The Birds

by Tarjei Vesaas

  His hand was already reaching down to get hold of a mouthful of the devilish poison.

  “Stop it!” said Jørgen. “It’s really poisonous. Have you lost your—”

  Too late. Mattis was quicker, grabbed a piece of white flesh with scarlet skin round it, and stuffed it into his mouth. He didn’t stop to think what it tasted like, swallowed it with a mighty gulp. His throat felt as if it was on fire – although it wasn’t at all really. But at once it began to smart, so this was no ordinary food – and he uttered a short, sharp cry as well, like the angry snap of a dog.

  “What are you trying to do, you fool!” said Jørgen.

  Jørgen got really angry.

  “Bring it up again!” he shouted. “Stick your finger down your throat.”

  “Too late,” said Mattis, half-choked. His whole body felt different; it was part excitement and part imagination.

  “Was it a big piece? Answer me! Are you that far gone already?”

  Jørgen was furious.

  Mattis just rolled his eyes around and tried to see if he was going berserk. He was afraid, his throat felt as if it was burning. My insides will burn up soon, he suddenly thought, I must hurry.

  He didn’t let Jørgen out of his sight. With the toadstool swelling inside him, he watched his every movement, ready to act.

  Jørgen was angry, and scared too. Didn’t know how much toadstool Mattis had eaten. Could it be really serious? He seized the grimy coffee pot they used in the forest from the dying embers on which it had been standing, shook it, and managed to squeeze out a cup of really strong lumberjack’s coffee which he held out to Mattis: “Here! Drink this.”

  “Nice try!” jeered Mattis, giving the cup a push and spilling everything. He was horrified at the ways he was defying Jørgen, but proud, too. Defying Jørgen’s will. After all, he’d been eating toadstools! Now Jørgen was in for it himself – in his madness Mattis took aim.

  When the cup fell from Jørgen’s hand his face froze. He grabbed Mattis’s wrist, and the aim came to nothing. His hand felt numb in the iron grip of the lumberjack.

  “Are you mad already?”

  Mattis rolled his eyes around.

  “Let go!”

  And Jørgen let go, but not because Mattis told him to. He seized the cup again and filled it with water from the little stream close by.

  “Drink! Go on. Drink! Stick your finger down your throat, bring it up again!”

  “Want to keep what I’ve got,” Mattis replied in an unrecognizable voice. Imagined his body was being slowly consumed by flames. And he had no wish to put the fire out, he was going to crush Jørgen completely! He felt his strength and wisdom growing apace.

  Then Jørgen suddenly changed his tactics.

  “Alright, if that’s the way you want it,” he said. “I don’t think there’s any need to worry anyway, a tiny little bit of toadstool like that isn’t going to kill you. There wasn’t enough of it. Just sit down and behave like a normal human being again.”

  “What?” said Mattis in a grating voice.

  But oddly enough he did as he was told. Sat down, drank some of the water, too, but like a man in a dream. Yes, now he really was different. Wanted to be different. Had eaten dangerous things.

  Yes, how different he felt, in mind and body, light and airy somehow. He was both here and not here. He sailed above the treetops with the greatest ease. The first thing he thought of, quite automatically, was the woodcock.

  “You sit down, too, Jørgen!” he said, wide-eyed and staring, “and I’ll tell you about the woodcock that got his wing full of lead and is lying under the stone. Why is he lying there?”

  Jørgen growled: “Full of lead! And what are you full of? Crazy nonsense! You’d better go home.”

  Mattis simply braced himself for more: “Sit down, I tell you. You’re going to listen to me now. Yes, my turn had to come sooner or later.”

  Jørgen sat down, patiently.

  “Alright, tell me then.”

  “I suppose Hege’s already told you about the woodcock?” said Mattis sternly.

  “We’ve had so much to talk about, I can’t remember whether I’ve heard about it or not.”

  Mattis looked at him in disbelief.

  “Can she possibly have anything more important to talk about than my woodcock?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she didn’t say that the woodcock got shot, either?”

  “Oh, maybe she did, I don’t remember. What is it that’s so special about this woodcock?”

  Mattis fixed Jørgen with a wild stare. He hadn’t eaten toadstools for nothing: “It was the woodcock and me, you see! And now she’s lying under the stone—but that doesn’t make any difference, she’s flying over the house, sort of, sort of, do you see! Me and the woodcock, sort of. We fly across here, sort of. We’ll fly across here the whole time! Just you try—”

  He stopped, frightened.

  “You and the woodcock. Of course, yes, you and the woodcock,” Jørgen murmured cautiously, on his guard.

  “What are you saying that for?” Mattis interrupted. He still felt different; it was as though there was a blazing bonfire inside him.

  “So there’s only Hege and you inside!” he said sternly to Jørgen, “and it’s not easy then, you see. It makes no difference what’s lying under the stone or what isn’t lying under the stone. Then.”

  “Yes,” said Jørgen.

  “What are you saying yes to?”

  Jørgen was confused.

  “No,” he answered.

  Still staring at him, Mattis said: “Can I ask you about something I haven’t dared to ask about before, Jørgen?”

  Jørgen indicated that he could.

  “Me and the woodcock, sort of! That’s the whole thing. Don’t you understand anything?”

  Jørgen shook his head.

  Mattis was wandering along unknown paths. Felt something coming. What was it? No, it was coming, that was all. Crazy. Fire. Destruction. His eyes were burning, he fixed them on Jørgen, and at once Jørgen was consumed by flames. Serves him right.

  Nonsense. I’ve been eating toadstools—that’s what it is. But I’m going to cast the evil eye on Jørgen. Now I cast it on—

  At once a dark shadow rose up and reached out for Jørgen. Nonsense again, it’s only the toadstools I’ve eaten. I’m not dying, Jørgen’s going to die!

  The next moment he was fighting with Jørgen. Had sprung on him like a beast of prey and had him in his grip.

  “Oh, you’re out to get me, are you?” said Jørgen, in a cool, calm voice, brushing him aside. He held Mattis like a child.

  “For heaven’s sake pull yourself together, you fool.”

  Jørgen picked Mattis up and carried him a few paces over to the stream. There he started pouring water onto his distorted face. To begin with Mattis struggled, but the water, autumn cold, quenched the fire inside him. He calmed down, recovered his senses. And immediately he collapsed, groaned with shame and remorse.

  “I didn’t want to kill you!”

  “No, that’s not so easy,” said Jørgen.

  “Where’s Hege? She’s not dead?”

  Jørgen almost jumped: “Shut up! What a load of nonsense you’re talking. I’m not going to have any more of this foolishness, do you understand?”

  It sounded as though it was Jørgen’s ax talking, it was so stern and sharp.

  Mattis’s head was gradually clearing. Still confused he said: “What have I been doing?”

  “You’ve been imagining things. Eating toadstools and playing the fool.”

  “Doesn’t matter, as long as you’re still alive,” said Mattis, overjoyed all of a sudden.

  Jørgen was easily embarrassed by this sort of thing.

  “Alright, alright—”

  A complete change came over Mattis now, his excitement took a different turn, he began to think of pleasant things, and wanted to tell Jørgen – he was so grateful for the fact that Jørgen was alive and that he hadn’t k
illed him while he’d been bewitched by the toadstools.

  “Anna and Inger,” he said out of sheer gratitude, placing the names in Jørgen’s hand like a gift. “Have you any idea what that is?”

  Jørgen didn’t answer, just waited.

  “Have I told you about them before, Jørgen?”

  “No. Who are they?”

  “Girls,” said Mattis proudly.

  “Yes, I gathered that.”

  “I rowed them. Last summer. We were on a rocky little island. The whole village stood watching as we landed by the store.”

  “Well. That’ll teach them a thing or two,” said Jørgen.

  Mattis closed his eyes in wonderment; Jørgen had hit on just the right answer. Here was a person who knew the sort of things that were important for a man.

  “Can I ask you something, Jørgen?” he therefore began.

  “You were asking something a moment ago, too. And I didn’t understand a thing. But go on.”

  “What I want to know is,” said Mattis, hesitating a little, “whether you think about girls during the middle of the week?”

  It caught Jørgen by surprise, but he answered without batting an eyelid:

  “Yes, I’m sure I do.”

  “Have you ever?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, well,” said Mattis, sighing with relief, “that’s alright then. Yes, it’s odd, isn’t it,” he went on, looking up, free from all murderous desires.

  “What is?”

  “Oh, I don’t know—lots of things.”

  “No, we’ve wasted enough time now,” said Jørgen all of a sudden, and started felling trees with mighty blows.

  Mattis stayed sitting there; his mood was an odd mixture of happiness and shock at the way he’d behaved. He trampled the remains of the toadstools to bits with his boots. Then he laughed with joy. I’ve been imagining things, he said, using the words of his stern boss.

  38

  BUT THE EPISODE made a deep impression on Mattis all the same. When the first relief had subsided, he was left with a feeling of horror that refused to go away.

  I almost killed Jørgen—how could I have done a thing like that?

  Or was it just because of the toadstool I ate?

  He followed Hege around for a day or two, expecting to get the telling off he’d deserved. Hege said nothing, and eventually he had to take the initiative himself.

  “Hasn’t Jørgen said anything?”

  “What about?”

  “About me and him, and that sort of thing—in the forest, about eating toadstools and that sort of thing.”

  “No, had you expected him to?”

  “No.”

  “Has anything happened?” Hege asked.

  “No, it never came to anything, can’t you see that?”

  Mattis drifted away. Was surprised at Jørgen.

  Jørgen had called him to come along to the forest the following day as well, but Mattis answered: “I’m not going there again!”

  He sounded so terrified that Jørgen left it at that. Having Mattis in the forest had been nothing but a nuisance to Jørgen anyway, so he was probably past caring.

  Mattis stayed sitting on the bench, looking out the window. Hege hovered uneasily around him. There was no doubt she’d asked Jørgen all about what had happened and he’d told her. Now she approached her brother, and said, feeling her way: “Better start ferrying again, Mattis.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “But you were so happy doing it.”

  “It may be different now,” said Mattis.

  “Oh well.”

  Hege was on the move again. She was always on the move nowadays, particularly when her sweetheart was around. She did the housework with swift hands, was blossoming with new life. Mattis was well aware of the changes in her. All he could do was repeat the same tiring question, the one he asked everyday: “What’s going to become of me?”

  He didn’t start ferrying again. Something had changed. He roamed idly about, gave a start when he noticed a gleaming red object by the fence. There stood a huge toadstool, full of ugly, hidden fury. Was standing right next to the fence, as if it were trying to peep in at Mattis.

  No no, he thought, frightened, fighting against it. I’ll crush it before it casts its spell on me.

  He walked across and gave the toadstool a kick. It disintegrated in a blaze of red and white.

  A little later he found another one, inside the fence, on their own land. Just as beautiful. He didn’t kick it this time, just withdrew, feeling hot and prickly. He knew the whole place was full of them now, all the slopes and the forest floor, and over by the fence and in among the humps.

  The house was surrounded by poison.

  Had it been like this in previous years? He’d never noticed. Where did they come from? They seemed to grow larger while you stood watching them.

  He thought clearly and distinctly: Jørgen may die in amongst all this, he’s the one who’s surrounded.

  No, no! I don’t want him to!

  But the thought came creeping back, like a footless beast. What am I going to do, he said horrified, unable to move.

  I must do something. It won’t be long before I go for him again.

  In the end he did what he always did: turned to the clever ones. Went to Hege as usual.

  “Aren’t there more red toadstools than usual this year?” he asked without explanation.

  “Not as far as I can see,” said Hege. “Everything’s the same as always,” she said blindly, and was already on the move again.

  39

  AND AS A sign that no one was surrounded by poison, a girl came walking down the path.

  At first Mattis couldn’t believe his eyes. He even knew her: it was the girl he’d worked with in the turnip field last spring. The one who had pinched her boyfriend so delightfully, and got pinched herself in the same joyful and delightful way. It was like a miracle, seeing her coming down from the road at a moment as gloomy as this.

  It’s me she’s come to see, Mattis thought at once, remembering what had happened on the island in the lake.

  Oh, but I’m forgetting, she’s got a sweetheart.

  It was years and years since a girl had come to visit them. Hege was the only one here. As soon as he saw her coming he thought: Anna or Inger? But when she got closer he saw it wasn’t either of them. That would have been too good to be true, anyway. He was happy as it was, he knew this girl too.

  The fact that they’d worked together on one occasion gave Mattis confidence and put him at ease. That’s the sort of girl she’d been, he remembered. Looked as if they both remembered it, for the girl nodded as though she knew him, and smiled. All Mattis’s misery vanished, the forest filled with poison was now like a friendly shield.

  Before the girl had had a chance to say a word – almost before she’d reached him, Mattis blurted out: “Aren’t you sweethearts anymore?”

  The girl laughed.

  “Who?”

  “You and him, of course. The one who was pinching your arms and legs.”

  “How can you tell, then?” she asked. “People don’t go around holding hands all the time, you know.”

  Mattis bent his head. Had he said something stupid already? Thinking about it, she was right, of course. The girl put an end to his embarrassment by saying: “But actually, you’re right. It’s all over between us.”

  Mattis felt a pang. Or rather two pangs: one of pleasure and one of sorrow.

  “Surely, there’s no need for you to look so dismayed, is there?” said the girl.

  “No,” he mumbled.

  “No, that sort of thing doesn’t always last. I expect you know that yourself,” she added comfortingly. A kindhearted girl.

  He didn’t dare tell her an outright lie with a straightforward “yes” but turned it into an ambiguous “hm” instead. But how grateful he was.

  “Is there anyone at the moment, then?” he asked nervously. “Anyone new?”

  “No, I’
m more or less free at the moment,” said the girl with a careless toss of the head.

  “Oh,” said Mattis.

  The girl laughed again, for no apparent reason, but it wasn’t a malicious laugh. Then at last she was able to get around to the subject of her visit.

  “I’ve got a message to give to the lumberjack you’ve got living here, Jørgen something or other, isn’t it? But I don’t suppose he’s home at this time of day.”

  “No, he’s out in the forest,” Mattis answered a little crossly. It looked as though he’d been wrong, it was Jørgen she wanted to see.

  “But maybe I could tell you instead. You’re capable of giving a message, aren’t you?” she blurted out without thinking.

  Mattis went a bit red. But the girl was too buoyant to notice.

  Mattis didn’t dare take the message. He might get it wrong. Especially as it concerned Jørgen.

  “It’d be better if you left it with my sister, if you don’t mind. She’s in there,” he said. It was a bitter thing to have to say.

  The girl grinned.

  “Of course. I forgot.”

  She tripped in on nimble feet. Mattis followed her with his eyes, and had already forgiven her. He’d become a changed person after last summer – after rowing with Anna and Inger, and walking through the thunderstorm, and managing so well as a ferryman. It wasn’t difficult to forgive this girl for saying things she shouldn’t say.

  And this was why sudden plans were flickering through his mind, too; plans concerning the visitor and another chance to talk to her. He walked up the path until he was hidden from the cottage, and there he stopped and waited. The girl would have to pass by here on her way home.

  It worked like a charm. After a little while she came up the path and walked straight into him – rather like falling into a trap. But she did so with a carefree laugh.

  “So that’s where you are. Lying in wait for me on my way home.”

  Funny how the clever ones see through everything right away. Or nearly everything. He couldn’t use the same carefree tone as she had, the problems he was grappling with were far too difficult for that, far too grave, really. He stepped forward and asked in a serious voice: “Can I come with you for a bit of the way? Just up to the road?”