Mysteries (10 page)

“Well then,” the lady says ironically—. The chairman bangs the table and asks for silence, but the lady insists and says: “Well then, since you do not attack
all
great men, mention some, or at least one, who finds favor in your eyes. It would be most interesting to know.”

I answer as follows: “I would be glad to. But the fact is, you will take me all too brutally at my word. If I were to mention one or two or ten, you would simply assume that, apart from those, I knew of no others. Besides, why should I? If I gave you the choice between, say, Leo Tolstoy, Jesus Christ and Immanuel Kant, even you would hesitate before making the correct selection from among them. You would say that all these were great men, each after his fashion, and the entire liberal and progressive press would agree with you—”

“So who is the greatest of these, in your opinion?” she cuts in.

“In my opinion, madam, it’s not the one who has been best at creating
exchange value
who is the greatest, though he is the one who always produces most commotion in the world. No, the voice of
my
blood says that
he
is the greatest who has contributed most fundamental value, most positive profit, to human existence. The greatest one is the great terrorist, a towering magnitude, an unheard-of universal jack that balances planets.”

“But, of the three who were mentioned, it must be Christ who—?”
¹⁵

“It’s Christ, sure,” I hasten to say. “You’re quite right, madam, and I’m pleased that we agree on this point, at least—. No, on the whole I have a low opinion of the ability to do business, to preach, that purely formal gift of always having a word ready on your tongue. What is a preacher, a professional preacher? Someone who serves the negative purpose of the middleman, an agent for merchandise. The more money he makes by his merchandising, the more world-wide his fame becomes! Heh-heh, that’s the way it is: the more he can ballyhoo, the more he can expand his business. But what is the point of preaching Faust’s opinions of human existence to my good neighbor, Ola Upnorth? Will that change the thought of the next century?”

“But what will become of Ola Upnorth if nobody—?”

“Let Ola Upnorth go to hell!” I cut in. “Ola Upnorth has nothing else to do in this world but to walk around waiting to die for all he’s worth, that is, to get out of the way, the sooner the better. Ola Upnorth exists to fertilize the soil, he’s the soldier that Napoleon rides down roughshod, that’s Ola Upnorth—now you know! Ola Upnorth, damn it, isn’t even a beginning, let alone a result of anything; he isn’t even a comma in the Great Book, but a mere blot on the paper. That’s Ola Upnorth—”

“Sh-sh! For God’s sake!” says the lady, terror-stricken, looking at the chairman to see if he’s going to show me the door.

“All right!” I reply, “heh-heh-heh, all right, I won’t say any more.” But at that very moment I notice her lovely mouth and I say, “I’m sorry, madam, for having taken up so much of your time with stuff and nonsense. But thank you so much for your kindness. Your lips are divinely beautiful when you smile. Goodbye.”

But now her face turns crimson and she invites me home. Simply home to her house, to where she lives. Heh-heh-heh. She lives on such and such a street, number so and so. She would like to talk to me a little more about this matter, she doesn’t agree with me and might have a great many objections. If I came tomorrow night, she would be all alone. So could I come tomorrow night? “Thanks. See you then.”

And yet, as it turned out, the only reason she wanted to see me was to show me a new soft rug, a national design, Hallingdal weave.
¹⁶

Sing heigh-ho, the sun’s on the meadow! ...

He jumped out of bed, raised the blinds and looked out. The sun was shining on Market Square, and the weather was calm. He rang the bell for service.
¹⁷
He was going to use Sara’s negligence in the matter of his shoes to get on a slightly more familiar footing with her this morning. Let’s see what she’s made of, this wench from Trøndelag with eyes brimful of sex. It’s probably nothing but humbug.

In short, he put his arms around her waist.

“Ick, get lost!” she said angrily, pushing him away.

Then he asked coldly, “Why didn’t you bring me my shoes earlier?”

“Oh, I’m real sorry about the shoes,” Sara answers. “Today is wash day, there’s so much to do.”

He stayed in his room till noon, whereupon he went to the cemetery to attend Karlsen’s funeral. He was wearing his yellow suit as usual.

WHEN NAGEL GOT TO THE CEMETERY, no one was yet to be seen. He went over to the grave and peeked into it; there were two white flowers on the bottom. Who had tossed them there, and with what purpose? I’ve seen those white flowers before, he thought. Suddenly it occurred to him that he needed a shave. He looked at his watch and considered a moment before quickly walking downtown again. In the middle of Market Square he saw the deputy judge coming toward him; Nagel made straight for him, fixing him with a stare, but neither of them spoke, nor did they greet each other. Nagel entered the barbershop. At that moment the church bells began ringing for the funeral procession.

Nagel took his time; he didn’t speak to anyone, not a word, but spent several minutes examining the pictures on the walls, going from wall to wall and looking at each one. At last his turn came and he lay back in the chair.

Just as he was through and stepped back onto the street, he again saw the deputy judge, who appeared to have turned around and was now waiting for something. He was carrying a stick in his left hand, but as soon as he caught sight of Nagel he shifted it to his right hand and began brandishing it. They slowly approached each other. He didn’t have a stick when I met him a short while ago, Nagel said to himself. It’s not new; he hasn’t bought it but borrowed it. It’s a rattan cane.

The moment they came up with one another, the deputy stopped; Nagel also suddenly stood still; they stopped almost simultaneously. Nagel nudged his velvet cap, as if to scratch the back of his head, and then put it straight again; the deputy, on the other hand, thrust his stick hard against the cobblestones and leaned back on it. He stood thus for several seconds, still without speaking. Suddenly he straightened up, turned his back on Nagel and walked away. At long last Nagel saw his back disappear around the corner of the barbershop.

This pantomime took place in the sight of several people. Among others, a man selling lottery chances from a ticket dispenser had seen it all. A little farther on sat a man who was offering plaster figures for sale, and he had also observed the strange incident. Nagel recognized the plasterer as one of the customers who had been present at the scene in the café the evening before and afterward sided with him against the hotel keeper.

When Nagel got to the cemetery the second time, the pastor was already delivering his eulogy. The place was black with people. Nagel didn’t go up to the grave,
¹
but settled by himself on a large new marble slab with the following inscription: “Vilhelmine Meek. Born 20 May 1873, died 16 February 1891.” That was all. The slab was brand new, and the sod it rested on had just been tapped down.

Nagel beckoned to a little boy. “Do you see that man over there, the one in the brown coat?” he asked.

“The one with the peaked cap, sure. That’s Miniman.”

“Go and ask him to come over here.”

The boy went.

When Miniman came, Nagel rose, gave him his hand and said, “How are you, my friend? I’m glad to see you again. Did you get the coat?”

“The coat? No, not yet. But I’ll get it, all right,” Miniman replied. “I would like to thank you so much for last night—thanks for everything! Well, here we are, burying Karlsen! Hm, it’s God’s will, we have to resign ourselves to it.”

They sat down on the new marble slab and talked together. Nagel took a pencil from his pocket and started writing something on the slab.

“Who is buried here?” he asked.

“Vilhelmine Meek. But we called her simply Mina Meek, for short. She was little more than a child; I don’t think she had turned twenty.”

“She wasn’t even eighteen, according to the inscription. And she, too, was a good person?”

“You said this so strangely, but—”

“It’s just that I’ve noticed your beautiful trait of speaking well of everyone, whoever they may be.”

“If you’d known Mina Meek I’m sure you would’ve agreed with me. She was an unusually kind soul. If anyone is an angel of God, she is one now.”

“Was she engaged?”

“Engaged? No, far from it. Not that I know. I don’t think she was engaged; she was always reciting prayers and talking aloud to God, often in the middle of the street where everyone could hear her. People would stop and listen; everybody loved Mina Meek.”
²

Nagel put the pencil back in his pocket. There was something written on the stone, a verse—it didn’t look nice on the white marble.

Miniman said, “You’re attracting a lot of attention. As I was standing over there listening to the eulogy, I noticed that at least half the people had their eyes on you.”

“On me?”

“Yes. Several people were whispering, asking one another who you were. And now, too, they are looking this way.”

“Who is the lady with the big black feather in her hat?”

“The one with the white parasol handle? That’s Fredrikke Andresen, the Miss Fredrikke I told you about. And the one standing next to her, looking this way just now, is the daughter of the chief of police; her name is Miss Olsen, Gudrun Olsen. Oh, I know them all. Dagny Kielland is here too; she’s wearing a black dress today, and it’s almost more becoming than any other. Have you noticed her? Well, they are all wearing black today, that goes without saying; I’m just talking nonsense. Do you see the gentleman in the blue spring coat wearing glasses? That’s Dr. Stenersen. He’s not our district doctor, though; he has a private practice and was married last year. His wife is standing farther back; I don’t know whether you see the little dark-haired lady with a silk edging on her coat? Well, that’s Mrs. Stenersen. She’s rather sickly and has to be bundled up all the time. And there comes the deputy, too....”

“Can you show me Miss Kielland’s fiancé?” Nagel asked.

“Lieutenant Hansen, no. He’s not here, he’s cruising; he left several days ago. He left right after the engagement.”

After a brief silence Nagel said, “There were two flowers on the bottom of the grave, two white flowers—you wouldn’t know where they came from, would you?”

“Oh yes,” Miniman replies. “That is—are you asking me? Is it a question? ... I’m ashamed to tell you; maybe they would have let me place them on the coffin if I had asked, instead of throwing them away, so to speak, like that. But what good would two flowers do? And wherever I placed them, it would still be only two flowers. So instead I got up shortly after three this morning, or rather last night, and put them in the grave. I was even down there, on the bottom, and arranged them, and I said goodbye to him twice, out loud, while I was down in the grave. It affected me so deeply that I went into the woods afterward, burying my face in my hands with grief. It’s strange to part from somebody for ever, and though Jens Karlsen was way above me in every respect, he was still a good friend to me.”

“So the flowers were from you?”

“Yes, they were from me. But I didn’t do it to show off, as God is my witness. Anyway, it isn’t worth talking about a trifle like that. I bought them last night after leaving you to go home. It so happened that my uncle gave me half a krone for my own use when I brought him your money; he was so overjoyed that he almost knocked me over. He’s sure to come and thank you some day; oh yes, he certainly will, I know he will. But when he gave me this half-krone, I suddenly remembered I hadn’t gotten any flowers for the funeral, so I went down to the quayside—”

“You went down to the quayside?”

“Yes, to a lady who lives down there.”

“In a one-story house?”

“Yes.”

“Does the lady have white hair?”

“Yes, completely white hair; have you seen her? She’s the daughter of a sea captain, but is very poor. At first she wouldn’t accept my half-krone, but I left it on a chair anyway, though she protested and said no several times. She’s so shy, and I think she often suffers on account of her modesty.”

“Do you know her name?”

“Martha Gude.”

“Martha Gude.”

Nagel took out his notebook, wrote down her name and said, “Has she been married? Is she a widow?”

“No. She used to go with her father on his voyages for many years, as long as he commanded a ship; but since he died she has been living here.”

“Doesn’t she have any relations?”

“I don’t know. No, I don’t think so.”

“So what does she live on?”

“God knows what she lives on. Nobody knows anything about that. Come to think, she probably gets some poor relief.”

“Listen! You have been to the house of this lady, this Martha Gude, haven’t you? What does it look like in there?”

“What can it look like in a poor old cottage? There is a bed, a table, and a couple of chairs in there; on second thought, I believe there are three chairs, because there is also one in the corner by the bed. It’s one with red plush on it, but it has to lean against the wall or it won’t stand up, it’s in such bad shape. There’s nothing else, as far as I remember.”

“Is there really nothing else? Isn’t there a clock on the wall, an old picture or something?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“That chair which can’t stand on its legs, I mean the one with the red plush, what does it look like? Is it very old? And why does it stand there by the bed? One can’t sit on it, right? Is it a high-backed chair?”

“Yes, high-backed, I think, I don’t remember exactly.”

They started singing over by the grave. The ceremony was over. When the singing was over too, there was a moment of complete silence; then people began to disperse in all directions. Most of them walked down the churchyard to the main gate, others stopped to talk in low voices. A group of men and women headed toward Miniman and Nagel, all young people, the women looking bright-eyed and surprised as they scrutinized the two of them. Dagny Kielland’s face turned a deep red, but she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead and looked neither right nor left. Nor did the deputy judge look up as he talked quietly with one of the ladies.