Victoria (10 page)

Victoria steps back to the door.

“That’s all. You people were old, I thought there would be no harm in letting you know.”

“How nice of you to think of us!” the miller says. “And now you’ve gotten your feet all wet, in those small shoes.”

“No, the road is dry,” she says shortly. “I was taking this walk anyway. Good night.”

“Good night.”

She unlatches the door and steps out. In the doorway she turns around and asks, “By the way, have you heard from Johannes?”

“No, not a word. Thanks for asking. Nothing.”

“He’ll be coming soon, no doubt. I thought you might have some news from him.”

“No, not since last spring. Johannes is supposed to be abroad.”

“Yes, abroad. He’s doing well. He says in a book that he’s living in a time of small sorrows. So he must be doing well.”

“Ah, God knows. We’re waiting for him; but he doesn’t write to us, or to anyone. We can only wait for him.”

“He’s probably doing better where he is, since his sorrows are small. Well, that’s his business. I only wanted to know if he would be coming home this spring. Good night again.”

“Good night.”

The miller and his wife follow her out. They watch her returning to the Castle, head held high, stepping over the puddles on the soggy road in her tiny shoes.

A couple of days later there is a letter from Johannes. He will be home in just over a month, after finishing yet another book. He has had a nice long spell of fruitful work, a new volume was nearly completed, his brain had been teeming with all the world’s life. . . .

The miller sets out for the Castle. On the way he finds a handkerchief; it’s marked with Victoria’s initials, she must have dropped it the other evening.

The young lady is upstairs, but a maid offers to take the message—what was it about?

The miller declines to say. He prefers to wait.

At last the young lady appears. “I understand you wish to speak to me,” she says, opening the door to a room.

The miller walks in, hands her the handkerchief and says, “We’ve had a letter from Johannes.”

Her face lights up for an instant, a fleeting instant. “Thank you,” she says. “Yes, the handkerchief is mine.”

“He’ll be coming home,” the miller goes on in a near whisper.

Her face assumes a chilly expression. “Speak up, miller; who’s coming?” she says.

“Johannes.”

“Johannes. Well, what then?”

“Oh, it was just . . . We figured I ought to let you know. My wife and I discussed it, and she thought so too. You asked the other day if he would be coming home this spring. Well, he’s coming.”

“That must make you very happy,” the young lady says. “When is he coming?”

“In a month.”

“I see. And there wasn’t anything else?”

“No. We just thought that since you asked . . . No, there wasn’t anything else. Only this.”

The miller had again lowered his voice.

She sees him out. In the hallway they meet her father, and she says to him in passing, loudly and nonchalantly, “The miller tells me that Johannes is coming home. You remember Johannes, don’t you?”

And the miller walks out through the Castle gate, promising himself never, never again to be a fool and listen to his wife when she claimed to understand hidden things. And he means to let her know.

VII

At one time he had wanted to cut down the slender rowan tree by the millpond to make a fishing rod; now many years had passed, and the tree had become thicker than his arm. He looked at it in wonder and walked on.

Along the river, the impenetrable jungle of ferns still flourished, a veritable forest through which the cattle had trampled regular paths, now arched over by the overhanging fern fronds. He fought his way through the thicket as in his childhood days, swimming with his hands and feeling his way with his feet. Insects and crawling things fled before the enormous man.

Up by the granite quarry he found blackthorn, white anemones and violets. He picked a few, their familiar fragrance called him back to days gone by. The hills of the neighboring parish showed blue in the distance, and across the bay the cuckoo started calling.

He sat down; shortly he began humming. Then he heard footsteps on the path.

It was evening, the sun had set, but the heat still quivered in the air. An infinite stillness hovered over the woods, the hills, and the bay. A woman was coming up toward the quarry. It was Victoria. She was carrying a basket.

Johannes stood up, bowed, and made as if to go.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said. “I just wanted to get some flowers.”

He didn’t answer. And it didn’t occur to him that she had all the flowers in the world in her garden.

“I’ve brought a basket to put the flowers in,” she went on. “But perhaps I won’t find any. It’s because of the party, we need them for the table. We’re going to have a party.”

“Here are white anemones and violets,” he said. “Higher up one can usually find avens. But it may be too early in the year for those.”

“You’re paler than the last time we met,” she remarked. “That was more than two years ago. You’ve been away, I hear. I’ve read your books.”

He still didn’t answer. It occurred to him that he might just say, “Well, my young lady, have a good evening!” and go. From where he stood it was one step down to the next stone, from there one more to her, whereupon he could withdraw as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She was standing directly in his way. She had on a yellow dress and a red hat, she was mysterious and beautiful; her throat was bare.

“I’m blocking your path,” he murmured, stepping down. He tried hard not to betray any emotion.

There was now only one step separating them. She made no move to get out of his way, but simply stood there. They looked each other squarely in the face. Suddenly she blushed crimson, dropped her eyes and stepped aside; her face assumed an expression of helplessness, but she smiled.

Having walked past her, he stopped, struck by her mournful smile; his heart again flew to her and he said at random, “Well, you must’ve been in town many times since then? Since that time? . . . Now I remember where there used to be flowers in the old days: on the knoll by your flagpole.”

She turned toward him; he was surprised to see that her face had turned pale with emotion.

“Will you come to us that evening?” she said. “Will you come to the party? We’re going to have a party,” she went on, coloring up again. “Some city people are coming. It will be quite soon, I’ll let you know more later. What do you say?”

He didn’t answer. That was no party for him, he didn’t belong to the Castle crowd.

“You mustn’t say no. You won’t be bored. I’ve given it some thought—I have a surprise for you.”

Pause.

“You can’t give me any more surprises,” he replied.

She bit her lip; a disconsolate smile again passed across her face.

“What do you want me to do?” she said listlessly.

“I don’t want you to do anything, Miss Victoria. I was sitting here on a stone, I’m willing to move.”

“I came here, alas, after wandering about at home all day. I could have walked along the river, by another path, then I wouldn’t have ended up just here—”

“My dear young lady, this place is yours, not mine.”

“I hurt you once, Johannes, I would like to make up for it, put it right. I do, indeed, have a surprise which I think . . . that is, which I hope you’ll be pleased with. I can’t say more. But I must ask you to show up this time.”

“If it will give you any pleasure, I shall come.”

“Will you?”

“Yes, and thank you for your kindness.”

When he reached the woods he turned and looked back. She had sat down; the basket was beside her. He didn’t go home but continued to wander up and down the road. A legion of thoughts were battling inside him. A surprise? That’s what she said, just a moment ago, her voice was trembling. An intense, nervous joy wells up in him, setting his heart thumping, and he feels as though he’s walking on air. And was it mere coincidence that she was dressed in yellow today? He had looked at her hand, where she once wore a ring—there wasn’t any ring.

An hour goes by. He was enveloped by the exhalations of field and forest; they mingled with his breath and entered his heart. He sat down, lay back with his hands folded under his head and listened for a while to the song of the cuckoo across the bay. An ardent warbling quavered in the air about him.

So it had happened to him once again! When she came up to him in the quarry in her yellow dress and blood-red hat, she looked like a roving butterfly, moving from stone to stone and settling before him. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said and smiled; her smile was red, her whole face lighted up, she scattered stars about her. Her throat had acquired some delicate blue veins, and the few freckles below her eyes gave her a warm complexion. She was in her twentieth year.

A surprise? What did she mean to do? Maybe she would show him his books, take out those two or three volumes to make him happy because she had bought them and cut the pages? Here you are, a crumb of comfort and attention! Do not refuse my humble offering!

He jumped to his feet and remained motionless. Victoria was coming back, her basket empty.

“You didn’t find any flowers?” he asked absently.

“No, I gave up. I wasn’t even looking, I just sat there.”

“While I remember,” he said, “you mustn’t go around thinking you’ve hurt me in some way. You have nothing to make up for with any kind of comfort.”

“I don’t?” she answered, taken aback. She thought it over, looking at him and wondering. “I don’t? I thought that time . . . I didn’t want you to bear a grudge against me forever because of what happened.”

“But I don’t bear a grudge against you.”

She thinks a while longer. Suddenly she draws herself up. “Then all’s well,” she says. “Oh, I should have known. It didn’t leave enough of an impression on you for that. Very well, we won’t say any more about it.”

“No, let’s not. My impressions matter as little to you now as before.”

“Good-bye,” she said. “Good-bye for now.”

“Good-bye,” he replied.

They went their separate ways. He stopped and turned around. There she was, moving along. He stretched out his hands and whispered, speaking tender words to himself: “I don’t bear a grudge against you, oh, no, I don’t; I love you still, love you. . . .”

“Victoria!” he called.

She heard him, gave a start and turned, but continued walking.

A few days went by. Johannes was extremely restless and couldn’t work or sleep; he spent almost all his time in the woods. He climbed the big pine-clad knoll where the Castle flagpole stood; the flag was flying. They had also hoisted the flag on the Castle’s round tower.

A strange excitement laid hold of him. Visitors were expected at the Castle, they were going to celebrate.

The afternoon was calm and warm; the river throbbed like a pulse as it flowed through the steamy landscape. A steamer came gliding into port, leaving a fan of white streaks in the bay. And now four carriages were leaving the Castle yard, heading for the pier.

The ship came alongside, gentlemen and ladies stepped ashore and took their seats in the carriages. Then salvos of gunfire came from the Castle; two men with sporting guns stood in the round tower loading and firing, loading and firing. When they had let fly twenty-one rounds, the carriages rolled in through the Castle gate and the firing ceased.

Yes, indeed, there would be festivities at the Castle; the visitors were received with flags and salutes. In the carriages there were some military gentlemen—Otto, the Lieutenant, among them perhaps.

Johannes came down from the knoll and went home. He was overtaken by a man from the Castle, who stopped him. The man had a letter in his cap, he had been sent by Miss Victoria and requested an answer.

Johannes read the letter, his heart going pit-a-pat. Victoria was inviting him all the same, she wrote in a cordial manner and asked him to come. This was the one time she wanted to invite him. Reply by the messenger.

A wonderful, unexpected happiness had befallen him; the blood rose to his head and he answered the man that he would come, yes, he would come presently, thanks.

“There you are!” He handed the messenger a ridiculously large coin and raced home to get dressed.

VIII

For the first time in his life he walked through the Castle gate and climbed the stairs to the second floor. A buzz of voices reached him from inside, his heart was thumping, he knocked and went in.

He was met by the still youthful hostess, who greeted him amiably and shook his hand. Very glad to see him, she remembered him from when he was only so high, and now he was a great man. . . . It looked as though she would have liked to say something more, she held his hand for a long time and gave him a searching look.

The host also appeared and gave him his hand. As his wife had said, a great man in more than one sense. A famous man. Very pleased . . .

He was introduced to gentlemen and ladies, to the chamberlain, who was wearing his decorations, to the chamberlain’s wife, to a neighboring landowner, to Otto, the Lieutenant. He didn’t see Victoria.

Some time went by. Victoria came in, pale, diffident; she was leading a young girl by the hand. They made a tour of the room, greeting one and all, exchanging a few words with each. They stopped before Johannes.

Victoria smiled and said, “Look, here is Camilla, isn’t that a surprise? You know each other.”

She observed them both briefly, then left the room.

For a moment Johannes stood rooted to the spot, rigid and confused. Here was the surprise! Victoria had kindly provided a surrogate. Hey, you folks, go and tie the knot! Spring is in bloom, the sun is shining; open the windows if you like, there is perfume in the garden, and the starlings are pairing off in the birch-tops. Why don’t you talk to each other? Laugh, won’t you!