He’s going to die, just as Ivar died. Perhaps this very year. Perhaps next year. He won’t be recognisable, a dry, distorted image of what he used to be, an alien thing, like Ivar, with features and hands like brown paper, like dirty cardboard.”

  Death, death. The cruel word kept on ringing in her ears. Death lies in wait, death spares no one. A time of death, a time of death. Alas, there is so much to go through before we can enter into the great light and for ever be with Him who overcame death …

  Liva shook her head and opened her eyes. Frozen graves, withered grass. Crosses and gravestones, sorrowful marble doves, white curlicues under glass covers, and “Here lie the remains of ….” It was all strangely unreal, grey and distant and insignificant in contrast to the living light inside her. She fell to wondering. “What about myself?” she thought faintly.

  Aye, here she was, twenty-three years old. She felt her heart beating; the shingle on the path crunched beneath her feet; the cold pricked her cheeks; she was alive … and suddenly she became aware of the seething activity in the town and harbour, the hammer blows that could be heard every day, engines, windlasses, car horns, the barking of dogs, voices, bagpipes. She got up quickly and stretched, breathed in deeply, yawned, felt unusually hungry and thirsty and longed to set about doing something or other and becoming herself again. “Here I am,” she thought again and gently shook her head as she contemplated her own situation and that of everything around her: “Here I am … for a short while yet, and then it’ll all be over. And only then will the real life begin, the life eternal …”

  She found Opperman standing at Ivar’s grave. Yes, of course. She was not surprised. Opperman, a silly little man, a poor fool, a man of this world, in love with her, ridiculous. He was a man entirely of this world, tied to this life, a worldling and a slave of mammon. She found herself wondering how Opperman would fare in the life to come. Good God, good God.

  And her thoughts went on: And what about Ivar? Yes, dear God, what about Ivar? This question had arisen in her mind several times during the last few days and nights, but she had put it aside until later. Now it was forcing itself on her, mercilessly and unrelentingly. She must go and have a serious talk to Simon about it.

  The grave had been filled in. Opperman was helping the gravediggers to arrange the wreaths; he smoothed out the silken ribbons, fussy and eager, just as he was when arranging materials and ladies’ stockings over in the warehouse. He was ridiculous. She could not feel angry with him. A small pile of white and black-edged cards lay in the grass. An oppressive scent of dying foliage and flowers rose from the grave. At last, all the wreaths were in place; the gravediggers took their leave and went their way. Opperman had got soil and hoar frost on his coat; he tried to knock it off, but gave up.

  “Now it is beautiful grave, Liva, isn’t it?” he said. She made no reply, but let him prattle on: “Oh, wondrous grave. Very wondrous. You see many other new graves, you never see so many flowers.”

  They parted at the entrance to the cemetery. Opperman grasped Liva’s hand, squeezed it, and said: “Oh, Liva, you not at all angry, it perhaps all become good again, for we have done no evil, we have good conscience, that the most important thing. You become cross, Liva, but you calm down again … yes, I see it on you. You perhaps come back again, yes? You perhaps like holiday? Go and visit your fiancé? Come back to old job?”

  “No, Opperman,” said Liva. “I’ll not come back. But thank you for all your trouble today.”

  “Old job, I say,” Opperman went on … “You not need have old job, Liva. You have new job if you want, yes you have much better job, for I value you so much, Liva, you are such clever girl, we just make mess occasionally. It easily be OK again. Oh, I see it on you Liva, you come back, you just have time to think. Goodbye. Regards to father, regards to sisters, love to children, I send them chocolate tomorrow … Engilbert take it with him when he go up to foxes. Dear. Dear.”

  Opperman’s mouth twisted in pain; he had tears in his eyes.

  Liva pulled her hand away in consternation. “No, Opperman,” she said. “I am not coming back; I mean what I say. But you mustn’t think me ungrateful. That’s all I wanted to say. I mean, we don’t need to part as enemies, Opperman.”

  “Oh, no, dear,” said Opperman. “Never. Never.”

  He suddenly grabbed her hand and lifted it with lightning speed to his chest. “Never,” he repeated imploringly.

  “Let me go, man,” said Liva, looking round in embarrassment. Suddenly she started and blushed scarlet … Simon the baker could be seen walking up the hill. He must have witnessed this ridiculous scene. What on earth must he think?

  “Good bye, dearest. We meet again soon,” said Opperman.

  She quickly turned away from him and went to meet Simon.

  “I was on my way up to see you,” said the baker. “What’s that you’ve got there, Liva? Cards from the wreaths? What do you want with them? There’s no point in keeping things like that.”

  “I know,” said Liva. “It was Opperman who insisted on my taking them home.”

  Simon sighed and looked reproachful: “You surely don’t need to do everything Opperman says, Liva. Leave others to grovel in front of his wealth, that is not for either you or me. He’s nothing but dust in our eyes, nothing at all.”

  “I know, Simon,” said Liva fervently. She wondered whether to throw the cards away.

  “So I suppose you realise he’s after you?” asked Simon.

  His voice was trembling a little. Liva felt how she was blushing. The sound of Simon’s voice penetrated deep into her soul and moved her. Without looking him in the eye she replied: “I have nothing more to do with Opperman. I’ve given up my job.”

  She stepped over to the roadside and threw the cards away in the ditch.

  “I’m glad to hear that,” said Simon in a low voice. “We need you. We can’t do without you.”

  Liva felt warmed at those words; she took his hand. “Thank you, Simon,” she said. “And I shan’t let you down.”

  They walked together in silence for a while. Then suddenly, and in an impatient voice, Liva said: “Simon, there’s something I must talk to you about. It’s about Ivar. How will it be with his soul, Simon? It worries and hurts me to think of it. You know what he was like. His faith … it wasn’t strong, Simon. Perhaps he didn’t believe at all. I spoke to him about it the evening he left for the last time, but it was as though he avoided the question.”

  “Aye, I’ve wondered about that myself, Liva,” said Simon. “It worries and nags me as well. And I’ve asked myself, too: What about Erik and Hans, my two sons who went down on the Evening Star? Aye, Erik believed, and he was a repentant sinner; it’s a consolation to me to know that. In a way he reminded me of your brother, Liva; they were both a couple of wild ones. But Hans, my elder boy, who was always so quiet and decent and such a good son to me … I don’t know whether he had the living faith, I don’t know. I go through enormous torments for his sake, Liva. And for my wife’s sake as well, for Maria was taken from me at a time when I myself didn’t know the miracle of salvation and the calling awaiting me. And even if I suppose she was a believer, I ask myself whether she had that living faith that fills the dead soul with imperishable warmth and inextinguishable light.”

  Simon sighed and his voice sounded dejected. “It is part of the cross we have to bear that we know nothing of these things,” he said.

  Liva turned round towards him, and they exchanged a brief, anxious glance. It disturbed her to see Simon so despondent; it was only a couple of hours since his words had resounded with thunderous intensity at the graveside.

  He sighed and lowered his voice. “It is part of the cros
s we have to bear,” he repeated. “But we can hope. We have the word of the Scriptures that the risen Christ descended into Hell and spoke to the spirits imprisoned there. But we know nothing for certain. We don’t know anything about ourselves, either, Liva. We don’t know what dreadful temptations have their abode in our bodies. But the Scriptures know, Liva. The Scriptures know. They often speak of it. They teach us that the great Liar, perfidious Satan, is lying in wait with his snares just when we least expect it. We can only resist him and fight, fight. Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature. That is what the Saviour demands of us.”

  Once more they walked on in silence for a time. Simon’s breathing was uneasy, as though he were in tumult. Suddenly, he stopped and said severely: “I might as well say this to you, Liva, for otherwise it is going to get in my way.”

  Liva looked at him in amazement and confusion. He returned her glance with coldness.

  “You see,” he said. “When I saw Opperman there pressing your hand to his chest, I was overcome by a burning desire that came from the Devil, and which I now know I must curse and fight against. Yes, a desire for you, Liva … jealousy, or whatever you like to call it. Satan is the sole source of such things. Come, let us pray.”

  He threw himself to his knees by the roadside. Liva did likewise in some confusion; the sound of Simon’s voice as he prayed and entreated went through and through her: “Tear down the webs of Satan and destroy his snares … let not this new infernal potion poison our souls. For, as is said: Behold, I give unto you power to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing shall by any means hurt you.”

  Simon got up. His glance was stern and distant.

  “Just you go home,” he said. “I shall not come with you, as I had intended to do. I must be alone for a time. Go in Christ.”

  He quickly turned away from her and walked off.

  Liva remained there, her head bowed, and her hands clutched to her mouth. It was some time before she could gather herself sufficiently to understand what had happened. But little by little she began to comprehend, and it filled her with an uneasy warmth and a deep sense of fear. She nodded timorously and stared ahead through half-closed eyes.

  6

  Frederik was curious to know what it was Pontus the watchmaker wanted of him. Was he going to offer him the Admiral again? Pontus had not been lucky with his speculations in fishing: the first trip the hired schooner had undertaken had lasted much longer than he had calculated, and the catch had not sold well; Pontus must have lost a fair amount on that. And then he had sacked Thomas Berg the skipper.

  “Aye, he was a thickhead, that Thomas Berg,” said Pontus. “He was too easy to fool; he was too scared to raise any objection. But then he’s a teacher’s son; he reads books; there’s no backbone in him. And as for me, I let myself be led up the garden path … by that blackguard Sveinsson, the worst beast I’ve ever in my life come across. He’d promised us the first look-in and said they’d look after us particularly well in Effersfjord, but not on your life! The Admiral had to wait a fortnight, and when it finally got in there was nothing left but rejects, half-rotten fish … Aye, did you ever know the like? They fobbed us off with a full cargo of rotten fish; aye, they even threatened the skipper and forced him to take it, the swine, and he was daft enough to do it.”

  Pontus swallowed a sneeze and dried his eyes.

  “And I made an enormous loss on it, Frederik. I lost 25,000 kroner. And I’ll never get that money back; it’s all gone into the pockets of those blasted sharks. I complained to Sveinsson, but of course he’s made sure he’s got his back covered, so no one can get at him; that’s the first thing those blighters make sure of. And then I got in touch with Snellmann, the best solicitor in the country, and asked him to sue the cheats, but he said it was hopeless, because it was an unfortunate fact of life that foreigners always lost in Icelandic courts. There’s no justice up there for anyone but an Icelander, you understand; they’re gangsters, the whole lot of them.”

  Pontus was not angry, not even particularly worked up. He smiled ruefully and fiddled resignedly with his chafed moustache.

  “Everything went wrong,” he said. “I ought to have taken notice of your warning, Frederik. But we’re not finished yet … I’ve got another trip left. I’m afraid, I’m afraid. I signed a contract for two trips, you know.”

  “It’s a question of pressing on,” said Frederik. “You can easily get a good cargo if you go about it the right way. And, incidentally, they’re not all cheats, Pontus; there are some fine folk among them. And Stefan Sveinsson’s always done us proud.”

  “Yes, I suppose so, Frederik,” said Pontus meekly. A gentle glow was being kindled behind his glasses, and his voice became mild and imploring. “You know the good men and the right places, Frederik. You never had a failed trip with the Manuela, did you? What was the smallest profit you ever made?”

  “Six hundred and thirty-five pounds,” said Frederik. “But on that occasion we were very unfortunate, too, for we had engine trouble on the way to Scotland, and the ice didn’t last out.”

  “There you are, there you are,” smiled Pontus, showing his long teeth.

  But then suddenly he became deadly serious and said, folding his hands on the desk top: “Frederik. I’m giving you the chance this time. I believe in you. You’ve had plenty of experience, and you’ve got the courage. Will you accept?”

  Pontus’s hands were trembling, and his silver-grey nostrils were vibrating. He could not sit still, but got up and shuffled his feet, while staring intently at Frederik. “Now, my lad. Don’t let me down. You know what’s at risk for me; the ship’s just about ready to sail; in fact, you can leave this very evening if you like, and the market’s at its very best at the moment, so there’s no great risk. And whatever happens, one day you’ll have to go off on your own account, won’t you, Frederik, if you’re going to get anywhere, for you’re not thinking of hanging around ashore, are you? And if the trip’s a success, we’ll extend the lease. There’s still a chance for us both to become rich, Frederik, but it’s now or never. You’ll never have a better opportunity.”

  “All right, then we’ll try our luck,” said Frederik.

  Pontus grasped his hand. “I like you for that, my dear friend and kinsman,” he said and sank relieved down into the chair. “I was dying to know whether you would, but I waited until after the funeral, for it’s bad luck to start negotiating about important things before a funeral, you know, and I didn’t want to disturb you in your sorrow, either.”

  “Oh, Frederik,” he added in a confidential tone. “If you had any idea how difficult this last time’s been for me. The tension while I’ve been waiting. The telegrams I’ve hardly dared to open. But in for a penny, in for a pound, and what’s life if you don’t take a risk now and then? You sailors risk your lives and your health, but we shipowners, too, put our lives and health at stake; it saps our strength, strains the heart… but what is it President Roosevelt says: Live life dangerously! Or maybe it wasn’t him who said it, but at least he said: Keep smiling. Yes, keep smiling, Frederik. You are my good kinsman, and we’re in the same boat. We’ll stick together, come what may.”

  Delighted, Pontus swallowed another violent sneeze and got up with renewed energy. “Let’s go down to the ship straight away and see about getting things ready. It’s Friday tomorrow, and that’s not a lucky day, so for God’s sake let’s get going this evening. Besides, you must know, Frederik, that there’s luck in anything you undertake just after a funeral. Come on, my lad, come on.”

  Frederik thought of Magdalena. Pontus was right when he said it was a case of making the most of the opportunity. And Ivar used to encourage him to have a go on his own.

  Frederik breathed in deeply and stretched his arms so that his elbow joints cracked.

  “Yes, by God.” he thought.

  They went out through the shop, where the pearls and brooches were shining in their spotless
display cases. There was something shining on the floor, too, a silver brooch or something that had obviously fallen out of one of the cases. Frederik bent down and picked it up. It was a little horseshoe; he gave it to Pontus, who looked as though he were trying to stifle an attack of laughter. “You found it, Frederik. I was scared stiff you wouldn’t notice it. No, just you keep it; take it with you; it’ll bring you luck.”

  Pontus’s voice broke, as he added: “I put it there myself, Frederik … as a sign. I always look for signs wherever I go.”

  “And what if I hadn’t spotted it?” asked Frederik in surprise. “Would you have withdrawn your offer?”

  “No,” said Pontus eagerly. He leant against the glass counter, and the steel-hard hairs under his nose were trembling. His hands were shaking, and his teeth chattering … what was wrong now?

  “You’re not going to be ill, are you?” asked Frederik. Pontus shook his head, but made no reply.

  “Look, I’ll be hanged if there isn’t another horseshoe here,” said Frederik. He bent down and picked it up. Pontus was again overcome by laughter and clasped the trinket in both hands. “I’ll keep that one for myself, Frederik. It’s made of gold, and it means twice as much good luck. And I don’t think we can ask for more than that, can we, Frederik?”

  “Third time pays for all,” thought Frederik and deliberately started looking for the third horseshoe. There it was, over by the doormat. He gave it to Pontus. The little watchmaker was blushing scarlet; he accepted the horseshoe shyly and said quietly and with no trace of laughter: “Aye, Frederik, if we can rely on portents, then this means thrice lucky. And this horseshoe – see, it’s the biggest of them all, and there’s an amethyst in it. It costs sixty-three kroner, too. Look, Frederik, I want you to take it with you, and when you get aboard, fix it to the wheel. It belongs to the ship as long as the lease lasts. Understand? Fix it on well. The Admiral has been an unlucky ship, but we’re turning it into a lucky ship now. Promise?”