C4 Chapter 4
At Linden Avenue, Ulvar crouched behind the banister at the top of the stairs, looking down into the entrance hall. There was a stranger there, and Ulvar didn’t like him. In fact, he was supposed to be sleeping, which he didn’t want to do. And he jolly well made up his own mind – nobody was to decide for him, were they?
This stupid man was talking to Malin, and Henning was standing next to her, taking it all in. He seemed frightened. Ulvar didn’t understand what they were talking about because he was only two years old, but he did understand that the man was horrible and used bad words.
“You can’t seize the cow,” said Malin in despair. Ulvar understood that. But then she said a whole lot of strange things. “My relative, Viljar of the Ice People, has the means to pay. But his son can’t get the money out of the bank because his father hasn’t been declared dead and Henning is still under age.”
To Ulvar, all this was just a lot of noise. Then the man said that he couldn’t go on waiting forever, and by the way ... then came an impossible word, “expropriate”, which Ulvar couldn’t even pronounce in his thoughts.
Stupid, stupid you, he thought. Poke him, kill him, bang, bang, bang!
Just like when ... Bang and light. Light so that your eyes hurt and bang, bang, so that they fell down on the floor. Hooray!
Only right now, it wasn’t such a good idea.
He had wet his nappy, which was just fine. Malin would be annoyed that she had to change him.
Stupid, man, stupid, stupid, stupid! Now he was saying that he was going into the stable. Malin was weeping and Henning, holding her hand, was telling him that he wasn’t allowed to do that, but the man just walked off.
The man, who had bought a piece of land bordering on Linden Avenue, went determinedly into the courtyard. Nobody was going to cheat him out of his rights! Viljar Lind of the Ice People had been against him buying any of Linden Avenue’s land, which he needed, partly as farmland and partly because he wanted to build a new road. The man came from the outskirts of Christiania and had planned to settle in Graastensholm and make a living as a farmer. He had started out cautiously, keeping his eyes open for opportunities to buy a few extra measures of land now and then.
His most serious rival in the village, and a thorn in his side, was the man at Linden Avenue. Now he had his chance. Viljar of the Ice People had gone and there was no one but stupid brats left on the farm. Asserting that Viljar Lind owed him money had been an easy matter. Young people like the ones at Linden Avenue didn’t bother to look very closely into such matters. He would begin with the cow – he needed it anyway. Later on, he would look out for whatever he could get.
He jumped, stopping in front of the stable door. “What are you doing up and about so late? And in your night things? In you go!” The little mite looked at him inscrutably. The man made a gesture in the air. How on earth was that girl bringing up her foster-children?
The boy, who was only a couple of years old, darted away and ran towards the house. Fearsome little hare, was what the man thought as he put his hand on the door handle.
At that moment, he heard a deep growl from many throats. He was frightened because he didn’t want any of this, and as he turned around he was rooted to the spot. He was scared stiff. Three huge dogs were running towards him. Their yellow eyes glinted. No, they weren’t dogs, but wolves. Wolves? In this built-up area? With villas everywhere?
That was all he had time to think, because those animals meant business. They came towards him with heavy, silent bounds, and their eyes showed that they were very resolute. He tried to reach Linden Avenue farmhouse, but the wolves didn’t want that. They also cut off his route to the stable. The only thing he could do was to run for his life down the old avenue of linden trees. He wanted to cry out for help, but no matter how hard he tried, not a sound came out of his throat. He had never run so fast in all his life! There was no other house where he could seek shelter; he needed to get back to his home, get away from the farm in the distance. He could hear the heavy animals behind him, hear how they loped across the fields: softly, swiftly and sure of their prey.
And he was certainly not in shape for this kind of exercise! He lived a comfortable life with his housekeeper, with whom he secretly shared his bed. She was responsible for all the heavy chores, because they were things he wouldn’t condescend to do: He would just sit indoors, calculating and doing business. His methods were more or less grubby, but who had ever grown rich by being honest? The most important thing was to concentrate on oneself, wasn’t it? All these thoughts went through his mind as he sprinted along, frightened to death, taking the shortcut along the field boundary. He was almost home and they hadn’t overtaken him yet. He must be a damn good sprinter, escaping from big wolves: nobody had ever seen that before!
The wolves? Where had they come from? And in the middle of the village at that! They must have crept down from the mountain ridge and made their way into the village searching for food.
Hungry?
Hungry – help! He visualized strong jaws crushing his bones, tearing off pieces of flesh while he was still alive, and his horror and strength rose to a mad crescendo. He ran faster than he had ever done in his whole life.
He could certainly feel it in his chest. He felt a pain around his heart and a throbbing sensation at the back of his head and he could hardly breathe. He had a taste of iron and blood in his mouth, and he felt completely exhausted. Now he was running only on willpower and his instinct of self-preservation.
Oh, there were the front steps. He was climbing up almost on all fours when the housekeeper opened the door.
“Oh, so you’re back home, running like crazy!”
“Wolves, wolves!” he managed to whisper as he lay on the step. He wanted to warn the housekeeper, wanted to ask for help getting inside, but was unable to say a word.
“What? Wolves here? Are you mad?”
He quickly turned his head, frightened and dejected. The courtyard was empty, and so was the field and the road. But now things were taking a turn for the worse. The pain in his chest and at the back of his head became unbearable, and he sank down into a darkness that was a relief.
“What on earth is happening? Heavens above, surely you’re not dying?”
She straightened up, white as a sheet. “Well, I never! He has. Stone dead! Oh, God, what am I to do? What’s going to become of me?”
“He’s gone!” Henning said, surprised, as he stood by the window. He had walked over to it even though he didn’t want to see his dear cow leaving the farm for good. “I can see him dashing down the avenue. Without the cow but with ... Noooo ...”
“What’s the matter?” asked Malin.
“No, now he’s disappeared. I thought I clearly saw ... some big dogs or wolves pursuing him. No, it must have been shadows in the avenue. But he was certainly running for his life.”
“Well. Perhaps he had a stomach ache?”
Henning looked sceptically in the direction the man had taken. “What on earth was that behind him? I didn’t have time to see it.”
Malin replied calmly: “Whatever it was, it was certainly not wolves. I suppose it was what you thought: dancing shadows under the trees. It’s pretty dark outside now.”
Henning didn’t answer. He didn’t take his eyes off the road, but he could no longer see the man because the trees and hills blocked the view.
Malin sighed. “Anyway, at least the matter is postponed. But that man is bound to come back. We’ll never be free of him.”
She gazed pensively at Henning, who seemed confused. He was still looking into the evening darkness and he seemed agitated.
Wolves? Nonsense!
Henning said in his clear voice, which was beginning to show slight signs of breaking: “I don’t think Father owed him money. Father was afraid of getting into debt. Can’t we have a word with the bailiff and ask him what we ought to do?”
Malin didn’t believe in seeking help from the authorities. The new neighbour was very powerful. They stood by the window for a while, perplexed. Then she went up the stairs and into the little boys’ room, where Ulvar had slipped under his duvet. But Malin had seen his red feet. Without any fuss, she lifted the duvet and felt his feet. They were ice cold.
“Ulvar, have you been up and about again? And your trousers are wet. Why didn’t you tell me?” She felt this was the last straw. She was worn out after a tough and mentally challenging day, but went to find a clean nappy. Marco, the handsome twin brother, lay quietly in his bed, observing it all. His gentle, enigmatic smile played lightly around his well-shaped mouth. Suddenly, Ulvar began to laugh. A hoarse, wild and ebullient laughter that sent an ice-cold shiver down Malin’s spine.
In the Valley of Death.
Where did those words come from? From somewhere in the Bible? His worn-out body was fighting against death, he knew it. Everything was in a daze. He could hear his heart beating hard, throbbing against his skin everywhere. His lungs were taking in air laboriously, one breath at a time. If I get through this one, I must try once more. And if I get through that ...
It just seemed impossible.
Belinda ... where is she?
I think she got on board the boat. I think the priest told me so, but I might be dreaming. The nice priest, where would we be without him?
Belinda screaming on the quay. She had been frightened to death of going aboard.
That’s all I remember.
Nothing else but coughing that drains my body.
The mist ... now it comes again, now when I hardly have the energy for each breath. I can’t and mustn’t be wrapped in it, because then it will be the last time.
And since then ...
Nothing more.
Eternal silence.
Henning!
My little boy. Who knows nothing. And where is Belinda? She can’t cope ... without ... me ...
A voice out of the fog.
Viljar!
It’s such a kind voice! Am I dead now?
Viljar. Try again! Be patient! They mustn’t lose you. You know that.
That voice! I know that voice! But it can’t be that one, that’s impossible. I must be dead, after all!
No, Viljar, you’re not dead. Not yet. But you’ll need to fight against death. For their sake.
Grandfather! Grandfather Heike, who died at least fifteen years ago. How can he be here?
He’s sitting on the edge of my bunk, I can feel it. His hand, which is stroking my forehead, is so cool and calm.
You’re fighting the fight of your life, Viljar. Try to reach Linden Avenue! And when you get there, you must ask for an elixir from the Ice People’s treasure. The one in the green bottle at the far right in the lowest rack. That could cure you. Anyway, you must stay alive until then. Think of Henning, think of Belinda!
Belinda? Is she with me here?
Yes, she’s on the boat, she’s been given something to make her sleep. There’s a doctor on board. However, there’s nothing he can do for you. Only you can do it.
“I don’t have any strength left.”
Men draw strength from spent sources when it’s needed. And when you reach home, you must remember that Ulvar must never get his hands on the Ice People’s treasure. Never!
“Who is Ulvar?”
You’ll discover that in time. Now just focus on holding on.
“Yes, Grandfather. But the Ice People’s ancestors never appear to the normal ones in the clan – those who aren’t cursed or chosen. Yet you’re with me now.”
Yes, your son needs you. He’s important to the Ice People, and that’s why I’m here.
“I understand. I’ll fight with all the strength I don’t have.”
Once again, the mist with its treacherous calm tried to close itself around him. Viljar’s lungs didn’t want to breathe any more, but he forced them to do so. He could feel that he was alone now – his grandfather had gone – but he had been given more energy. He didn’t want to die. He might have many good years with his dear Belinda and the little son he hadn’t seen for so long. Belinda depended completely on Viljar. In her grief and her confusion, what mightn’t happen to her if he passed away?
Oh, his weary lungs, how were they to carry on? Another breath of air, can’t you just try?
Malin had been in Eikeby. There was something she needed to attend to, and she had stayed there a bit too long. It was already dusk. But it was lovely to be able to relax and forget all her difficulties.
The neighbour’s sudden death had been the main topic of conversation in the parish in recent days. The doctor said it was a heart attack, which wasn’t unexpected. When you allow food to become more important than exercise, then just a run is bound to be fateful. What had come over him that he wanted to sprint like that, a middle-aged man like him? Perhaps he had just felt unwell and had been trying to reach home before he was sick.
It was a month since the funeral, and there had been no claim on Linden Avenue, either from the estate or the bailiff, regarding any debt owing to the deceased. Malin was beginning to think that Henning had been right when he said that Viljar was innocent. But how could anybody be so mean as to dream up such a lie? To take a cow from one’s neighbours, appropriate their fields, piece by piece, for no reason at all? Malin and Henning never mentioned the man’s demands to anybody. They wanted to see if anyone would say anything.
Malin hurried home in the dusk. Poor Henning, she thought, he had been left to take care of the two little boys; they would need some food and ...
She stiffened. Somebody was walking behind her.
For a moment she thought that the neighbour’s ghost had come to seek revenge, and a whole lot of crazy thoughts dashed through her mind. For instance, that they ought to have struck the deal after all. It was true that the man had no children, but what about his housekeeper? Didn’t she have a right to something? People in the parish said that his slippers had been found under her bed ...
As these thoughts were waving in the breeze, Malin began to realize that it was a suitor who was following her. She was a young girl, after all – only twenty-one – and although she wasn’t exactly beautiful, she always kept herself neat and clean and nice.
The man quickly overtook her. He was a young lad from one of the villas. He didn’t have the best reputation because he turned on the charm to tempt many girls in the parish. It was true that Malin had given him the eye now and then, because nice boys were in short supply in this part of the world.
She had never had any secret dreams about him! She didn’t really care for idlers, though he was probably very pleasant to talk to. But this time he didn’t want to talk. He told her quite cheerfully that he had seen her many times and now he had finally plucked up the courage to speak to her, and he hoped that she didn’t mind.
But Malin didn’t swallow this bait because she happened to have heard him say precisely the same thing not so long ago to one of the girls at Eikeby. Now that girl was walking about with red-rimmed eyes and an expression of repentance in her eyes.
“No, that’s fine with me,” she said coolly. “But I must hurry on home to the little boys because they’ve been on their own for far too long. So if you’ll excuse me ...”
The young lad didn’t take no for an answer. He grabbed her pretty hard by the arm, yanking her towards him. He just wanted to say something nice to appease her, but his grip was a bit too hard and Malin uttered a whimper.
At that, the young man heard a furious growl and a huge animal appeared out of the undergrowth and attacked him. He could feel its heavy paws on his shoulders and he fell backwards, horrified and paralysed. There he lay while the beast slavered over him, its fangs glistening in the dusk.
Malin screamed: “No! Oh, no!”
The big dog – or was it a wolf? – pulled back and the lad scrambled to his feet. He ran off as if his trousers were on fire.
Malin, frightened to death, stared at the beast. But it merely hopped back into the bushes with a final low growl and was gone. Malin, horrified at the scene, ran home, thinking all the way of the wolves Henning thought he had seen – which she had smilingly dismissed as absolute nonsense. Now she was just as much in doubt as he had been.
She didn’t know whether she had the courage to look into the boys’ room. She concluded that Henning must have put them to bed, because the house was quiet. All she could hear was Henning clattering cups and plates out in the kitchen. But she had to. Carefully, she opened the door to their bedroom and tiptoed over to Ulvar’s bed. It was so dark that all she could see was that Ulvar was lying there. But wasn’t there a hint of the cold night about him – or was she just imagining it? He was breathing calmly. But didn’t she detect a vague tremble in his breath?
Oh, she was just imagining things! Better not touch his feet right now!
She tiptoed out of the bedroom, closing the door without a sound. She was shaking all over as she walked down the stairs. Henning was waiting for her downstairs, looking up at her with an inquisitive look in his eyes.
Young Henning had broadened out. He was almost fourteen now, clever and strong, but his eyes had the tired expression of a disillusioned old man.
She felt terribly sorry for him. The burden he had been given was much too heavy for his young shoulders.
“What’s the matter, Malin?”
She didn’t want to lie to him. They had to stand together in all this, because they had only each other to rely on. Trying to stifle a sob, she whispered: “The wolf appeared again, but only one this time. It saved me from a horrible man.”
Henning grew pale. “Did it kill him?”
“No. And the other man, who was chased by wolves, wasn’t attacked directly. He probably died from fright and a poor heart.”
Henning nodded. His face was tense with unspeakable fear.
“I suppose the two boys have been asleep,” she asked quietly.
He answered just as quietly with stiff lips: “I don’t know about that. I was cleaning the kitchen after I put them to bed.”
“Oh, Henning,” Malin whispered, “what are we to do?”
It was a sleepless night for them both, and they needed all the rest they could get!
At the breakfast table, Ulvar’s eyes were green with curiosity, and his laughter, which Malin abhorred, was always lying in wait. He was extremely naughty, pouring his junket slowly on to the tablecloth, kicking Henning under the table, throwing blobs of porridge at the wall, and saying, loudly and clearly, swear words he had picked up goodness knows where!
Henning and Malin couldn’t handle him; he was in an exuberant mood. Finally, Marco stopped him with a few quiet words in their secret language. Ulvar slipped off his chair and plodded away like an offended dog.
Henning was awfully tired. He had to be up working in the fields but he could have done with being left to sleep all day long. Malin gathered that his fatigue and despondency was mostly mental, because she was feeling the same.
Suddenly, they heard an agitated cry from Ulvar, who had climbed up on the windowsill. No more wolves now, Malin thought, but it was nothing of the sort.
Henning, who had run over to the window, said: “A coach has come.” Malin noticed how gently he had put his arm around Ulvar’s shoulders. But the little boy broke loose. The grotesque creature pulled back demonstratively from any such warm gesture.
Malin sighed.
“It looks like ... a hearse,” Henning said in a dying voice.
“What are you saying?”
Marco had joined Ulvar, and the two little boys knelt close together, looking out of the window. Malin went over to them.
Out of the avenue and into the courtyard came a long coach with a woman and two men on the box at the front. At the back of the coach was something that might resemble a coffin.
What a shocking omen, Malin thought: a hearse driving into the courtyard.
The question was, was this real or was it one of those apparitions the Ice People sometimes experienced? All four of them in the window belonged to the Ice People.
No, it wasn’t an apparition. The coach was real.
“We must go out and take a look,” Malin said.
The two little boys clambered down immediately and dashed over to the door.
“No, not you. You must wait in here, you’ll have the chance to say hello afterwards once we know who it is.”
Ulvar scowled at Malin and whacked her on the knees. She was so used to it that she didn’t take any notice. She had discovered a long time ago that it was no use punishing Ulvar. That simply multiplied his hatred many times over – and he could become very dangerous.
Henning and Malin went out to the front steps. The coach had stopped and a man had jumped down. He was dressed like a priest. This was getting worse. What kind of a funeral procession was this? The woman on the box sat quietly, bending so that you couldn’t see her face. Her entire demeanour seemed listless, or absentminded, or just resigned. The driver didn’t step down either.
The priest met them halfway. Malin noticed how tensely guarded Henning had suddenly become. Poor boy, she thought. Shouldn’t a priest know better than to come here with a corpse?
Henning couldn’t take his eyes off the woman. Malin didn’t know her, but then she didn’t know many people in the parish. She cast a nervous glance towards the window behind her. Two small noses were curiously pressed against the pane. Fine, that meant they wouldn’t be up to mischief ... Anyway, Marco never did anything wrong. He was a model child.
Henning let out a muffled shout and wanted to rush over to the coach. The priest caught him swiftly by the arm.
“Quiet, boy,” he said. “You’re Henning, aren’t you?”
The boy could only nod. His incredulous eyes didn’t stray from the woman. The priest crouched down in front of him, concentrating entirely on him. “Now you must be very calm, Henning, otherwise you could do a lot of damage. Yes, you’re right, it’s your mother sitting there. But she’s very, very sick ...”
Malin gasped for breath, and she did all she could to calm Henning. She stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders.
“You speak Danish, don’t you?” she asked the priest, feeling how white her face had become.
“Yes, I’m from Thisted in Denmark.”
“And ... his father?” she said with a movement of her head towards the body of the coach.
“He’s not dead,” the priest said, and Henning shook violently. “However, I fear that the end is inevitable.”
Young Henning stood like a statue. His self-control was enormous. “I’m calm now,” he assured them as tears poured down his cheeks. “May I ...?”
The priest replied: “We need to move very cautiously. Before you say hello to your mother, we need to get her away from the coach. The least bit of excitement for your father may end his life. And Henning ... You must be warned that your mother probably won’t recognize you!”
“Won’t ... recognize me?”
“She’s been in a state of shock ever since the shipwreck.”
Poor Henning! How was he to handle all this? When all he longed to do was to throw himself in his parents’ arms and to be allowed to cry his eyes out with joy?
Now Malin could see that it wasn’t a coffin in the coach but a sort of cot with sides in which the sick person was lying. She couldn’t see him because the sides were too high.
The driver helped Henning’s mother, Belinda, down. Malin didn’t know her, but the impression she got was of a very tired and confused woman, who still retained her good looks but who must have aged dramatically much too soon.
“Stay at a distance, Henning,” the priest whispered, “until we’ve got her inside. But first of all, we need to take care of your father. If your mother screams or anything, it may kill him.”
Malin whispered: “What’s wrong with him?”
“Tuberculosis. He’s in the final stages. The fact that he’s made it to Linden Avenue is a miracle. I think he ought ...”
“Yes,” she said swiftly. “Thank you.” She was so agitated that she was shaking all over. It must be much worse for Henning, who had hidden himself around the corner of the house while the priest and Malin led the confused Belinda indoors. Halfway up the steps, Belinda stopped and turned around. She opened her mouth to say something, but the priest anticipated what she wanted to say: “Yes, of course he’s coming. We’ll fetch him in a moment.”
Malin could feel that she was crying. All the time, she had to wipe away tears, which dazzled her. Viljar and Belinda were alive! But the tidings of joy had turned to sorrow.
As they opened the door, Malin told the priest: “I’m a trained deaconess.”
“Oh, you as well?” he said, surprised and pleased. “A Danish deaconess restored these two to life. But what a life? Oh, God,” he exclaimed, surprised. “I thought I just saw a little devil!”
Malin had forgotten the boys. “Oh, that was just young Ulvar,” she said. “He’s just a poor child with a frightening appearance.”
The boys had disappeared back into the kitchen, and the grown-ups led Belinda into the living room. Belinda’s steps became slower. Her eyes slid helplessly over the walls and the ceiling. Now and then she would give a small whimper.
The priest whispered: “I think she’s able to recognize the place.”
“Perhaps it would be best if she’s allowed to say hello to her son now – while she’s on her own?” Malin suggested.
“Yes, I think you’re right. I’ll ask the driver to keep an eye on her husband, then I’ll fetch the boy.”
Henning came in with the priest. Malin had watched Belinda’s eyes taking in the living room, surprised and baffled, her hand touching the cloth on the table. Then Henning entered the room.
His face was full of suppressed tears. “Mother,” he said in a thin voice, while he moved nervously closer. Her empty eyes took it all in.
“It’s Henning, Mother!”
Slowly, slowly, her eyes began to brighten. Her mouth quivered helplessly, and she stretched out her hand and touched his sleeve.
The others didn’t dare to move.
A deep, trembling sigh came from Belinda. Her tired face began to register something very cautiously: it was obvious that she was struggling with herself, wondering whether she dared to believe what she was seeing. Then she let out a moan and a long whimper, and Henning broke down. He fell on his knees against her bosom, and cried and cried. Belinda put her arms around him and he crept up on her lap. She rocked him quietly back and forth with her cheek against his hair, her tears pouring from sources long dried out.
The priest turned to Malin. “We don’t know how much she understands,” he whispered. “But she recognized him, which is an enormous step forward for her. Stay with them, and I’ll fetch her husband!”
Malin didn’t move. Two small, curious children stood in the kitchen doorway. The two in the chair only had eyes for each other.
And now Viljar of the Ice People entered the room. With indomitable willpower, he had come home to die.