The Black Cauldron

by William Heinesen

  “Yes, I promise, Pontus,” said Frederik, putting the little trinket into his pocket.

  Evening had fallen before Frederik was able to return to Angelica Cottage; he had suddenly had enough to do now that he had become the skipper of the Admiral. He had consulted Johannes Ellingsgaad and the Icelandic fishing agent Stefan Sveinsson, and had decided to leave already by midnight. There was no time to be lost.

  “You’re jolly lucky,” the Icelander had said. “You’ve come at the best possible time. I’ve got a fine cargo for you in Góðafjord, guaranteed first class fish, and the market in England will be at its best from now until Christmas. There’s no doubt at all about that.”

  Frederik trusted Stefan Sveinsson, as Ivar had done. The sound of these encouraging words continued to ring in his ears. He was feeling somewhat overwhelmed. Admittedly, The Admiral was an old hulk, built in Ålesund in 1889, but it was certainly a far bigger ship than the Manuela had been; indeed, there was no comparison. But that meant the risk was all the greater. There was an enormous amount of money at stake; Pontus must have borrowed a vast sum.

  Frederik hurried up the path to Angelica Cottage, which was shining beneath a cover of hoar frost under a starry sky. Magdalena was standing at the gate. She took his hands, and in surprise and delight he hugged her close.

  “You’re so warm,” she said.

  “I’ve been running. I haven’t much time; I can’t stay for more than a few minutes. Were you really standing here waiting for me, Magdalena? Have you been here long? Heavens, you’re cold.”

  “What are you in such a rush for?” she asked in surprise.

  “I’m sailing on the Admiral this evening.”

  Magdalena moved uneasily and let go his hand. “I’m sorry you’re going,” she said. “You could have got work ashore.”

  Frederik felt fired by her words. “Yes, but you know, I’m a sailor,” he said with a little smile. “I’m not suited to hanging about on land. And we’ll be back in three weeks. The Admiral’s a big ship and a quick ship, Magdalena; it’ll do seven knots, and the equipment’s good.”

  “Are there guns aboard?”

  “There’s a machine gun.”

  Magdalena sighed and leant her head against his chest, caressing his hand the while. “That’s not much good. Not against U-boats. Or mines. How’s your arm, Frederik, is it better?”

  “Yes, it’s all right.”

  “Who’s skippering the Admiral?”

  There was a smile in Frederik’s voice. “Well, who do you think? Guess.”

  Magdalena was not much in the mood for guessing.

  “He’s not far from you at this very moment,” laughed Frederik.

  “No. It can’t be true.” Magdalena involuntarily stepped back a little. “You?”

  Frederik nodded. She looked at him wide-eyed and suddenly there was something alien in her look, as though she had never really seen him before.

  “Frederik,” she said, and nudged him, still staring. But suddenly she flung both her arms round his neck and again laid her head to his chest.

  He kissed her and whispered in her ear: “You’ll wait for me, Magdalena, won’t you.”

  She sighed, but made no reply.

  “Why are you sighing? You will marry me though, won’t you? When I come home as a man who … as a man who can afford to build a decent house and provide for a family. What do you say, Magdalena?”

  She shuffled a little and seemed to find it difficult to answer, and Frederik felt his heart beating violently. He repeated his words impatiently: “What do you say, Magdalena? Won’t you? Won’t you wait for me?”

  She started fiddling with the lining of his collar. “My dear,” she said quietly, “I’ve got three children already. You can’t start off with three children. You should have a young girl who hasn’t got any children with anyone else.”

  “Children,” said Frederik impatiently. “You know how I love children. But that’s not what it is, Magdalena. You simply don’t want to marry me, that’s what it is.”

  There was almost a threatening tone to Frederik’s voice: “Perhaps you’ve got other plans. Yes, I’m asking because I’m in a hurry. I want to know whether I can go off as a happy man or as a …”

  “No, Frederik, you must be happy.”

  She sighed uneasily and added with a wan smile: “But can I make you happy, Frederik?”

  He felt her mouth close to his. Why was she avoiding answering his questions. He felt unsure of Magdalena. Once more he asked her earnestly: “Then, will you wait for me? I must have an answer from you, for it means so much to me. It means all or nothing.”

  “Yes, but suppose you came to regret it,” whispered Magdalena. “You mustn’t feel tied to me, Frederik. I’ll be here when you come back, and then we can talk about it again.”

  Frederik did not like Magdalena’s reply. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked sadly into her eyes. She smiled and surrendered to him.

  “You might just as well say that you’ll love me for ever and never love anyone else,” said Frederik at once reproachfully and imploringly.

  “You are my dearest friend, Frederik,” she said tenderly. “Let’s see whether you feel the same when you come back. You know how quickly feelings can change.”

  She hastily added: “But let’s go in. Then I’ll go down to the ship with you.”

  “Will you really, Magdalena,” he said, delighted. He took her by the waist and lifted her up in the air.

  Magdalena and Liva accompanied Frederik back to the ship. Light snowflakes were falling, and the path was iced over. Frederik took the two sisters by the arm. They walked in silence. The usual sound of seething activity rose up from the village; there was music, too, coming from Marselius’s dance hall, where the soldiers’ jazz band was playing at a dance. There was the usual throng of people outside the blacked-out entrance; pocket torches flashed here and there, faces appeared momentarily in the darkness behind rods of falling snow, mask-like faces, white and laughing.

  The Admiral was ready to leave down by the quayside; its motors were throbbing. Frederik quickly took leave; Magdalena followed him to the ladder; he held her hand tight and whispered: “I don’t know how to thank you, Magdalena; you’ve made a new man of me … yes, you have … you’ve given me something to live for.”

  The snow began to fall more thickly. Liva and Magdalena remained on the quayside until the outline of the ship had slipped out into the darkness. Magdalena was holding a corner of her scarf up to her face. Liva could hear she was battling with tears.

  They walked in silence for a long time. Magdalena cleared her throat and her voice became stronger. She sighed a long: “Aye, aye.”

  “Doesn’t Frederik remind you a bit of Oluf, my husband?” she asked suddenly. “Yes, he is a bit like him, Liva; not to look at, because he’s bigger and stronger, but even so … And he’s not as sluggish as Oluf, either. I’m terribly fond of Frederik; he’s got a heart of gold, but he still reminds me of Oluf …”

  Magdalena sighed again and was silent for a while. Then she went on: “Listen, Liva. I’d better confide in you if you can be bothered listening to me. Frederik wants me to marry him. Do you hear, Liva? But I can’t marry him. Do you know why? Aye, don’t eat me, Liva, I’m both embarrassed and unhappy … but I’m going with a soldier. I met him the very first evening I was here. All right, grumble at me, if you like. I deserve it. No one else knows about it, because we have met up in the fields, and he knows that I’ve been widowed recently and that nothing must come out. Understand? Well, then, say something, Liva.”

  “Have you told him you’ve got three children as well?” asked Liva in a hollow voice.

  “No.” Magdalena’s teeth were chattering a little, and she was shivering in her shawl.

  “I’m so sorry about it now,” she added after a while. “And besides, it’s worse than what I’ve told you. I’d better tell you everything. Are you listening? You could at least say yes and no so I can hear you’
re still with me. I must talk to someone, and you can say what you like then.”

  “Yes,” said Liva.

  “This man I’ve told you about isn’t the only one, either,” continued Magdalena in a low, self-accusatory voice. “I know two. Aye, that’s how bad it is, Liva.”

  Magdalena’s voice was thick as she went on: “And Frederik … I’ve had him as well. And that was even on that terrible day when we heard Ivar was dead. Yes, so now you know. I seduced him. And now he wants me, he wants to marry me.”

  Liva took her sister by the arm.

  “Magdalena,” she said.

  They approached the dance hall and hurried past. There were still sounds of jazz being played; the saxophones were wailing coyly and limply like children peeing on the floor for sheer devilment.

  “I’m not the only one like that,” Magdalena went on, her voice warming up. “Even Thomea’s got someone, would you believe it? I know they’re often together. And I know who it is, too; it’s that Icelandic fox-keeper. What sort of a man is he, really, Liva? And he seems to want to marry her as well – at least that’s what she thinks… Aye, I suppose it’s a bit silly of me, but you know how innocent she is, even if she is twenty-six years old. And it was me that helped to get rid of all those awful hairs on her face. But that’ll only last for a time; the hairdresser said that they’d come back in six months.”

  Magdalena suddenly shook Liva’s arm. “For heavens sake say something, Liva,” she said impatiently. “Grumble at me. Tell me you can’t stand me.”

  Magdalena sighed and was silent for a while. Finally, with a long, troubled sigh she said: “You don’t understand me at all, do you, Liva? Because you’re so good and faithful yourself. You’re good, Liva. As for me … I’m bad.”

  A moment later she added: “Do you know, when the baker was talking at the graveside … it was almost as though every word he said applied to me. I turned icy cold with fear.”

  Magdalena clung tightly to her sister’s arm. “Ugh … and now winter’s already here again. And there’s no end in sight to the war. Is there, Liva? You’re not saying anything, you’re not even nodding. You’re such a … such a strange, hard person, Liva. Yes, you are. I wish I was like you and had never done any wrong, but just been good and patient. I envy you. You’re like the wise virgins the baker talked about, the ones who had their bridal dresses ready and oil in their lamps. God help me and my lamp.”

  Magdalena laughed bitterly: “Yes, I suppose I’m not a very good virgin, Liva. No, Frederik ought to have had someone like you. What does he want with a whore with a nest full of kids already. He deserves a better fate.”

  They had left the town behind them. The snow had stopped falling, and the stars were shining in a cold sky.

  “Let’s stop here a moment,” said Liva. She took both her sister’s hands and said in a firm, warm voice: “Do you know what you are, Magdalena? You’re a repentant sinner. You can still become one of the wise virgins. You can get oil for your lamp. If you thirst for it and pray for it.”

  Magdalena shook her head and smiled with her eyes closed.

  “I daren’t think I’m worth anything,” she said. Her voice was both smiling and bitter.

  “Turn to our Lord Jesus Christ,” said Liva earnestly. “You must, Magdalena. That is where you will find peace and happiness to all eternity. You’ll learn to realise that this is only a poor resting place … that everything in this world is crying and screaming in despair for grace to pass redeemed into that real, eternal world, where peace and justice reign.”

  Liva’s voice had become strange and alien. Magdalena shuddered and felt deeply ill at ease. Liva took her by the shoulders and with wide-open eyes sought to catch her eye and said in a loud, minatory voice: “You must fight, Magdalena, you must overcome all those sinful things within you. Beg your Saviour for grace. For soon, Magdalena, soon the night will come … soon the night will come. Good God, Magdalena, think what that means: not to have your lamp ready, but to wander around alone in the darkness to all eternity.”

  “Let go,” pleaded Magdalena. She tore herself away from her sister’s grasp and hid her face in her arms. Liva gently stroked her back and then she folded her hands and began to pray, slowly and hesitantly. Magdalena could not gather her thoughts sufficiently to follow the words of the prayer; Liva’s voice sounded so alien and deep; she could hardly recognise it, and it hurt her; it was like being at the doctor’s to have a tooth out. Finally, the prayer came to an end. Amen! That word was good to hear. And now Liva’s voice returned to normal; she gently shook Magdalena’s clothes and said, in a tone that was almost cheerful: “You’ll see, things will be better before long.” She embraced Magdalena and planted a gentle kiss on her cheek, and then they went up the path, hand in hand and without exchanging another word.

  7

  And now this day, too, the day on which Ivar from Angelica Cottage was buried, must finally suffer the fate of all days: the fate of fading away into darkness. Sooner or later it will be totally forgotten, an indistinguishable layer in the vast deposit of sunken days at the bottom of the ocean of time. But for the time being it will maintain itself in people’s memories. It will not immediately sink to the bottom without further ado; people will catch glimpses of it for a long time, a long time … like a dead whale floating just below the surface, neither sinking to the bottom nor staying fully in view, kept aloft by exhalations coming from inside …

  Jens Ferdinand sees this whale come drifting along, the black, smooth fish-like body adorned with protruding, light grey lumps of gas-filled gut. In fact there are really two whales: he himself is one of them; he grinds his teeth and laughs bitterly at this latest invention of the demons of retribution, and at the same time, with a mighty effort, he works his way up to the surface.

  But here he is confronted with the wicked, raised harpoon of wakefulness, and it is mercilessly planted in a back still smarting from the fall in the sacristy.

  … The over-filled church, tapestried with human faces, the oppressive scent of flowers and tepid clothing, the white coffin before which he had stood and shouted his threats, powerlessly, ridiculously, and then the ignominious manner in which he had been thrown out. In grossly exaggerated dimensions he sees it all before him, and the demons are ready with their detailed close-ups from this epic film of idiocy and shame. Faces float past him, faces filled with horror, irritation, pity, disgust, amusement. Pjølle Schibbye bends over him and stifles a laugh in his hat. Inspector Joab Hansen gloats openly as he turns the chewing tobacco in his twisted mouth. Yes, they are all gloating, more or less dishonourably, not least Bergthor Ørnberg: there he lifts his head and raises his eyebrows, while the corners of his mouth curl limply down in a surfeit of goodness, for now he is avenged.

  But suddenly there is a huge close-up of Liva, unnaturally big – the black headscarf with its waffle decoration, the strong, dark hair, the pale young face, the naively folded virginal hands, the genuine pain in her eyes … “May Jesus Christ keep thee, my poor dear.”

  But then comes a yet sharper double portrait of the deacon and bell-ringer, actually two quite decent, ordinary faces, but on account of the profanation of the temple they are both devilish with anger; their eyes reflect a thirst for blood; their throats give birth to obscene and hitherto unknown wolf-like howls, but they keep control of themselves and, in deference to the discipline imposed by the church, content themselves with modest grunts. And then he rolls down those confounded steps while the congregation is like an explosive charge of suppressed amusement and Schadenfreude, liable to go off at any moment.

  Out. Bump. Down into the depths … to the other mutilated fish, that double of yours, with its unnatural entrail hump. Two identical and equally disgusting deep sea monsters seeking to hide behind each other while they burrow their way down into the mud of forgetfulness on the bottom. The devils of retribution smile to each other and stick their untiring boxer’s chins forward, ready with new torments.

  “But I
’ll cheat you, you devils,” he hisses. Almost weeping, he raises himself up in his bed and reaches out with a trembling hand for the bottle standing on the floor. It contains Gordon’s Dry Gin, made milder with vermouth, a sure promise of a few more hours’ respite before the final confrontation.

  Soon things are no longer so grotesque, even if, on the other hand, there is not exactly anything to rejoice over.

  The really wicked thing is that Ivar died in such a cruel way, and that this age is one that demands such appalling sacrifice … to the advantage of an unscrupulous or mendacious minority of mankind. And if a drunken typographer put in an appearance in a church where a tragedy was being transformed into a farce … what then?

  But what of Liva, that woman whom he idolised and worshipped? What of her? She was good to look at, and it was devilishly cunning that she should be so religious. Enough of that; she wasn’t his; she was his brother’s. Like hell she was! In spirit she was Simon the baker’s mistress. That was up to them, up to them. And yet … if he lost her as well – what would be left?

  Jens Ferdinand took another deep draught of the kindly, healing drink. He curled himself up on the bed and hissed through his contorted lips down into the pillow: “I love her. I love her. I’ve only got one life, and perhaps I’m wasting it and ruining it. But I have known what it is to fall in love, definitively, violently, terribly and impossibly in love with my mortally ill brother’s fiancée, the sectarian mistress of a mad baker and religious fanatic…! That’s an obvious handicap, old man, but … in short … bloody stupid as it may be: you love her.”

  III

  1

  Magdalena was inclined to regret having been so unreserved in her confidences to Liva, and the whole of the following day she went around feeling nervous that her sister might try to persuade her to join Simon’s congregation. Not for anything in the world would she become a member of the bun sect; she felt nothing but disgust and abhorrence for Simon and that loathsome corpse-cleaner, Benedikt, and their revivalist meetings in the grimy bakery. But when Liva came that evening and suggested that she should go along with her to a meeting she gave in without raising any objection.