The Black Cauldron

by William Heinesen

  “But it’s Sunday evening, isn’t it?” said Liva. “So there’ll be a dance down at Marselius’s.”

  “Good Lord!” Magdalena leant back and laughed. “Yes, but we can’t possibly go there. Not yet, at any rate. But later,” she added. “Later, Liva. At my wedding.”

  “Yes, at your wedding,” said Liva, rubbing her hands. “When’s that going to be, Magdalena?”

  “At Christmas.”

  “All right, then we’ll wait until Christmas. But at least we’ll go for a little walk, I’d love to do that. Listen, let’s have another drink, just a little one, there’s a dear.”

  “No, dear, we’d better be careful.” Magdalena was thinking what a good job it was that Liva was not going to be able to go off on her own that evening.

  Thomea opened her eyes wide when Liva went down into the kitchen all made up and smiling.

  “Are you coming, Thomea?” she asked persuasively. “A walk down to the village. Oh go on, you come, too.”

  Magdalena nudged Thomea to encourage her: “Yes, you come for a little stroll with us, you need a change, too.”

  Thomea looked from one to the other, her mouth twisted in an irresolute smile, she slowly shook her head. “No,” she said suddenly. She sat down and crouched over the fire and shivered. But Alfhild very definitely wanted to go with them, and was allowed to, too. She clapped her hands in delight and rushed to get her red beads out, she was going to wear them in her hair.

  “Hey, where on earth are you all going this evening,” came the sound of their father’s gently surprised voice from the hall.

  “We’re off for a sail,” said Magdalena in high spirits. “Old Myklebust, you know, has invited us out for a sail in his Viking ship.”

  “Good-bye, father,” said Liva, giving him a little pat on the cheek.

  The three sisters were laughing at the top of their voices as they danced hand in hand down the path.

  The weather was calm. The earth was sparkling with frost beneath the waxing moon. Once more Magdalena had to think of the days of freedom in her youth … the soaring feeling she had in her body as she ran down into the village in the evenings to go to a dance.

  “Hey,” shouted Liva so that it echoed from under the outcrop. She crushed her sister’s hands, danced a couple of steps and started singing, in a warm, exuberant voice:

  Blow wind, blow wind, blow wind in the yard,

  Fill the sails, fill the sails, fill the sails so hard.

  Off we glide, off we glide, off we glide anew,

  O’er the waves, o’er the waves, o’er the waves so blue.

  “Hush, don’t let’s make so much noise,” said Magdalena. “There’s someone coming down there on the road.”

  “We’ll do what we like,” hooted Liva, still loudly.

  Old Neptune never rests,

  See how he wilder grows

  And ever harder tests

  So many brave heroes.

  The figure down on the road stopped and listened. Magdalena shook Liva’s arm and tried to quieten her down, but without success. She went on, in a deep, boyish voice:

  A fiery dram, a glass of ale

  Our loyal friends shall be,

  Where’er we go, where’er we sail

  All o’er the rolling sea.

  And now a rather cracked voice joined in from down on the road:

  All flesh, it is but grass,

  The prophets all did say,

  This earthly life will pass,

  Whenever comes the day.

  It was Pontus the watchmaker. “Good evening,” he shouted gaily. “I was actually on my way up to your house with a bit of good news, Magdalena. No, it’s not about Frederik this time, it’s about myself. But where are you off to? What about coming home with me and having a glass of port? A glass to drink to the good health of all of us?”

  Pontus smelt strongly of spirits. “I’d hardly expected to find myself in the company of ladies this evening,” he laughed, and his voice became quite amorous. “And beautiful ladies at that. Aye, for it must be admitted that you girls from Angelica Cottage aren’t outshone by many. And you’ve got it from your mother … she was a devilish beautiful woman, I remember her well, she was always in demand at dances. I was mad about her myself. And so was old Schibbye, aye, good Lord what a fuss he made of her; your mother could easily have been a shipowner’s widow and you shipowner’s daughters if she’d wanted. But then she married Elias, and no one could understand that. But that’s a thing of the past now. And Schibbye got old Mrs. Schibbye, the stewardess from the steamer … and he was welcome to her. He’s in his grave now, God rest his soul.”

  Pontus went on with his carefree chatter as they walked together through the village. “Aye, we both got tartars, both Schibbye and I,” he laughed. “But his was the worst, though. Aye, he died of it, by God he did. He simply couldn’t take her. He was a weak man, round and fat like his foppish son. And my Kathrine … yes, if the truth be told, girls, it’s because of her and her alone that I only started to live far too late in life. Aye, for now I suppose it’s really too late … I’m getting on. And yet, by God. Yes, now I’m getting cracking. But let’s go inside first. After you, ladies.”

  They went in through the dark and stuffy shop. Pontus lit the lamp and took out glasses and a bottle.

  “It gives me great pleasure,” he said with a little bow. “It gives me extraordinary pleasure to see you gathered here, dear ladies. Not least, I must say that it gives me pleasure to see you here, Liva. To hear you speak and laugh like an ordinary human being. Aye. For I honestly believed … but enough of that; one hears so much gossip and nonsense.”

  Pontus did battle with and conquered an attack of sneezing. He raised his glass and said, with a delighted but restrained little laugh: “And then, you can congratulate me, ladies. For … well, we don’t need to be prudish, do we?”

  He lowered his voice and suddenly his look became serious, almost threatening: “I’m going to be a father! With Rebecca, my shop assistant. She’s only nineteen … !”

  Pontus pushed the bottle aside, spread his elbows out on the table and went on: “She got the worst of the bargain after all, Magdalena. She was forced to come back to me and give up her adjutant. That’s quite a triumph for me … but let me not boast, let me rather thank God, who has wanted to make a human being again of an old man like me … being fruitful and multiplying and replenishing the Earth. Cheers.”

  Liva left her glass on the table. She was very pale and looked around in amazement.

  “For God’s sake,” said Pontus impatiently. “Won’t you drink my health? Damn it all, there’s no reason to make a fuss about it. I’m not leaving the girl in the lurch. We’re getting married in January. Now, Liva. Raise your glass, damn it.”

  Liva suddenly gave Magdalena a look expressive of the deepest despair, and she quickly got up.

  “I must go,” she whispered.

  “No, Liva,” implored Magdalena. “Where are you going?”

  “I need to talk to him.”

  Liva was already outside the shop. Magdalena got hold of her arm and tried to hold her back. “You can wait for us, at least, Liva?”

  “It can’t wait,” said Liva. “Let me go. I’ve got to go.”

  “Then we’re coming with you,” said Magdalena.

  “What’s all this nonsense?” asked Pontus petulantly. “Why do you suddenly all have to go? And just when I was going to fetch Rebecca. I’ve never known anything like it.”

  It was pitch dark and cold in Simon’s bakery. Liva felt she was on the point of fainting. She sat down on the nearest bench and pressed her clenched fists to her eyes.

  “Liva,” she heard Magdalena call from the entrance. “Liva. What on earth do you want here? There’s not a soul down here. Do come home with us, do you hear?”

  Liva sat still, holding her breath. She heard her sister coming closer, groping her way forward. But then she stopped and murmured to herself: “That’s odd. I’m sure
she came down here.”

  “Liva,” she shouted again. And yet again, despondently: “Liva. No.”

  “Ugh,” she said suddenly, and quickly disappeared.

  Liva sat there for a long time. But all of a sudden she felt beside herself with fear. She got up with a stifled groan; the thick darkness came to life and started moving; huge sail-like curtains went flapping past, columns of mist came drifting by, faintly illuminated from below … oblique, hovering shapes, pale faces with extinguished smiles, stern faces with keen birds’ eyes, crazily distorted faces, dead faces, wooden and stiff and open-mouthed … young faces helplessly rigid and set … Ivar’s … Johan’s … Jens Ferdinand’s … !

  She let out a piercing shriek: “Simon,” she shouted. “Simon! Where are you?”

  “Yes,” it seemed to her he answered. Yes! Then came the sound of a trapdoor being opened and shut. And footsteps on the stairs leading down. And suddenly Simon’s figure came into view in the flickering light from a candle he was holding out in front of him.

  “Is it you, Liva?” he asked as he came closer. “Your sisters are looking for you; they were here a moment ago asking if you were with me. But why are you sitting here all on your own, girl? Jesus Christ, child. Are you in despair?”

  He stepped quickly across to her. Liva was trembling and her teeth were chattering, and she could not utter a word.

  “What is it, Liva?”

  Simon had taken her hand. He led her across to the narrow staircase. “I, too, have been afraid this evening,” he said. “I still am. I have been alone with myself. Fighting. Fighting against fear, against Satan. I have again been afraid of the cross! Fear is the seed that Satan tries to sow in our hearts, Liva. And he does his utmost. But he shall not succeed. For he is but miserable vermin, doomed to destruction and retribution, doomed by the Prince of Light, who will soon be approaching in the clouds. He who crushes the serpent’s head beneath his heel.”

  Simon lowered his voice and whispered, opening his eyes wide:

  “I shall come with Him when He comes in the clouds.”

  He put the candle down. He stared at her, alert, watchful, without warmth.

  Liva stepped across to him and her eyes penetrated his.

  He retreated a step. His mouth twisted. “We must be on our guard, Liva,” he admonished her quietly. “We must arm ourselves. We must tear out our eyes if they offend us …!”

  “If they offend us …!” she repeated without releasing him from her gaze. Suddenly a tiny smile appeared in her eyes. She threw herself at him, hugged him, bored her head in to his chest.

  “No!” he shouted. “No!” His voice was thick with excitement. He tore himself brutally from her embrace, pushed her mercilessly away, raised both his arms and groaned in invocation: “Get Thee behind me, Satan!”

  She fell to the floor and remained there, kneeling, gasping as though she had run a race. There was a rushing sound in her ears as of many voices whispering all at once, and through the confused din she could hear Simon praying: “… And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

  She rose with a hoarse cry, stepped quickly over to the praying figure and tore his folded hands from each other.

  “Satan,” she bellowed. “Satan.”

  He got up, she gripped him by the shoulders with both hands, while she frantically sought his gaze: “I’ve got Satan! Satan! Satan!”

  And now she again threw herself at him, pressed her breast and her lap against his body and with a gentle laugh repeated: “I’ve got Satan.”

  He freed himself from her grasp and held her at arm’s length, calmly and with a composed mouth.

  “I’ve got Satan,” she whispered again, baring her teeth at him. “Let go of me, Jesus.”

  He let go of her hands and she once more collapsed to the floor, slowly and without a sound.

  “We must pray together,” she heard him say. His voice came from far away, as though from another world. “The Blood of Jesus Christ … The Blood of Jesus Christ cleanses us from all sin… !”

  “No!” came the sound of an alien voice, hoarse and uncouth, and to her horror she heard that it was coming from herself. “No.”

  She got up and approached him for the third time, noiseless, watchful, with the stealth of a cat. He prepared himself to repulse this attack, too. “Liva,” came the sound of his voice, cold and imperative. She took a couple of hasty steps towards him, her raised hands outstretched and threatening, her fingers extended like the claws of a beast of prey, but then like a flash she turned round and was out of the door. He heard her laugh in the entrance … a dark, alien laughter.

  “Liva!” he shouted and rushed to open the door. “Liva!”

  But she was already gone.

  “Liva!” A shout was also heard outside in the moonlight. It was Magdalena; in the course of her own search for her sister she had returned to Simon’s house and heard the voices and commotion inside.

  “Liva! For heaven’s sake stop, girl. Where are you going?”

  But Liva did not stop. With the agility of a cat, she hurried off and disappeared round the corner of a house. Magdalena could hardly believe her eyes. “Be quick, Alfhild,” she shouted. “We must get hold of her.”

  Liva stopped at the corner. She saw her sisters running up and waited until they were quite close, then she dodged away with something between a stifled laugh and a whine. It was like playing tag as children; she had a tickling in her back, kept watch at every corner and almost let herself be captured, but then escaped at the last minute.

  “Liva!” Magdalena called out. Her voice had become more and more imploring and she was by now on the verge of tears.

  But suddenly there was no longer any sign of Liva. She had dodged in through an open cellar door, closing it after her and bolting it. Through a dust-blurred window she could see her sister hurrying off. She laughed in delight as she regained her breath. The moonlight was falling obliquely in through a little, greenish window and over on to a pile of peat. There was a cosy smell of peat and mould in the low cellar, and above her head she could hear the sound of a cradle rocking to the strains of a gentle, sleepy voice. Liva leant against the wall and listened. The moonlight flashed on the cross on Magdalena’s lovely necklace. Liva gently started to join in the lullaby, she felt sleepy and looked around for a place where she could lie down.

  But suddenly there was life and movement in the gloom, the ceiling was as though raised up, the lullaby became distant, as if it was coming from some desolate region far away, and quite close to her a voice whispered: “I’ve got Satan.”

  Filled with terror, she tore open the cellar door and with her heart hammering in her breast she stepped out into the moonlight.

  Coming out into the fresh air helped her. “I’ve got Satan,” she said tentatively to herself, clearly seeking to impress it upon herself. When she admitted it to herself in this way, it didn’t hurt so much. It wasn’t even particularly bad. Perhaps he wasn’t worse than the general run of people … Opperman, Inspector Hansen, or Pjølle Schibbye.

  When it came to the point, having Satan wasn’t as bad as all that. She suddenly felt calm and looked around in wonderment. Yes, here she was, herself once more, the moonlight was glinting in Masa Hansen’s big shop windows over on the corner. It looked as though the windows were lit up for some festive occasion. And over there was The Bells café. And there was Opperman’s new house. And the school was over there. People were walking quietly past in the street, soldiers, girls, people in conversation with each other, and nobody noticed her. Provided she didn’t run and play the fool she could walk about unhindered, even if she had Satan.

  “I’ve got Satan,” Liva repeated the words to herself, as though not quite able to forget it after all, while she slowly strolled on in the shadow of the houses, where no one took any notice of her.

  Where was she going?

  Well, she’d better go down to the dance hall, for now she’d got Satan, she could naturally do what
she wanted. In a way it was so easy and straightforward, she’d got the evening off, she was herself. But to turn up at the dance hall in a black dress and play the lonely widow in the midst of all that happy throng, no, that would be far too distressing. But she could go back to Opperman’s place and choose a suitable dress for herself, there were plenty to choose from, and now she could do as she liked.

  She stopped at the entrance to Opperman’s office and tried the door. It was locked. Just then she caught a glimpse of Magdalena over on the other side of the street. She had Magnus, the policeman, with her. Oh, had those two started going out together? That was up to them. She ducked down behind the railings lining Opperman’s steps until they had passed. My, they were in a hurry. Then she got up again and rang the bell. Opperman came out and opened the door.

  “Oh, Liva,” he said. “Why, you come here this evening? But what you have on your mind, my dear? Do come in.”

  Opperman’s voice was strangely without strength, as though he had a mouth full of dry flour.

  “I’ve got Satan,” said Liva in a friendly tone, shaking hands with him.

  Opperman opened his eyes wide. Then he rounded his lips as though about to whistle. Aye, aye … so Liva had got to that stage. He turned the key in the outer door.

  “Come in and get warm,” he said tenderly and cautiously stroked her thigh.

  There was a comfortable, spicy scent in Opperman’s office; strings of blue cigar smoke were rising in the air, and the smoker’s table was covered with glasses and bottles. A hefty figure rose from the sofa. It was Pjølle Schibbye.

  “Good heavens, surely it can’t be Liva?” he exclaimed, opening his arms wide to her. “The only rose in the world? Hey, listen … take your coat off, lass. Sit yourself down and have a drink.”