Mysteries (21 page)

“What did you apologize for?”

“In case I might have said something that made them jump at me.
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I shook hands with them and apologized, so they would do me as little harm as possible. But it was no use, they stripped me completely. Also, the doctor found a letter in my pocket and began reading it to the others. Then I sobered up a bit, for the letter was from my mother, who used to write to me when I went to sea. In plain words, I called the doctor a sponge. Everyone knew he was a heavy drinker. ‘You’re a sponge!’ I said. That made him terribly angry, and he tried to grab me by the scruff of the neck, but the others stopped him. ‘Let’s make him drunk instead!’ said the justice of the peace, as if I wasn’t sufficiently drunk already. And they poured still some more into me from several bottles. Afterward two of the men—I can’t remember who they were anymore—but, anyway, they came in with a tub of water. They put the tub in the middle of the room and said I was to be baptized. In fact, they all wanted me to be baptized and greeted this caprice with a tremendous hullabaloo. Then they had the idea of mixing all sorts of things into the water to make it dirty, spitting into it and pouring in liquor, even going to the bedroom for the worst thing they could find and dumping it into the water. And on top of it all they scattered two shovelfuls of ashes from the stove, to make it still more muddy for me. Then everything was ready for the baptism. ‘Why can’t you just as well baptize one of the others?’ I asked the justice of the peace, embracing his knees. ‘We’ve been baptized already,’ he replied, ‘baptized in the very same way,’ he said. And I believed him, because that was always what he wanted of those he associated with, that they should be baptized. The next moment the justice of the peace said to me, ‘And now I shall let you come before my countenance!’ But I refused to go willingly; I stood pat, hanging on to the doorknob. ‘Come now, right this min—stir your stumps, mini man!’ he said. He was from upcountry and spoke like that. But no, I refused to budge. Then Captain Prante yelled, ‘Miniman, Miniman, that’s it! He shall be baptized Miniman, yes, Miniman!’ And everyone agreed to have me baptized Miniman, because I was so small. And now two of the men dragged me over to the justice of the peace and brought me before his countenance, and since I was so puny the justice of the peace ducked me under in the tub all by himself. He ducked my head all the way under and rubbed my nose against the bottom of the tub, which was covered with ashes and shards of glass; and then he pulled me out again and recited a prayer over me. Afterward the godparents were to do their thing, and that consisted of each of them lifting me high up from the floor and dropping me, and when they were tired of that they lined up in two teams and tossed me from one team to the other like a ball; this was done so I would dry again, and they kept it up until they were good and tired of it. Then the justice of the peace shouted, ‘Stop!’ And so they let me go and called me Miniman, every one of them, shook hands with me and called me Miniman to seal my baptism. But then I was again thrown into the tub, this time by Dr. Kolbye, who used such force that I fell with my whole weight and injured my side, because he couldn’t forget that I had called him a sponge.... My nickname has stuck to me ever since. The next day the whole town knew I’d been at the house of the justice of the peace and been baptized.”

“And your side was injured. But there was no damage to your head, was there, I mean inside?”

Pause.

“This is the second time you’ve asked me if there has been some damage to my head, so perhaps you mean something by it. But I didn’t hurt my head that time, there was no concussion, if that’s what you’re afraid of. But I bumped so hard against the tub that I broke a rib. It’s all healed again now, though; Dr. Kolbye treated me for the fracture free of charge,
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and I’m none the worse for it.”

Nagel had been drinking steadily while Miniman was talking; he rang for more wine and went on drinking. Suddenly he says, “I would like to ask you something that just occurred to me: Do you think I am a fairly good judge of people? Don’t look so astonished, it’s only a friendly question. Do you consider me capable of seeing through the person I’m talking to?”

Miniman gives him a wary look, not knowing what to answer. Then Nagel goes on, “By the way, I owe you an apology. The last time I had the pleasure of seeing you in my place, I also upset you by asking some extremely stupid questions. You will remember that, for one thing, I offered you so and so much money to assume the paternity of a child, heh-heh-heh. But that blunder was committed because I didn’t know you then; now, however, I astonish you afresh, even though I know you extremely well and hold you in great esteem. Today, though, it’s happening solely because I’m nervous and already terribly drunk. That’s the whole explanation. Obviously, you can see I’m dead drunk. Of course you can, why pretend? But what was I going to say? Oh yes, I would really be interested to know to what extent you consider me capable of seeing through the human soul. Heh-heh!
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For example, I think I can detect subtle undertones in the voice of the person I’m speaking to, I have an incredibly good ear. When I’m talking to someone, I don’t need to look at him in order to follow exactly what he’s saying, I can hear right away whether he’s shamming or pulling my leg. The voice is a dangerous instrument. Now, don’t misunderstand me: I do not mean the material sound of the voice, whether it be high or low, rich or raspy; I do not mean the physical voice, its tonal substance—no, I’m referring to the mystery back of it, the world from which it emanates.... Oh, to hell with the world back of it! Why should there always be a world behind everything? Why should I care a damn?”
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Nagel took another drink and went on talking. “You’ve become so quiet. Don’t let my brag about being a good judge of people turn your head so that you’re afraid to move. Heh-heh-heh, that would look nice, wouldn’t it? But now I’ve forgotten what I wanted to say. Oh well, I’ll just say something else, something that doesn’t concern me deeply but that I’ll say anyway, until I recall what I’ve forgotten. Good Lord, how I go on! What’s your opinion of Miss Kielland? Let me hear what you think of her. In my opinion, Miss Kielland is such an out-and-out flirt that she would be enormously pleased if others, too, preferably as many as possible—myself Included—went and took their own lives for her sake. That’s my opinion. She’s lovely, she most certainly is, and it must be a sweet pain, indeed, to feel trampled by her heel; one day, perhaps, I’ll ask her to do just that, I cannot promise I won’t. However, that’s not for now, I have plenty of time.... But good heavens, I believe I’m scaring you stiff with my talk tonight! Have I offended you, I mean personally?”

“If you only could have heard all the nice things Miss Kielland said about you! I met her yesterday, she chatted with me for quite a while—”

“Tell me—hm, beg pardon for not letting you finish what you were saying—don’t you too, perhaps, have a modest gift for picking up the quavers at the back of Miss Kielland’s physical voice? But now I’m talking utter nonsense, you can certainly hear that, can’t you? Well! Nevertheless, I would be delighted if you, too, knew something about people, so that I could congratulate you and say: there are two of us, two at most, who know something about this; come, let’s get together and form a partnership, a small association, and never use our knowledge against each other—
against each other,
understand—so that I, for example, will never use my knowledge against you,
even though I can read you like a book.
There, there, now you’re getting that wary look and start fidgeting again! You mustn’t let yourself be fooled by my brag, I’m drunk.... But now I happen to remember what I wanted to say a short while ago, when I began talking about Miss Kielland, who wasn’t of vital concern to me. Why should I blurt out my opinion of her anyway, as long as you hadn’t asked me for it! It seems I have completely spoiled your good mood; do you remember how happy you were when you came here about an hour ago? All this twaddle is because of the wine.... But let me not forget a second time what I was going to say. When you told me about the bachelor party given by the justice of the peace, at which you were baptized, remember, it occurred to me, strangely enough, that I would also like to give a bachelor party—yes, come hell or high water, a bachelor party for a few invited guests, I won’t budge on that, I’m going to arrange it; and you must come, too, I’m counting on you. You won’t be baptized all over again, you can set your mind at ease on that score; I’ll see to it that you’re treated with the utmost courtesy and respect. And there won’t be any smashing up of tables and chairs. But I would like to have a few friends over some evening, the sooner the better, let’s say toward the end of the week. What do you think?”

Nagel drank afresh, two big glasses. Again, Miniman didn’t reply. His initial childish glee was obviously gone, and he seemed to listen to his host’s talk only out of politeness. He still refused to drink anything.

“You became surprisingly quiet all of a sudden,” Nagel said. “It’s quite absurd, but do you know, at this moment you look as if you felt smitten by something, struck by a word, an insinuation. Yes, can you believe it,
smitten
by something! Didn’t I see you give a little start just now? No? Well, then I was mistaken. Have you ever wondered how a secret forger would feel if some day a detective put his hand on his shoulder and looked him straight in the eye without a word? ... But what can I do with you, you’re getting more and more gloomy and taciturn. I feel jittery today and keep worrying you to death, but I
must
talk, I always do when I’m drunk. You mustn’t leave, though, because then I would have to chat for an hour with Sara, the chambermaid, and that might not be proper, to say nothing of its being boring. Will you permit me to tell you about a little incident? My story is of no importance, but maybe it will amuse you, at the same time as it should demonstrate my aptitude for understanding people, heh-heh-heh. In fact, you will learn that if there ever was someone who
couldn’t
see through people, that one was me. Maybe this piece of information will cheer you up. In short, I once went to London—as a matter of fact, it was three years ago, no more—and there I made the acquaintance of an enchanting young lady, the daughter of a man I had some business with. I got to know the lady rather well, we were together every day for three weeks and became good friends. One afternoon she decided to show me London, and off we went, visited museums, art collections, magnificent buildings and parks, and by the time we started on our way home it was evening. Meanwhile nature had begun to assert its claim and, frankly speaking, I found myself in a certain quandary, which surely can happen after a whole afternoon’s walk. What was I to do? I couldn’t slip away, and I didn’t want to ask permission to make a detour. In short, I let myself go then and there, I simply brush aside my scruples and let myself go, and naturally get sopping wet, down to my shoes. But what the hell was I to do, tell me that! Fortunately, I was wearing an enormously long cloak, with which I hoped to conceal my plight. Now, by chance we had to pass a pastry shop in a brightly illuminated street, and here, by this pastry shop, my lady stops, God help me, and asks me to get her something to eat. Well, that would seem to be a reasonable request, we had been walking around for half a day and were dog-tired. And yet I had to excuse myself. She looks at me, thinking, I suppose, that it was mean of me to refuse her, and asks the reason why. You see, I then say, the reason is such and such, I have no money, I don’t have a penny on me, not a single penny! Well, that was a valid reason, there was no denying it, and, as it happened, the lady didn’t have any money on her either, not a penny. And so, there we stand, eyeing one another and laughing at our predicament. But then she hits on a way out. Casting a glance up at some houses, she says, ‘Wait a minute! Stay here a moment, I have a friend in that house, on the second floor, she can get us some money!’ And with that my lady rushes off. She was gone for several minutes, and all that time I was suffering the worst torments imaginable. What on earth was I to do when she came back with the money? I just
couldn’t
enter that pastry shop, with that terribly bright light and all those ladies and gentlemen! I would be thrown out at once and find myself in an even worse pickle. I had to clench my teeth and ask her to do me the favor of going in by herself, and I would wait for her. After another few minutes my lady returned. She was very pleased, well, downright delighted, while saying only that her friend hadn’t been home, which was just as well, all things considered; she could easily hold out another few minutes, it would take a mere quarter of an hour at most before she could sit down for supper in her own house. She also apologized for having kept me waiting. I was as happy as could be, though I was the one who was soaked to the skin and suffered hardship during the walk. But now comes the best part—well, perhaps you’ve already guessed? Yes, I positively believe you’ve already guessed the conclusion, but I’ll tell you anyway. Only this year, in 1891, did it dawn on me what a dumb ox I’d really been. Considering the whole episode afresh, I discovered the most profound significance in one trifle after another : the lady didn’t walk up any stairs, she hadn’t been on the second floor anywhere. Thinking back over it, I can recall she opened a connecting door to the backyard and slipped through it, and I suspect she returned from the backyard by the very same door, slipping quietly through. What does that prove? Nothing, of course. But wasn’t it curious, though, that she didn’t go up to the second floor but rather into the backyard? Heh-heh-heh, you understand this perfectly well, I see, but I didn’t catch on until 1891, three years later. You don’t harbor a suspicion, do you, that I contrived the whole thing in advance, dragged out the walk as long as possible to press the lady to the utmost? In particular, that I couldn’t tear myself away from a petrified cave hyena in a museum but went back to it three times, all the while keeping an eye on the young lady so that she couldn’t possibly slip out into some backyard? Of course, you don’t have any such suspicion, do you? I won’t deny that a man might be so perverse that he would prefer to suffer, even wet himself from the waist down, rather than forgo the mysterious satisfaction of seeing a lovely young lady writhe in agony. But, as I’ve said, it dawned on me only this year, three years after the incident took place. Heh-heh-heh, well, what do you think?”
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