Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 24 - Deep in the Ground

That was very noble of her, Klara thought.

“And what about yourself?” Anna Maria asked kindly. “How do you manage to keep this house so neat all alone with four children and heavy work on top of everything?”

“The Clump helps me with the heavy work,” Klara answered.

“The Clump ...? Wait, I’ve heard that name before.”

“Probably from the gossipmonger Nilsson. The Clump is my brother, you see. He was given that name because he has a bad leg. He suffered a lot as a boy because of it – well, you, Miss, know what children can be like. Who says they are little angels? Not me, I saw the way they bullied my little brother.”

Suddenly Anna Maria remembered what Nilsson had said: “Klara’s husband ran away with the Clump’s wife. Klara is allowed to remain here because she does the men’s laundry and washes the floors. The Clump had to move back into the barracks.”

“Now I remember what the clerk said,” Anna Maria nodded. “But I didn’t know that the Clump was your brother.”

“Oh, yes,” Klara said dryly. “We siblings were the leftovers. Worthless: no one wanted us. It didn’t bother me so much because my husband wasn’t nice to me anyway. But it was a shame for my little brother. He’s suffered enough in life.”

“You always suffer more on the part of others than for yourself,” Anna Maria said. “I think the most difficult thing for parents must be to see their child neglected or hurt. And I suppose the same is true of an older sister who has tender feelings for a little brother who is having a hard time.”

“The young lady knows too much for her age,” Klara muttered, but she didn’t sound angry.

“I know a little bit about pain,” Anna Maria said quietly.

“Yes, of course. You lost your own parents.”

A painful twinge rushed through Anna Maria. “Yes, that as well,” she whispered almost to herself. “But you have such wonderful children, I look forward to having Greta in my class.”

Something that resembled joy and pride crossed Klara’s haggard face. Anna Maria sensed that the two women would become good friends eventually, when all the barriers had been pulled down.

As the hour struck ten she was back in the classroom. And the children had now arrived.

They jumped up from their benches when she entered. They curtseyed and bowed low, their hair wet-combed and wearing their best clothes: homespun, black and clumsy. Only a few of them wore shoes. Anna Maria could easily see that this was a poverty-stricken community. The girls’ dresses seemed to be made from recycled materials that were already worn out. And the children’s faces showed that they were living on the verge of starvation and had already had their share of bad experiences.

How exactly did Adrian Brandt provide for his employees?

The special, pervasive smell of worn clothes that was so typical of all classrooms was evident in here and the class hadn’t even begun yet!

There weren’t that many children. Klara had already told her that there were only five houses with young families living in them, plus a few more out on the moor.

She counted them. There were nine children, whose ages seemed to range from seven to seventeen. Six girls and three boys.

She started by greeting them, and she was probably just as shy and insecure as they were. She told them her name and said that they should call her “Miss”. Then she asked for their names.

They practically whispered their names to her, very shyly. She already knew Klara’s daughter, Greta, a scrawny little ten-year-old who had been given permission to come into Anna Maria’s room the previous day and admire all her fine belongings on the dresser. She was now a devoted worshipper of Anna Maria. Then there were the two children of Gustav, the blacksmith, who lived in the first house. Yes, Nilsson had been right, they seemed to be suffering from consumption and had bad coughs. They were a boy and a girl. Then there was a big lout by the name of Bengt-Edvard. And the oldest girl, whose same was Anna.

“Then we have almost the same name,” Anna Maria said, and the girl blushed deeply.

And then there was a miserable little boy dressed in thin clothes and covered in bruises. His name was Egon. Goodness gracious, Anna Maria thought. Oh, heavens! She asked where he lived.

“Out on the moor,” he whispered, whereupon he sneezed violently.

He could use a handkerchief, Anna Maria thought, somewhat desperately. But she didn’t feel like sacrificing her own.

The last three were girls. One of them was Seved’s daughter.

Seved? She searched her memory. Oh, yes, he was the one who lived in the second house and whose wife received visitors whenever he went down the mine. No one knew who the youngest child’s father was.

Ugh, Nilsson with all his miserable gossip! She wished she hadn’t heard it because it tainted her view of the children and the village.

The only one who came from the moor was little Egon.

She had wondered why it was only young families who were allowed to live in the houses. The Clump had lived there and had had to move back to the miners’ barracks after his wife ran off. Klara had told her that he had a little daughter, but the wife had taken her with her when she left. The Clump had grieved most over the loss of the child. After he had moved back to the barracks another family had moved into the house. They were the parents of the lout, Bengt-Edvard, and his two sisters. They all lived in the fifth house, the farthest off.

It seemed that there was a strict rule here: no children, no house. Nothing more than a bed in the barracks, which Anna Maria guessed must be in a bad state. It looked really dilapidated and cramped.

But the houses were hardly palaces. Klara’s was probably the best kept. Perhaps that was why Anna Maria had been put up there. On top of that, the houses were crowded with children under school age.

As soon as the children were big enough, they were sent into the mine. That was why, to begin with, Anna Maria didn’t understand why a big boy like Bengt-Edvard had been allowed to come to school.

It became apparent that none of them could read or write. She would have to start from scratch, for which she was actually thankful. It made things easier for her because she didn’t have to teach various levels at once. The children could be kept in one group.

They had never had books before.

“Good,” Anna Maria said, trying to sound cheerful. “Then, until we get more materials, we’ll just do this: I have a small slate and we’ll pass it round the class. And then we can use the big blackboard. Isn’t it cold though? It was so damp today. Are you cold?” she asked as she looked at shabby little Egon and the two coughing siblings. “I’m going to try to light the stove if there’s anything I can use to do it.”

Then Bengt-Edvard’s coarse voice could be heard, sounding as though it was cracking. “You can’t light the stove, Miss. It’s not finished yet.”

Anna Maria looked with surprise from him to the stove, and not until then did she realize that the pipe was not connected to the black monstrosity.

“But ...” she began.

“We didn’t get it done in time,” Bengt-Edvard explained, slightly ashamed. “We worked all night but we didn’t finish it.”

“I think you’ve done a tremendous piece of work,” Anna Maria assured him warmly. “Did you help with it?”

“Yes, Kol ... the foreman, I mean, and Father and some other men and me.”

She nodded. She didn’t want to ask him why he was attending school instead of working in the mine. He didn’t seem to be very bright but you never knew, of course.

And that was when Anna Maria Olsdatter began to teach her first lesson. Fumbling and insecure to start with, but the children were so obedient ... and, well, suppressed actually, so she didn’t have any problem keeping discipline.