Round about on the farms people were just starting work for the day. Mattis saw them all around him. The first jobs of summer. Mostly weeding. They looked sturdy and able, set off for work as though it was just as natural a thing as living and breathing. Some were puffing away at a morning pipe, others were using their mouths to whistle, and some were just swinging their arms.
Should he go and ask straight away? Go into the nearest farmyard? No, better not. They’d only feel embarrassed because they’d need to invent some excuse about it not being convenient today. He left one farm after the other undisturbed. He imagined people sighing with relief as he walked past and they saw his back disappearing.
But they can’t have had a dream like the one I had! he thought, and this cheered him up.
He could remember a lot of embarrassing episodes, some worse than others. A number of the men he passed on the road were men he’d tried to work with, and the memory of it made him fix his eyes on the ground. Those he met mostly hurried past as well – as if their last encounter were something they both wanted to forget.
It’s bound to be the same today. Hege knows it very well, and so do I.
I’ll turn around and go back now, he thought. I can’t go into the farms where everybody knows me already.
But strangely, no sooner had the thought occurred to him than he did exactly the opposite. He left the main road and strode up into a farmyard. What had come over him? A memory had flashed into his mind. He remembered a little episode that hadn’t ended in disgrace, one that had taken place in that very farmyard.
Maybe he’d find something there to bolder him up today, too.
Mattis met the farmer just by the corner of the house. He was standing there with a young man and a girl, and they were each holding a light hoe, ready to set off for the turnip field. Mattis didn’t look at them until he was very close, and then suddenly his face appeared in front of them as if out of nowhere.
“Good morning, any chance of a job here?” he asked hurriedly, and his anxious eyes looked searchingly at the farmer. He must avoid giving himself time for second thoughts. He managed to edge his way round so that he got the two young people behind him.
To his surprise the farmer’s answer came right away; he hadn’t time for second thoughts either.
“Yes, if you can thin out turnips.”
Mattis gasped a little, then smiled broadly.
“Just as I thought,” he said. “If things are different from before, this is how they must be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh just something,” said Mattis. “Something that’s very different for me today. But it’s something you don’t know anything about.”
The girl and the young man had moved so that they were now in front of Mattis. They began exchanging glances in a way that Mattis knew only too well, and which didn’t bode well for him.
“It’s to do with the flight of a woodcock,” Mattis said quickly and nervously to the farmer.
“The flight of a woodcock?”
“Yes, don’t you know what that is?” Mattis asked, feeling better.
The farmer no doubt remembered by now who it was in front of him, but it was too late, he surely wouldn’t go back on his word.
“I’ve heard of the woodcocks,” he said. “But it was this turnip field you wanted to have a go at, wasn’t it? We’d better find a hoe for you too – then we can see who’s the quickest at thinning out.”
The farmer felt he had to add this last remark, probably couldn’t stop it coming out.
Mattis was sensitive, and he felt the impact.
“Yes, perhaps we could see who can run fastest too,” he said with a little laugh. He almost managed to make it sound like real laughter.
The farmer was a little surprised, but hurriedly joined in the laughter.
“You mean see who can get to the turnips first?”
They were both laughing, each trying to outdo the other.
“But I expect you’d like a bite to eat before you begin?” the farmer asked, putting an end to the fun.
Mattis shook his head.
“We’ve got plenty of food at home, thanks.”
Nice to be able to say things like that, he felt.
Now it was time to work. Mattis was given a hoe, and they all walked across the turnip field. It was a horribly large field, Mattis thought, you couldn’t even see the other end, it went over a ridge and disappeared.
Mattis turned to the farmer and said in a disgruntled tone: “What’s the use of having so many turnips?”
He stood there sullen and lost.
“What, already? Before we’ve even begun?” said the farmer. The word sounded meaningless, but to Mattis they were clear enough, and he hung his head.
“Shall I do these?” he said hurriedly changing the subject. He pointed to the rows of turnips just in front of his feet.
The farmer nodded.
“I imagine you’ve done this sort of work before, Mattis, so I expect you know how much room you need between the plants you leave to grow?”
The farmer no doubt felt obliged to say this, for thinning out was an important job, which could well determine the yield, and his reward for his labors.
“How could I ever have become nearly forty without knowing a thing like that?” said Mattis. “I’m only three years off,” he added. In a situation like this you had to be tough. He was quite proud of his reply.
“True enough,” answered the farmer, “but I asked how much room you’ve been told to leave between the plants. Perhaps you’d like to show me?”
Mattis pointed, quite haphazardly.
“No,” said the farmer, “you must have learned from someone who didn’t know much about it. This is how it should be done.”
Once again Mattis hung his head.
The young man and the girl exchanged glances. They’d arrange it so they could work side by side. Mattis was given the two rows between the girl and the farmer himself, much to his satisfaction.
“One two three, pang!” shouted the young man. “Who’ll be the first to reach the other end?”
He looked at the girl and laughed. They liked to smile at one another, these two, and look into each other’s eyes. Mattis had felt a little suspicious the moment he noticed.
But now it was simply a question of getting started. Mattis tried to copy the others, and be just as quick in his movements. There were weeds everywhere, on the sides of the furrow and in between the turnips on the top. Now they were to be pulled up and left to the mercy of the scorching sun. The turnips, too, were standing much too close together, so that a lot of them had to be pulled up. Mattis had to manage all this quickly and accurately, both with the hoe, and, where they were difficult to get at, with his hands.
He was nervous. He simply couldn’t.
Soon it would probably be the same old story, his thoughts would get out of control while he was working, confusing him and hampering his ability to work.
No sooner had he thought about it than it happened; his fingers got confused, did the opposite of what he wanted, and slowed him down.
To the left of him someone cleared his throat. It was the farmer himself, bending down over his turnip seedlings, thinning them out with loving care.
Mattis was on his guard at once. Of course it didn’t necessarily mean anything. People sometimes clear their throats for no reason at all.
But Mattis grew more and more nervous, his fingers fumbled among the plants and pulled up the wrong ones. The hoe didn’t work properly in his hands, it was too stiff.
“I’m not used to this hoe,” he told the farmer, “the handle’s too long.”
“Well I wouldn’t bother with it then,” said the farmer, “you might just as well use your fingers. You can do the work better, too, using your fingers.”
“I’m glad you said that,” said Mattis in a heartfelt tone. He sensed friendly support in the farmer’s words, support he needed against the two young people.
H
e kept up with the young man and the girl, too, for the first few yards. After all, he had ten fingers to weed with. The two of them were marvelous at keeping the same speed. They were even enjoying themselves, despite the hard work. Mattis had realized sometime ago that they were sweethearts. It was a pity, but fun to watch as well, and exciting. Mattis didn’t even remember having been so near a pair of sweethearts before.
The girl looked across at Mattis with eyes full of happiness. He had nothing to fear from her, her gaze was overflowing with the love she felt for the young man by her side. She laughed at everything he said. At last she turned to Mattis, who was waiting anxiously. He was filled with a delight no words could express. The round, laughing face of a girl was beaming happily at him.
“It’s a good thing you came along,” she said, “all the more of us to cope with this awful field.” She seemed to mean it, too. And Mattis was ready to believe every word she said. To gain confidence. He grew bolder, and in an effort to thank her and please her he produced his trump card: “Have you ever heard about the flight of a woodcock?” he asked her. The rows they were standing in were so close to each other that he was able to say it quietly, confidentially.
She replied quickly without giving it a thought: “Course I have. What about it?”
“Oh, nothing.”
The thought that occupied Mattis more than anything else was: Now I’m talking to a girl. And maybe this is just the beginning.
“But I don’t suppose you’ve ever had a woodcock flying right over your house?” he went on and for once felt on safe ground.
The girl shook her head. At the same time she was busy weeding, tearing up handfuls of thick, healthy goosefoot and flinging them away to wither in the scorching sun. Mattis was working as best he could in the row next to her. And meanwhile they talked.
“I don’t suppose the woodcock flies right over your house either,” she said innocently.
“Who knows,” said Mattis.
Inwardly he was bubbling with excitement.
“Oh well then,” said the girl absentmindedly, her attention on the weeding and the young man on the other side of her.
After that nothing more was said about it. Mattis felt he’d succeeded in mentioning it very cunningly. He liked this girl – but she had her boyfriend alongside her, so he mustn’t talk to her too much. He knew there were very strict rules about such things. Just one or two more words, then he’d stop.
“I—” he began, but lost contact with her. The young man was there now, pinching her bare leg. She was lost to Mattis at once. It was as if there was no one at all on this side of her.
Well, it turned out a bit differently from the dream, he said to himself. But it’s probably just as well nothing more came of this, things being what they are.
The worst of it was that all this thinking cost him a lot of time. The young couple was pushing ahead of him now. Before long they were quite a way ahead of him, so all he could see were their backs. Mattis gave a start and turned toward the farmer himself. Then he gave another start: the farmer was doing three rows. To begin with he’d had two, like the young couple.
“How come you’re doing three rows?” Mattis blurted out.
“Well,” said the farmer hesitatingly, “it’s easier for us to keep together like that … At least that’s one way of doing it,” he said, tearing up goosefoot and hemp nettles galore.
Mattis didn’t give the matter any more thought, but moved closer to the farmer and said almost in a whisper: “I think those two are sweethearts. At least it looks like it.”
The farmer nodded.
“Perhaps you knew already?”
“Yes,” said the farmer. “That’s why I got hold of them,” he explained, winking at Mattis. He too lowered his voice: “They’re the best ones for thinning out turnips, you know. They don’t notice how dull and heavy the work is. Of course it’s different with people like you and me.”
What a wise man he was. Mattis almost felt frightened of being near him – although he realized the farmer had been kind to him today, was really being friendly toward him the whole time. No, he wasn’t afraid, he could talk to this man, and understood perfectly that the work could seem heavy and dull.
“Yes,” he said, “we know what it’s really like thinning out turnips.”
“Not yet we don’t,” the farmer replied firmly. “Surely we’re not tired already, are we? When we’ve only just started?”
Once again Mattis had to hang his head.
“No, of course not,” he said.
Although the farmer was doing three rows he was now moving quickly ahead. Then he changed back to two again which was the normal thing. After that it didn’t take him long to pull right away from Mattis.
Mattis shouted helplessly: “Are you leaving me behind?”
“Got to, I’m afraid,” said the farmer. “You’ll just have to follow on as quickly as you can.”
“But you can see how hard I’m working.”
“Hm,” said the farmer stooping down over the goosefoot.
And Mattis was alone. Hm, was the last thing the farmer had said. How was he to take it? Mattis grew nervous again, the usual confusion between thoughts and work increased. His rows trailed behind like a tail growing longer and longer. Lazy-tail, that’s what he seemed to have heard people call it.
This isn’t a lazy-tail, he said to himself. I just can’t work any faster.
But there hung the tail, and to somebody as touchy about such things as Mattis the disgrace was painfully obvious. His rows were covered with shiny green weeds, but on either side lay clean, brown rows, with an even line of turnips along the top.
If only it had been possible to stop the other somehow so that he didn’t get left behind. Things were going very wrong. The farmer was a man with drive, he’d overtaken the young couple, and soon all three of them would be going over the little ridge and disappearing down the slope on the other side.
There they went.
Mattis was left behind. It was as if he was standing all alone in the field. Lonely and sweating. The sun was scorching and his shirt stuck unpleasantly to his back.
All these turnips! he thought, full of disgust. What’s the good of them all? As if turnips were the only thing in the world!
Mattis had long since stopped stooping down, he had begun crawling forward on his knees. His fingers wouldn’t do as they were told, they misunderstood his thoughts, and now and again they held up the work completely.
He recognized it all so well from past experience, he expected it. He carried on as best as he could, but his thoughts went darting in all directions. After a while he noticed that he was pulling up turnips instead of goosefoot. He gave a start, got up to his feet and stood trembling.
Am I going—
No, no.
There were the farmer and the young couple coming back from the other side of the ridge, each busy with two new rows. As they appeared the girl lifted her head a little and gave a quick wave to Mattis who stood there helpless and forlorn. Nothing but a brief wave in between pulling up weeds. But to him it made all the difference.
I’ll reward her for that, he vowed, surely that isn’t against the rules. They’d be passing one another in a little while and he’d have the chance of telling her, boyfriend or no boyfriend.
For a while, too, his hands did what was expected of them. He crawled forward on his knees. And pulled up the right plants this time, and not turnips. Now that they were moving toward one another, it looked as if Mattis was really getting some speed up; the distance between them was rapidly growing smaller. But Mattis had stopped altogether. He was lost in contemplation of the young couple.
They were real sweethearts, there was no doubt about it.
No wonder the farmer was pleased with them, and gave them a brief smile from time to time. It couldn’t only be the work he was thinking of – they made it pleasant for everyone in the field. They were laughing and chatting, and working properly the whole time as wel
l. Now and then they managed to get really close to one another, and Mattis noticed carefully many small things they did then, things it might be useful to know.
This was what real sweethearts were like, then. The lucky farmer was keeping up with them, in the rows he was doing. Between the three of them and Mattis there was now a dark patch that had been weeded. His two rows lay in front of him, ugly and neglected.
But he couldn’t help it: he had to watch this sparkling young couple and listen to their talk, their bubbling joy, their strange eyes.
They were right opposite him now. Rippling laughter, forcing its way through all the grind and toil.
Mattis got to his feet.
“However much you’re sweethearts, I want to—” he began frantically, looking straight at the beautiful girl. But then he got stuck.
The others waited in surprise, both the girl and the young man. They weren’t laughing, either. Though he didn’t realize it, Mattis himself prevented this by the adoration on his face and in his voice.
The farmer, too, had quietly stopped where he was.
They waited in vain. At last the farmer said in a soft voice: “Well, go on then, Mattis.”
The girl said nothing, nor did the young man, they were both waiting anxiously.
They waited in vain, all of them. Mattis never got any further with what he’d started saying – but all the same it was as though he’d managed to establish some kind of contact and was no longer left struggling all alone. There was so much more he’d wanted to say, and in a different way, but as usual it had gone from him, had got mixed up with all kinds of other things.
“Because you are! Aren’t you?” he said finally, continuing where he’d left off.
“Yes,” replied the girl, “we are.”
“Yes, that’s how it ought to be for all of us,” he blurted out before realizing what he was saying.
“Well, something could be done about that,” said the girl, giving him a casual nod.
I could have told my dream to this girl from beginning to end, he thought.
The Birds Page 4
