“Of course you can,” said the girl. Just like that.
“Yes, I thought it’d be alright, seeing you haven’t got a sweetheart,” Mattis stammered.
“I didn’t say that,” said the girl, “I said I was more or less free. Oh yes, I’ve got one. Sort of anyway.”
Mattis’s eyes opened wide, and he slowed down. His face fell. He didn’t understand.
“Don’t you want to come then?” she said. “Oh well, as you like.”
“Want to?” He didn’t understand. How could he walk with her, if she had a sweetheart after all? What was the point?
She wanted to go, but he made a movement with his arm, the sort of movement people make when they’re trying to catch something, but then he decided to let it fall. That’s what stopped her.
There was a big flat stone by the side of the path. Mattis had walked past it all his life without noticing it – but today it seemed to detach itself from its surroundings. Mattis felt he ought to go, but there this stone was, and without knowing how he’d managed to think of it so quickly, he pointed to it and said hastily: “Flat stones are for sitting on.”
The way he said it made the girl sit down at once. Before he had time to think.
This is mad, he thought, and sat down next to her.
There was plenty of room on the stone. Mattis took good care not to get too near her. What did he want? Couldn’t say for sure. To hear something. Be near. But he mustn’t sit there without saying a word, he realized that. The girl seemed to be looking at him expectantly, insisting he say something. And so, rather abruptly, he asked: “Did you think that was cleverly put?”
The girl was stroking her cheek with a blade of grass. Jerking her foot up and down. Never quite relaxed.
“What d’you mean?”
“What I said about the flat stone, of course. And about sitting.”
The girl snorted, was back on her feet already.
“Do you ask that sort of question, too?” she said, disappointed, as if she had had enough of him.
Had enough of him—
“But how—?” he asked, frightened. Stayed sitting on the stone.
The girl was going, and Mattis didn’t dare to move.
“I didn’t know it was wrong,” he said.
“No, well, I’m sorry I can’t stay any longer.”
“You see—”
She interrupted him: “Let’s drop it. It’s not important; it doesn’t matter to either of us, does it?”
She started to walk away. She nodded first, in a friendly way, perhaps a little ashamed. But she was going.
Mattis clung to a memory: “The other’s weren’t like that!” he said. “And I talked to them a lot.”
The girl stopped at once.
“The others? Who are they?”
“I mean Anna and Inger, when I say the others,” he said in a low voice. “You’ve heard about them, haven’t you?”
“Yes I—of course I have.”
“We were out on the lake, and we talked together for a whole day. And they weren’t like that.”
The girl came toward him, looked straight into his eyes, regretting what she’d said. His eyes opened wide. What was he expecting? He didn’t know. But he waited.
“Listen, Mattis.”
He was trembling.
“Yes?”
She didn’t know what to say. She’d looked into his eyes.
“No, I—” she began. “Oh, it’s impossible to know what to say to you!”
As she spoke, she brushed his cheek lightly with her hand, and then she really did go, quick, nimble, gone in a flash.
Mattis didn’t try to pinpoint his feelings, but everything had been set right, and more besides. On a happy impulse the girl had done what neither Anna nor Inger had done – and had gained a place in his heart.
He remained sitting on the stone for a long time.
40
THEN IT CAME. Something quite different: the lightning flash that solved his problems. Suddenly and without warning he saw it all. And it was difficult.
He jumped up from the flat stone.
Like a blinding flash of lightning. But it was inside him this time, lit up everything.
What! he thought, horrified. I can’t do it.
He forgot the girl. He’d been sitting thinking happily about the wonderful moments she’d given him – and then came the flash. A way out, ready and complete from beginning to end – in a flash.
Suddenly and ruthlessly it cut through the problems that had been gathering around him. He had to accept it without question, without fear – although its effect was shattering. He saw what he had to do, understood it, and accepted it, numbly.
And that was how his plan came – in a flash while he was sitting on the freshly initiated stone. The way out of the difficulties that had been tormenting him. Hege and Jørgen and me, he thought. The woodcock wasn’t included this time, she was somewhere else.
He sat down again without thinking.
“This is going to be difficult,” he said in a loud voice into the empty air. But nobody was listening. How painful it was to be clever, he thought.
41
THE PLAN WAS secret. Everything had to be done with the utmost caution. He couldn’t even mention it to Hege – she’d have intervened at once and stopped him.
But since it was a difficult plan, he must allow himself one last attempt to get off more lightly, he felt, now that the first burst of excitement had died down.
So he waited till Jørgen had left for the forest the next day, and then approached Hege in a somewhat ceremonious manner. She was sitting among her sweaters, humming a little tune.
“What is it, Mattis?” she said, and stopped humming. It was obvious from his appearance that he had something serious in mind.
“It’s important,” he answered, “more important than you realize.”
“Well come on then, out with it,” said Hege, a bit impatiently.
Mattis’s throat sounded dry: “You must decide who you want to be with from now on, Jørgen or me,” he said, plunging straight out.
Hege didn’t need any explanation. She didn’t need to think about it, either, as far as he could see.
“Nothing’s changed, as far as I’m concerned,” she said without hesitation. “Surely you realize who I’m going to be with—from now on.”
“Yes,” said Mattis in a faltering voice, “but then it’s going to be—” He broke off, had nearly said too much.
Hege tackled the problem from her angle: “Doesn’t it seem natural, too, if you really think about it?”
Thinking about it, he had to admit she was right. But all the same. And things might change. He clung to this faint hope. I’ve heard they can. These things can come to nothing. That’s what happened to the two who were pinching each other.
He staked a lot on his next question: “And are you sure things won’t ever change, Hege?”
“As sure as I’m sitting here,” Hege replied. “And thank God for that.”
Mattis bent his head.
“Oh well, in that case.”
Hege obviously knew what she was talking about. She sounded absolutely certain. There was no hope of winning her back.
“This is difficult,” he said. “It may not be easy to manage.”
“Manage what?” she asked, not understanding, “don’t you think Jørgen and I will manage?”
He was dumbfounded. She didn’t understand a thing. But then she clinched the matter by saying: “You mustn’t begrudge me this, Mattis.”
Slam. The door was shut.
“Begrudge,” he said.
His way was barred; there was nothing more he could say.
“Was there anything else you wanted?” Hege asked in a friendly tone, since Mattis remained standing there without saying anything.
Mattis shook his head. Hege had been as clear as you could wish. So now things were more or less settled. He’d have to get on with his big plan. He was just standing the
re for a while first.
42
FOR MANY YEARS a couple of rough-hewn pieces of wood, that looked as though they might one day be oars, had been standing in the shed. Mattis had never got down to finishing them, he’d managed with the old ones. Now he brought out these half-finished oars and started scraping at them with a plane.
The plan had caught his imagination so completely that he even saw these clumsy pieces of wood as part of it. Yes, my mind was really working well for once! he thought, with a strange sensation running through his body. He felt he was completely in the hand of the unknown.
Jørgen came back from the forest and saw Mattis standing there, scraping away with his plane. An unusual sight.
“Are you going to make a new pair of oars?”
“Yes, I’ve been meaning to for a long time,” said Mattis.
“You’re going to start ferrying again, then?” said Jørgen, urging the idea on him.
“I guess so.”
Mattis answered without looking up. He couldn’t be entirely truthful now – or his plan would be spoiled, and altogether forbidden. Perhaps they’d tie him up.
“Good,” said Jørgen. “It’s a bad thing for anyone to be without a job.”
And he went in to join Hege and have his meal.
The oars were much too big and thick, but Mattis just scraped them to make them white and a little smoother, so they’d look more finished. They remained rough pieces of wood – and that was how they were going to be used. Supported by these oars he would either float and reach land in safety, or else sink beneath them and disappear. That was the most important part of the whole plan.
Then I’ll know what I’m to do. I’ll find out.
The boat’s going to spring a leak, right in the middle of the lake, so it sinks to the bottom. It’s so rotten it’s bound to. And I don’t know how to swim. But these thick oars should bear me up and bring me back – if I’m meant to come back and be with them again.
But it won’t be my decision.
But it’s difficult, he thought.
When the oars were finished and shining white, he went to bed. Now that everything was ready, a strange feeling crept over him. Only one thing left to do.
But not tomorrow, he thought.
Why not? a voice seemed to ask, impatient and persistent.
Well, it’s just the way things are, he answered. And that would have to do.
He was lying on his bench, looking up at the window. A faint light came in from the night outside.
Hege and Jørgen hadn’t been about when he came in in the evening, but he had heard subdued voices coming from the attic. Happy voices most likely – saying the kind of things he longed so much to hear. But talking about him as well, no doubt, and not so happy then – they must feel he was a terrible burden, after all.
But now the oars are ready, so I’ll soon know what’s to happen.
He brushed the thought aside, didn’t want to face it. A moment later he said to himself: I suppose it’s no different from facing up to a thunderstorm.
Above him the voices were still murmuring away. There was a peal of laughter, too, which was stopped as abruptly as a marble rolling across the floor. So that was how Hege could laugh when she was happy. Hadn’t he known this before?
But now they were probably talking about him again. There was no more laughter.
“Gosh, listen to that!” he said suddenly, in a loud and happy voice, sitting up on the bench.
A gust of wind outside.
A sudden autumn wind.
The house moaned softly as the wind penetrated its ramshackle old walls, and a sigh from afar ran through the trees; the waves would be getting up on the lake.
Wonderful.
He relaxed, filled with a sense of peace.
Now it’s bound to be windy tomorrow. And that means I won’t be able to do anything. It’s got to be calm when I row out. Now I can sleep.
He fell asleep at once; it had been a tense and tiring day.
43
A CALM DAY, no wind on the water – these were the only conditions he’d made. The lake must be like a mirror when he started his test, or it wouldn’t count. Then it remained to be seen whether the wind would come.
It was an obvious condition, he thought.
The wind kept up for days on end.
The oars were ready and so was the boat – and Mattis himself got up every morning with an uneasy, thumping heart: Was the lake smooth?
But every morning there was a wind. The tightness in his chest relaxed when he saw it.
One more day, he thought. And no one knows! Isn’t it strange.
A little later he suddenly thought: That’s the way it is with everything.
He ambled about. Jørgen made no further reference to the ferrying, nor did he ask Mattis to work in the forest.
The fiery red toadstools were still everywhere, but they didn’t frighten Mattis now. They couldn’t change anything.
And no one knows anything. Hege and Jørgen see a new pair of oars that are much too big, and don’t realize a thing. They just think I can’t make them any smaller.
Am I really clever now?
It’s not a day too soon, he thought.
Another morning dawned. He was trying to brace himself against the shock of hearing Hege say to Jørgen out in the kitchen: “The lake’s like a mirror today.”
But it was likely to be a nasty moment, when it finally came.
He thought of other ways in which she might say it: “Not a breath of wind today,” she could well say. “So quiet there must be some reason for it,” she might say that, too.
Hege didn’t say any of these things. No doubt she had more important matters to discuss with Jørgen than the weather. The weather didn’t make much difference to either of them. Jørgen felled trees, come rain, come shine.
So the lake maybe as calm as a mill pond, even though Hege hasn’t said anything, he thought as he lay on his bench. And when he got up his body felt twice its normal weight. He had to go out and see.
Thank God—
Still windy, the lake was covered with dark blue waves beneath a clear sky. It was strange looking at it, now it meant too much. Another day’s delay.
While he was eating he noticed that Hege was watching him. He lost his appetite at once and went out. Does it show, after all? He got out some tools, reappeared in the doorway, and said he was going down to mend the boat.
“That’s right, you go and mend the boat,” said Hege, pleased. “Then I’ll know where you are.”
“Yes, then you can sit by the window keeping an eye on me,” said Mattis provokingly.
“Why should I?”
“Well, don’t you?”
He went off, fumbled around and patched up the boat a bit. At the same time he discovered a really rotten piece on the bottom, underneath the loose planks he was treading on. It wouldn’t be difficult to send his foot crashing through it, if he gave it a really heavy kick. And he certainly felt he had enough strength at the moment, more than enough.
Flat stones are for sitting on, he mumbled as he worked. It was well put, but the girl hadn’t appreciated it. Oh well, is doesn’t bother me, nothing like that does.
He sat down beside the boat and turned his face toward the wind on the lake.
Blow, wind! was his secret wish.
There were far too many things to think about.
A stone over every eye, he said for no particular reason.
Anna and Inger and everything, he said.
Every tree where birds have been sitting, he said.
Every path where my sister Hege’s been walking.
But it was too much for him, he didn’t dare mention anything more.
The boat smelled of tar as usual, and of rotten planks warmed by the sun. Mattis looked at the lake; the wind was digging deep furrows on the surface, waves were gurgling at his feet.
But soon it was bound to be calm. A wind can never last. A calm can never last e
ither. Me and the woodcock, sort of, he said disjointedly.
44
WHEN NOTHING MORE could be done to the boat, he went back up to Hege.
“Is the boat all ready for ferrying now?” she asked, urging him on as Jørgen had done.
“Yes, everything’s ready now. Tomorrow I’m going to begin ferrying like I did before,” said Mattis.
He didn’t look at his sister.
“Tomorrow? Yes, of course,” said Hege decisively. “Just the thing, Mattis.”
Down on the shore he’d been thinking out what to say. And the conversation was going just the way he wanted.
“That is, if the wind isn’t too strong,” he went on. “But the boat’s completely rotten, so I don’t dare row out when it’s windy anymore. You could easily put your foot through the bottom, if you put it in the wrong place.”
It was hard to say this in a casual tone, but he manages somehow. Hege forgot her own concerns for a moment, and thought only of her brother’s safety. She said: “Then surely it’s dangerous in calm weather, too, isn’t it? In which case I don’t think you should be allowed to use it.”
Mattis snorted.
“I know the boat alright.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to sink to the bottom, you know.”
“Oh, nonsense.”
Inwardly he was in a state of turmoil as he carried out this stage of his plan. But everything worked satisfactorily, he said the right things, the things he realized it was safe to say, and he knew exactly what these were. Isn’t it odd that you only become clever when it’s too late? he thought.
“When it’s calm I can stay out on the lake all day, for that matter,” he said. “You don’t need to worry, Hege, I know what I can and can’t do. And where to put my foot and where not to put it.”
“Well, alright then, but just you be careful,” said Hege, and hurried off. But a moment later she came back and said: “I think I’ll get Jørgen to decide after all—whether the boat’s dangerous or not. Jørgen understands these things. If he says the boat’s no good, you won’t use it anymore.”
The Birds Page 18
