The Black Cauldron

by William Heinesen

  He straightened himself up, cleared his voice rather loudly and suddenly looked her in the eye: “I’m alive, you see. I’m going to get better. I’m going to come back. You shan’t regret waiting for me, Liva.”

  There was something threatening about Johan’s voice, and there was a hard look in his eyes. The confused old man was laughing and carrying on over in his corner. Liva felt bewildered. “Johan,” she said reproachfully. Johan’s eyes became all the more penetrating and relentless; she couldn’t stand it, and looked down.

  “What are you frightened of, Liva?” he asked in a low tone, holding her hand tight.

  “You don’t believe me,” she said in a hollow voice. “You believe that ridiculous gossip.”

  She bent her head and suppressed a sob. He got up with some difficulty and knelt before her chair, took both her hands and said hoarsely: “I believe in you, Liva. Do you hear? I’ve got to believe in you. And in myself, too. For otherwise it would all be hopeless. You know what it means to me to have you. It means everything to me.”

  In the recreation room behind the veranda someone was playing a harmonium. The old man got up and went in. Liva felt relieved when the strange deranged being disappeared. She leant right down and pressed her cheek against Johan’s.

  “My own dear,” she said, trying to make her voice sound as unconcerned as possible. “You have no need whatever to worry. Look at me. Yes, believe me, I can’t be bothered defending myself. I have been faithful to you throughout, and I shall go on being faithful whatever happens. Nothing can shake me, Johan. Nothing, nothing shall ever separate us. Not even death.”

  She took his head between her hands and in a firm voice said: “We shall go on living in Jesus Christ. Shan’t we?”

  Johan made no reply. Their eyes met. He was clearly affected by her words. Liva was quite composed now, and she felt that Johan, too, had begun to calm down. He sat back in his chair.

  “You must forgive me for getting so worked up,” he said. “But just imagine what it is like to lie here, alone, and know that you are over there at home, completely unprotected, as it were. Or at any rate: I can’t do anything to look after you. And of course there are lots of temptations, Liva, when you’re young and as good looking as you are; of course there are, and it’s almost asking too much of you to …”

  “There are no temptations for me,” said Liva, getting up.

  The nurse put her head round the door at this point. “Johan Hermansen. The doctor’s here, and he’s very angry with you for getting up.”

  Now the doctor’s voice made itself heard, too. He appeared in the doorway: “Yes, Johan Hermansen, what’s going on …? Oh, you’ve got a visitor. Yes, I see, but it’s no use if you won’t keep to the rules … especially now you’re beginning … to make a bit of progress. We’ll have to be very careful that you don’t have a relapse, shan’t we?”

  The doctor gave Liva a disapproving look over his glasses. The nurse came and made to assist Johan up from his chair, but he got up without her help and turned towards Liva. He was very pale, and the whites of his eyes were extremely bloodshot. They exchanged looks and he held her close for a brief moment.

  “I’ll come again tomorrow during visiting hours,” she said.

  The doctor turned towards Liva. “Are you his sister, perhaps?”

  “No, his fiancée.”

  The doctor nodded. “Oh, his fiancée. I see.”

  “What do you think, doctor … ?” Liva’s voice was quite hoarse, and she could not get the rest of the sentence out.

  The doctor beckoned her further into the veranda. He drew his breath a couple of times before answering. “Hm, well … well, your fiancé’s really doing quite reasonably. Admittedly, both his lungs are affected, but I think we can save one of them. We’re going to make an attempt now to stop the disease spreading … Do you understand? That’s what this plastic operation, as it is called, aims to do. We’re doing all we can. The most important thing is to keep his spirits up.”

  The doctor looked enquiringly at Liva: “Your fiancé’s far too impatient. I think he lies there reflecting far too much. Doesn’t he? He’s losing his appetite with all this thinking. He’s tormenting himself with something or other. We’ll have to see what we can do to stop him. Don’t you agree? Incidentally, have you had a tuberculin test? Oh, you’re negative. Then in that case you must take care not to become infected. Your fiancé’s very infectious at the moment.”

  The doctor was busy and had to get on. “We’ll see; we’ll see,” he said in conclusion.

  Liva spent a restless night in an overfull hostel down by the harbour. She slept on a sofa in the dining room and even had to be grateful for having a roof over her head at a time when accommodation was so short.

  She got up early the next morning, had a light breakfast and walked about aimlessly in the misty streets where soldiers were marching and military trucks were driving past as they did at home. Strange to be walking about here where she didn’t know a living soul. All the young women were wearing coloured scarfs; that was obviously the fashion here.

  Liva followed the road out along the shore until she could see the grey buildings of the sanatorium where Johan lay. There was a row of gulls perched on the roof. A flock of eider ducks was rocking on the sleepy waters. Liva went down to the shore and sat on a projecting rock right down by the water’s edge. A girl emerged from the kitchen door of the sanatorium; she was carrying a bowl and set about feeding the hens. The gulls flew up from the roof and started circling and screeching noisily above the henhouse.

  A slight drizzle began to fall. She got up and strolled back to the town, which lay engulfed in a grey mist, part drizzle, part smoke from the chimneys. The narrow, muddy streets were thronged with helmeted soldiers, some carrying gas masks, and camouflaged military vehicles.

  Liva felt inordinately tired, and longed to get some sleep. It was only ten o’clock, so it was another five hours to visiting time. It began to rain heavily. She went back to the overcrowded hostel and found an unoccupied seat in a corner of the dining room. Here, surrounded by sailors drinking beer, she sat and fought with sleep. The odd meaningless word and sentence rang in her ears; for a moment she dreamt that she was sitting out in the sanatorium veranda waiting for Johan; she was staring at the bare, faded walls and the window ledges devoid of flowers and heard the old man sniggering and playing the fool. But now Johan appeared, sunburnt and ready to leave, and carrying a shiny-peaked mate’s cap. “Right, we’re off,” he said gaily, taking her arm, and she got up with a cry of delight.

  Liva awoke with a start. She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was one of the waitresses, a very young, thin girl.

  “You can’t sleep here,” she said. “Come with me; I’ll find you somewhere better.”

  She led Liva into a tiny dark room beside the kitchen. “Look, lie down on this bed for a while, it’s mine.”

  “Thank you so much,” said Liva. Fully dressed, she lay down on the bed and immediately fell asleep.

  Liva awoke with a start; she had again been dreaming that she was waiting for Johan, but instead of her fiancé it was Opperman who appeared; he wrapped her tenderly in the black travelling rug and said: “Wait, wait, always wait.”

  She sprang out of bed. The little room was almost pitch dark, and the air was thick with the smell of food from the kitchen. The sound of Opperman’s words was still ringing in her ears: wait, wait. It was just turned two o’clock. Thank God she had not missed visiting time… What would Johan have thought then?

  The kind maid brought Liva a bowl of water and a towel so that she could wipe the sleep from her eyes. “I can get you a place to sleep tonight,” she said. “It’s right up under the eaves. But it’s all right. I sleep up there myself sometimes. What are you here for, by the way? Have you come looking for a job?”

  Liva explained her errand to her while she was doing her hair in front of a broken mirror. “Good Lord,” said the other girl, clicking her tongue in sympathy. �
�If he’s out there he must be really ill.”

  “He is really ill,” confirmed Liva. “Heavens, but I do look bleary-eyed, and my hair’s all in a mess.”

  “I’ll give you a cup of strong coffee,” said the girl. “There’s time for that; it’ll buck you up.”

  Liva gratefully swallowed the scalding drink. It tasted spicy and strong and brought a hectic glow to her cheeks.

  “Ask for me when you come back,” said the girl. “I’m called Martha.”

  “Thank you so much, Martha.”

  Liva hurried off. It was no longer raining. There was a rainbow hue over the long glittering road. The drone of bagpipes could be heard from a cluster of army huts up in the wet fields. Out on the point where the hospital lay the sun was shining, reflecting in the panes of the veranda. The nursing sister from yesterday was near the entrance, talking to a very pale elderly woman dressed in black. She was standing with her hand on the door handle. Liva heard her say: “But it’s lovely to think that he’s gone to join his sisters who have gone before him. Just think about it like that, Mrs. Olsen.” The old woman made no reply, but her upper lip trembled a little as she stared ahead through glazed eyes.

  The nurse nodded to Liva as she recognised her. “Oh yes, you’re Johan Hermansen’s fiancée,” she said in a kindly voice. “I’ve got a message for you from him. Do come inside. No, don’t worry; there’s nothing wrong. It’s only … a letter.”

  She disappeared for a moment and came back with a letter. Liva opened the envelope. “My own darling,” it said. “I’ve decided to ask you not to visit me today. I’m so happy that I saw you yesterday. I’m quite calm and confident, for I know that you are the same as always. Just have a little patience with me, just a little longer, and then everything will surely be all right. You must not be angry with me for asking you not to visit me; it’s for your own sake. I don’t want you to be exposed to infection here in the ward, where there are several very infectious patients. That’s why I wanted to see you yesterday out there where we were. It was lovely to see you and talk to you; I can live on that for a long time. Otherwise, we can write to each other as usual. Your devoted Johan.”

  Liva folded the letter; the nurse gave her a searching look and took her hand. “Your fiancé is a splendid chap,” she said.

  She turned around to receive a new visitor; her eyes lit up in delight: “Oh, good afternoon, pastor. How nice to see you.”

  The pastor, a pasty man with watery brown eyes, was carrying a large bunch of flowers giving off a soothing perfume which for a moment dissipated the insipid smell of carbolic in the room. Liva was still holding the folded letter in her hand; she stood for a moment lost in thought. Flowers, she thought, of course, she would buy a big bunch of fresh flowers for Johan.

  There was nothing but vegetables and potted plants to be bought in the flower shops. But Martha, the maid at the hotel, was able to suggest a way out. She knew a lad who worked for a market gardener; all she had to do was ring him and arrange things. Liva was presented with a big bunch of flowers free of charge; indeed, the young man himself offered to take them out to the hospital. Liva fixed a little note to the bouquet. She wanted to give the helpful lad a tip, but Martha nudged her: “Don’t be silly; it’s good for him to use his legs.” The lad looked admiringly at Martha and gave her a knowing wink.

  “Is he your brother, perhaps?” asked Liva.

  “No, only a young lad who goes errands for me on his bicycle,” laughed Martha. She took Liva up a narrow, winding staircase. At the top there was a ladder leading up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Martha opened the trapdoor, and they came up into a very low but light attic room. Tucked away under one of the sloping walls there was a worn mattress of seaweed, and on a tin over by the window there was an empty bottle and two dusty glasses.

  “There, it’s all quiet and cosy up here,” said Martha. “So now you know the way. Come on downstairs now and have a bite of something. You look pretty hungry and worn out. Are things not so good with that darling boy of yours? Good Lord, you do love him, don’t you?”

  Martha stared at Liva, shaking her head and clearly full of sympathy. “Is he your first one? Really the only one? But what if he pops his clogs, Liva, eh? Are you simply going to be a widow dressed in black, or what? Oh, God help me, now she’s blubbering…”

  “Rubbish, I’m not blubbering.”

  “Yes, you are.” Martha whimpered piteously and took Liva’s hand. “You look just like one of those women in the films, you know, one of those that are really in love,” she said tenderly. “Yes, you do, Liva. If only I’d been as good-looking as you, I’d have gone into films.”

  Martha yawned and patted her lips: “Well, come on and have something to eat.”

  Liva was not hungry.

  “No, because you look as though you’ve been crying your eyes out,” said Martha. “But I’ll bring you a cup of coffee and a piece of cake up here.”

  In a trice she had gone through the trapdoor and ran whistling down the stairs.

  Liva went to bed early in her little attic room. She read Johan’s letter again, and then she put it in her bosom and extinguished the smoking candle. In the ensuing darkness she surrendered herself to her tears. She wept and prayed until overcome by weariness and sleep. The darkness was filled with tiny flickers of light and with voices and dull sounds from the noisy building. But now there was the creaking of footsteps on the stairs, and someone pushed open the trapdoor in the floor.

  “It’s only me,” said Martha. “Are you asleep, Liva? Could I come in to you for a while? I’m afraid there are some horrible men down in my room. They’re blind drunk, and I’m sick of them … ugh! Now, let’s light the candle; I’ve got a bottle of liqueur with me; you shall have a taste.”

  Martha poured out the thick green liquid in the dusty glasses and clicked her tongue in anticipation. “Now, that’s something worth having, Liva … good stuff, eh? I got that bottle from an English officer I’ve had. I can have anything I want, you know; it’s easy if you’re smart. I’m only seventeen … but do you know how many boyfriends I’ve had? Thirteen!”

  Martha lit a cigarette and sat down on the floor with her back to the gable end. She rocked the glass on the flat palm of her hand and whistled through her teeth.

  “But I didn’t give a damn for any of them,” she added, curling out her lower lip. “I’d far rather have had just one like you. A real film hero like yours. It wouldn’t matter if he drowned or was hopelessly ill, I’d send him flowers like you. And if he died I’d go dressed in mourning, and that would be that. I’d like that. You know, really dressed in black, in a close-fitting long dress and with a black veil and a silver cross. Cheers, Liva. Yes, I mean it; I mean every word of it. Why should life be so soggy? I approve of elegant young widows walking behind their husbands’ white coffins. That’s a bit different from empty-headed girls having it off with drunken sailors and then grabbing their money, isn’t it? That’s no way, really, is it? No, now listen, Liva.”

  Martha suddenly burst into song; her voice was husky and drawling. It was a melancholy song about a drowned sailor’s fiancée throwing three red roses out on to the river as it flowed to the sea:

  Three roses here I bring for you,

  A rose for each bright year

  We danced and played, were lovers true,

  Lived life with ne’er a tear.

  For three short years, a span too brief,

  This life did smile benign.

  Now fades my youthful hair with grief,

  For all this love of mine

  Martha stared at the candle as she sang. Her cheeks became wet with big, shining tears. Liva looked at her open-mouthed; the words of the song reverberated within her, heavy and bitter:

  Aye, take the roses, one by one,

  And see them slowly pale.

  Although your mortal course is run,

  Our love shall never fail.

  3

  Liva was very reluctant indeed to go ho
me as matters stood. At the very least she would have to see Johan once more before leaving; she must talk to him, hear his voice and see that he was really still alive.

  She resolved at least to stay for the rest of the week and see how things went. Then, at any rate, she would be in the same town as Johan and every day she could get to know how he was.

  Martha fetched a chair and a tiny rickety table up to the attic for her, and here Liva could sit undisturbed and write letters to her fiancé. She got up early, bought pen and ink and some blotting paper, a packet of envelopes and a writing pad, and she spent the entire forenoon thinking and writing. In the early afternoon she went out to the hospital to deliver the letter. As usual, there were a great many visitors; the nurse was nowhere to be seen, but there was a young orderly who took the fat letter off her and promised to pass it on.

  “You couldn’t just find out for me how he is today?” asked Liva. “I’ll wait here at the door meanwhile.”

  “Just a moment,” said the girl and disappeared with the letter.

  Through the panes in the door leading into the day room, Liva could see into the veranda where she had sat together with Johan. There was another couple there now, a young woman having a visit from her fiancé, or her husband, or brother. There were other patients and visitors in the day room, too, and over in a corner sat the mad old man, staring wildly in the air.

  Now the orderly returned, but she hurried past Liva without as much as looking at her; she seemed to be in a great hurry and must have forgotten her promise. Liva remained where she was, for she did not want to go before hearing how Johan was, and she prepared herself for a wait. She had plenty of time.

  But then the nursing sister appeared at the back of the day room, with the letter in her hand. Liva recognised the big, grey envelope and for a moment she ran cold with terror … Why was the letter being returned to her? Why had it not been given to Johan?

  The nurse took Liva by the arm and led her into a small side room; its walls were covered with a host of photographs, and there was a sharp smell of acacia leaves.