Winter Storm, page 12
“Sure. What’s her name?”
“Merete.”
‘Oh, is that so?’ thought Villemo.
The landlord left. Eldar closed the door. It was so low under the sloping wall that he had to bend down. The smell of newly tarred timber, which the sun had warmed, was piercingly intense.
“Here’s water and a washbowl,” he said. “Why don’t you sit down on the edge of the bed?”
She obeyed. She was too exhausted to object. He pulled off her shoes and stockings, poured water and washed her tender feet. After the first cold shock, Villemo leaned against the wall and enjoyed it.
Eldar Black Forest regarded her small, tired face where the glow of her eyes was hidden behind closed eyelids.
‘You’re still a child,’ he thought. ‘But Good God, how will you react when you’re aroused as a woman? You, with your intensity, your violent temper, your captivating beauty and your exceptional eyes?’
Eldar let go of her foot as if he had burnt himself. Suddenly he was hit by a crazy wish that he would be the first to arouse her. He was convinced that he was able to. Anytime. But he was cautious. You shouldn’t play tricks with a girl of the Ice People, much less with a whole family. The Meidens at Graastensholm, the Paladins in Denmark ... No, Eldar from the Black Forest would do well to be very careful. He quickly dried her feet and got up.
The landlord brought a wooden bowl of food, which smelled delicious. Then he left once more. There were two wooden spoons in the dish. Eldar handed her the one spoon and pointed to the bowl.
“Please, have something to eat!”
She obeyed enthusiastically and they took turns dipping their spoons. What was in the bowl didn’t look particularly appetising; some indefinable lumps floating in a grey, greasy soup.
“What’s that?” she asked after she had eaten some spoonfuls.
“It’s best not to ask.”
She stopped abruptly.
“The famine’s also rife here,” he explained.
Villemo put the spoon down. “I don’t think I want any more.”
“Please eat and stop being difficult. It’s probably the intestines from some animal, and that’s healthy food.”
She seemed to see crows and rats in the tough lumps, but she decided to push aside her imaginings. They needed to eat, and surely the soup couldn’t be dangerous. With the kind of courage that comes from despair, she continued to eat. A full stomach certainly helped her mood.
But later that evening, as she lay alone in bed and felt the warmth return to her body – except her feet, which were still as cold as ice – the effects of all that had happened within the past twenty-four hours hit her.
Was it really yesterday evening that she had left Elistrand? It seemed unfathomable because she felt she had lived a whole life since then. An evil and frightening life.
The thought of her bright, good home almost choked her and she took long, cleansing breaths. Had her dad already received the letter? And what about all her friends on the farm, what were they doing now?
She had caused a lot of sorrow to them all, especially her dear dad. What a good thing that her mum didn’t know anything – yet. Hopefully she’d never get to know anything, and Villemo would get home before her. She had to be the first to get home.
She had killed someone. That truth overshadowed everything else. She, Villemo Kalebsdatter, had killed another human being. It was unbearable. She couldn’t take it!
She began to sob uncontrollably and she did nothing to hold it back. She couldn’t control it. She felt that it did her good. The other occupants could think whatever they wanted to.
They set off early the following morning. When she had put on her dress, the dried mud created a cloud of dust around her. It also took some time before she was able to walk on her tender feet.
After a solid breakfast – “Eat more, Merete. Nobody knows when we’ll have our next meal” – they were on the road. She looked in surprise at her companion.
“Oh, I see you’re limping, Eldar.”
“Am I?”
“You look as if you’ve been walking on burnt iron.”
“I’ve got blisters on my feet,” he murmured.
“Oh, how painful” she said sympathetically. “I had no idea that heroes walk like that!”
“Heroes,” he snorted. “I’m not a hero.”
“Well, you were a hero to me. You were handsome, strong and invincible.”
“Were, you say? Did the blisters spoil your illusion?”
“No, no. The illusion disappeared a long time ago.”
“Well, it can’t be that long ago. We haven’t known each other for so long. As grown-ups, I mean.”
He obviously wanted to be a hero in her opinion.
“It was when you began to speak about all your sweethearts.”
“Oh, that,” he laughed, embarrassed. “I was just boasting.”
She was silent for a little while.
“Wasn’t it true then?”
“No, you know how men talk.”
“No, I don’t.”
Niklas And Dominic weren’t like that! They were kind, well-mannered and considerate.
“You’re very quiet,” he said.
She started and gave him a perplexed look. Who was he and why was she walking on this frozen road?
“Sorry, I was miles away.”
Eldar said no more. He understood that she was somewhere else in her thoughts and that there was no room for him there.
They continued on tender feet. Villemo walked a couple of steps behind as she looked at him. She found it difficult to keep pace with him. She felt sad and gloomy. She loved to gaze at him, his long, well-shaped legs, the narrow hips and the broad shoulders. The hair, ash-blond and tangled, the high cheekbones, the narrow eyes and the wide rows of teeth. Like a dangerous animal, she thought.
His language was coarse and vulgar sometimes, which was exactly why she loved him: she wanted to bring out the best in him. Because she was convinced that a good man lay behind his hard shell. In short, Villemo walked into the same trap as thousands of other women before her. She wanted to rescue a lost soul.
How many women have not believed themselves capable of rescuing, say, a drunken wreck – solely through love and good influence? How many have not thought that they could turn brutal hooligans into angels?
Villemo was in a much weaker position than these women because she wanted to reach a more noble spirit in Eldar, purely by means of a chaste and supernatural love. She wouldn’t give her body to him because she was too immature and virtuous for that.
Thus the two walked along the road, each with their own fantasy. He wanted to see her in wild, primitive sensuousness and she wanted to see him refined and noble. Which one of them would win depended on what they would experience this winter and how it would shape them.
“If my name’s Merete, what’s yours?” she asked cautiously.
“Einar. Einar Foss. Don’t forget it!”
“So I’m Merete Foss then. How old are you?”
“Let’s say twenty-five.”
“Anything else I need to know? Where do we come from?”
“From Christiania. You’ve earned your living by begging. Now I’ll take care of you, which is why we’re looking for employment in the village.”
She nodded. “How are your feet doing?”
“We’ll soon be there, so there’s not much longer to walk.”
“Where is the farm precisely?”
“I’ve been given careful instructions.”
In the dusk they could see a large farm up on a hill above a wide plateau.
“That’s it,” Eldar said. “We’ll walk straight up there.”
Villemo looked at the farm’s many dark houses with a mixture of fear and awe. It was definitely a large farm, built in the Norwegian peasant style. About twenty small houses encircled the courtyard with a big tree in the middle and one of two impressive wells after which the farm had got its name. And right in front of them towered the main building, a two-storey house built of logs with an external gallery.
On either side of the road there were enormous barns for storage and fertile fields encircled the cluster of houses as far as the eye could see. The village to which Tobrønn belonged lay discreetly withdrawn behind some mountains by the forest as if the houses were afraid to make their presence felt before such a display of power and prominence.
“You just keep your mouth shut as much as possible,” Eldar murmured. “You tend to speak a bit too posh, so I’ll do the talking.”
A frightened old maid took them to the large farmer. Eldar remained standing by the door and bowed deeply. Villemo stood half behind him, trying to appear scared and impressed. She managed to drop a clumsy curtsy.
The farmer and his wife sat in a pair of wooden chairs, staring grumpily at them. They seemed overfed and indolent. His jacket and trousers were made of exquisite homespun fabric and his wife was dressed entirely in black.
Villemo didn’t like the woman’s eyes. In fact, she didn’t like her at all. There she was, like a big, fat female spider with heavy eyelids and brown, penetrating eyes. Her lower lip protruded a lot and the fleshy nose almost reached it. Her hair was a steely grey and combed back tightly. She also had a hint of a moustache. Actually it was more than just a hint.
The man was fat with cold, protruding eyes and thin hair. He looked as though he needed to burp but was unable to.
“Well, what do you want?” he asked coldly.
“We’d like to serve you, sir,” Eldar said in a submissive voice which Villemo had never heard before. “This is my younger sister. I take care of her since we have no home or family. We’re good workers and willing to work where it’s needed. Our mum was Danish, which is why we’d like to serve you.”
“Come over here,” the woman barked at Villemo.
She went forward nervously and curtsied once more.
The woman took a hold of her dress and felt the dirty material. “How did you get a hold of this?”
Before Eldar had time to answer for her, Villemo lisped: “A kind lady gave this to me by the door, Your Grace.”
“Your Grace?” the woman laughed arrogantly but she was truly flattered. “But let me see your eyes. Yuck, such eyes belong to Satan!”
Villemo managed to squeeze out a tear so that her eyes shone. “That is what everybody says, Your Grace. But this was because my mum was frightened by a yellow-eyed cat when she carried me, so I was born with these eyes. But I’ve been to church every Sunday and received the Lord’s forgiveness for them.”
A baffled Eldar stood by the door, thinking she was doing very well indeed. Her language was suitably rural and not at all exaggerated. Her manners would make you believe that she had been subdued all her life. ‘But, my word, she sure was beautiful under that dress! Gorgeous! God help me, I want her! But I just can’t allow myself. Not in any way!’
He could still picture her naked, well-shaped hips before his mind’s eye, feel her soft skin against his palms. He wanted to see it again. He just had to!
A heavy sneeze pulled him out of his reverie. He noticed that the farmer’s eyes dwelled on her. A shocked Eldar thought that the farmer also wanted her, and he felt a violent, nauseating jealousy. That old lecher! That fat, horrible, old lecher, who is undressing my Villemo with ... My Villemo? What was he thinking of?
The wife hadn’t seen her husband’s long, desirous glances. She was still thrilled to be called Your Grace.
“Can you serve a table, girl?”
“A little bit,” Villemo said. “And I can learn.”
The farmer’s wife looked inquisitively at her husband, and he turned to Eldar.
“We could use a groom,” he said brusquely. “You can sleep in the farmhands’ room. Your sister will stay in this house.
Eldar’s entire body protested. All he could do was to give a grateful nod and take Villemo out into the kitchen where they were to have something to eat. When they were alone for a short moment, he whispered to Villemo: “See to it that you’re never alone with the large farmer!”
She looked at him, surprised and wondering. She had never seen Eldar like this before. His eyes radiated with unease, despair and ... well, what could it be? Most of all it seemed to be longing, yearning. She didn’t understand why. What could he be longing for?
Villemo hadn’t been many days in the main building at Tobrønn when she suspected that something was utterly wrong at the farm. The only people in the main building were the large farmer and his wife, the frightened old maid and Villemo, and a masterful man, who was the large farmer’s confidant. Outside the building a few farmhands and servant girls, two of each, worked together with Eldar. Villemo felt that these four were scary. The only time they would speak to Eldar would be to give him orders. She thought that he certainly had plenty to do. They piled all the work on him and worked as little as possible themselves.
But the farm was very well kept. Fields and meadows were in very fine shape despite the four lazy farmhands and servants. The large kitchen was kept absolutely spick and span, and the leftovers, which the old maid put aside for her, were good and well prepared. Villemo was only allowed into the kitchen when she was summoned, which wasn’t often. The rooms she took care of were the living rooms. They were to be kept nice and clean, and she was to mend their clothes and serve food at the table.
Villemo didn’t know how to go about it. She was punished for always shirking domestic work at home. She felt terribly helpless at the chores she was given, which was partly because she had never had much flair for so-called female duties. She didn’t intuitively sense how best to make a bed; to tell if a room had been dusted or not; to darn a sock neatly – and, least of all, to take orders.
‘It’s strange,’ she thought to herself as she considered her constant need to rebel, ‘how the deeds of your forefathers can be reflected in your own life. My forefathers on my Grandpa Alexander’s side had been men who gave orders. High-ranking officers, field marshals, princes ... In some mystical way, their status has been passed down to me for generations – which means that everything inside me rebels when somebody tries to give me an order. Not that I wish to give orders myself or that I feel above being a subordinate. It just triggers a furious opposition to be dominated. It makes me so angry that I’m practically ashamed of myself.’
But then the large farmer and his wife and staff were extremely unpleasant. Especially the wife, with her glaring eyes and moustache. For instance, when Villemo had to clean the wardrobe, the wife had sat on a chair with a pointed stick in her hand, which she would poke at Villemo if she had overlooked a spot or a speck of dust. But the old hag got the greatest pleasure from pointing the stick here and there, almost without saying a word, just through sharp, stinging orders and a triumphant smile about her loose mouth. Villemo had had to think of all the love she had for Eldar in order to stand the pain. She wanted so badly to make him proud of her. Only his presence made her keep her cool.
The Tobrønn people regularly had guests and at the first party, a few days after Villemo had arrived, the neighbours had come to visit. The farmer and his wife were clearly proud to show them Villemo, and she managed to make a pleasant impression. The farmer’s wife had taught her everything about serving food, and she had been given new, darker clothes. Her nice dress had disappeared. She had caught a glimpse of it one day, in the couple’s bedroom – washed and repaired. Villemo was sure she would never have it returned to her.
Eldar was allowed to talk with his “little sister” once every day, because he was her guardian. They would always meet on the bench under the tree in the courtyard. Then everybody could see them but not hear what they said to one another.
When Eldar had asked permission to meet her every day, Villemo almost made a blunder. The farmer had looked sternly at him and asked what the purpose of it was.
“Well,” Eldar had replied. “On my mum’s deathbed, I promised her that I would take care of Merete. And such a promise is holy, as you know.”
Villemo was just about to ask Eldar: has your mum passed away? I didn’t know that. Was it recently? But fortunately she checked herself, or she would have risked revealing their true identities.
They met every day at four o’clock when they finished work. On the fourth day, Villemo said:
“I heard something spooky last night.”
“Did you?” Eldar said. “I must admit I sleep like a log.”
She thought that it was so nice to see him again. They were so closely attached now, in this unfamiliar world. He seemed tired, which was no wonder since he had to work very hard, and he looked hollow-eyed. His sense of disgust toward her had mellowed. Now he could actually look her in the eyes when he talked with her, whereas before he would just turn away in aversion.
Villemo continued, “I have no idea what it was. It sounded like an animal behind a closed door or something like that.”
“The animals are treated well here,” Eldar answered. “Their coats shine and their stomachs are fat. But I was thinking ...”
“What?”
“Who did all the work here before I came? Those lazybones walking about here do nothing but boss me around.”
“I’ve thought about that as well. And I just can’t figure out how that old, frightened maid in there can make all that food, and so quickly at that!”
“See if you can trick her into saying how she does it. After all, she can’t be awake twenty-four hours a day. By the way, you have no reason any longer to be afraid of the farmer.”
She wrinkled her brow. “Afraid?”
“So you didn’t notice,” he murmured. “Well, I heard the farmhands talk to each other. They said that he’s impotent.”
