Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 36 -Troll Moon

“You’ve really managed to shake up my life,” she whispered to the moon, which hovered shining across the white plains all around her in the districts of Östre Aker and Nittedal. “You certainly had something to tell me! But now I know. So you can stop hiding yourself behind that veil of mist. I took it all very well, as you can see.”

But the moon remained just as pale and scary as before.

Chapter 2

She was back home. And everything felt different now that she had learned more about the circumstances of her birth. This wasn’t her real home, she felt. Her real home was at Linden Avenue.

Linden Avenue – the place where her mother had grown up.

For this much she knew: the women in the barn had been right. Frank couldn’t be her father – they had nothing, absolutely nothing in common.

As she poured the milk into the various basins she hummed absentmindedly to herself:

Young Lindelo had a sister,

Thin and delicate as grass.

But the fate that befell her was dark,

So too early she ended her life.

“Goodness, Christa!” came Frank’s indignant voice. “How can you possibly sing such an undignified street ballad?”

She started. “Was I? I didn’t even notice it myself.”

“In my house I will have nothing but inspirational songs.”

“But they sing it in the parish hall.”

“They most certainly do not! But speaking of which ... Um, could you come over here so that I don’t have to shout so loud? Speaking of which, Ingeborg will be here soon to fetch you for the meeting.”

“Tonight?” asked Christa, entering the room. She looked at Frank Monsen and felt that there was practically a physical distance between them. It was tragic, yes, but that’s how she felt. How could she ever have believed that she was really his daughter?

Oh, dear, sweet Frank, please forgive me. It’s not that I want to feel this way. Without knowing the truth, you’ve taken good care of me all my life!”

But now Christa was forgetting that it was she who had been taking care of him for several years.

“There’s a meeting at the congregational hall tonight?”

“Yes, have you forgotten? It is an inspirational meeting for young people. I think it’s a little too cold to go out, but Ingeborg will be a respectable chaperone for you. Just make sure that you two are escorted home! I will expect you at ten o’clock at the latest!”

She gave him a somewhat uneasy and perplexed look. Yes, Ingeborg was all right, but ...

But she didn’t want to think about all the things Ingeborg had told her confidentially. There was much of Ingeborg’s gossip that she didn’t understand.

“I have a slight headache ...” she attempted, and it was true. Christa seldom lied deliberately. She felt a slight ache in her shoulders and eyes from looking up at the moon so much.

But Frank would have none of it. “All the more reason for you to get out, then!”

In that house he was the only one who was ever allowed to be sick, and no one else!

At that very moment Ingeborg arrived. She was knock-kneed and overweight, with a face covered with pimples, and greasy hair. But she was full of self-confidence. She would let the parish boys, whose faces were just as spotty as hers, touch every part of her body, and her shrill laughter could often be heard coming from the little side rooms off the meeting hall; it always filled Christa with a vague sense of unease.

Ingeborg was a head taller than Christa. “I’ll take good care of her, Brother Frank, don’t you worry! Are you ready, Christa?”

Christa made a final, desperate attempt. “Father, if I do as you wish and go to the meeting tonight, will you give me permission to go to Linden Avenue tomorrow?”

“What sort of a demand is that?” Frank asked crossly. “How can you possibly compare the two things?”

Because I don’t want to be forced both to miss my grandfather’s birthday party and to go to one of those boring congregational hall meetings, was what she felt like saying.

But such arguments were useless, she knew. And of course, Frank was right – the two things weren’t comparable.

But she wanted to go to Linden Avenue so badly! What was she to do?

Frank sat slumped in his chair. He was now taking on the role of martyr, but Christa was much too naive to see that.

“Dearest child, I don’t understand you at all! You’re so rebellious!”

Dear Frank Monsen didn’t seem to know the true meaning of the word “rebellious”.

“I know I’m a burden to you,” he continued, holding his head in his hands in a melodramatic way. “But I just want what’s best for you. This will be a sacred meeting and at Linden Avenue you will only encounter delusions.”

Christa was actually a pure and simple believer, but the constraints he laid on her were beginning to come between her and her faith.

Now he quickly had her conscience just as he wanted it – it was almost pitch black. But she wouldn’t give up: it meant such a lot to her to be allowed to go to Linden Avenue.

“I must talk to the family at Linden Avenue. There are things I need to discuss with them.”

He grew suspicious immediately and gave her a sceptical look. “What can they possibly tell you that you can’t just as well discuss with me?”

“Father, I’m one of them, there’s no getting around it. Both my real grandfather, Ulvar, and my “almost” grandfather are of the Ice People. It is Henning’s birthday, he’ll be seventy-seven years old and there’s no telling how long we’ll have him with us.”

“Oh, I’ll die before he does, you know that. I may die while you’re there, for who’s going to take care of me while you’re gone? I might suffer from shortness of breath while I’m alone in the house!”

“Can’t ... Ingeborg stay here with you?” Christa asked naively.

He looked shocked. But Ingeborg responded immediately. “I’d be more than happy to. Tomorrow night? I’m sure Mother will let me.”

She licked her lips in a determined way, which frightened Frank.

He was caught in his own trap. “There’ll be no more talk of Linden Avenue. Go now,” he said, waving his hand impatiently, “or you’ll be too late.”

“Do you have everything you need, then?” Christa asked caringly.

“Yes, yes, I have everything. Do you think I can’t manage on my own?” he asked aggressively, contradicting himself.

After they had left he felt very tired. But only mentally. It was Christa’s strange new attitude that had confused him.

He would have to think up a new strategy, his subconscious seemed to be saying, but he wasn’t entirely aware of it himself. Just now, he put all the blame on Christa. That stupid girl, he couldn’t believe how persistent she had been with regard to visiting Linden Avenue. The dangerous Linden Avenue!

He didn’t realize that his subconscious was, at the same time, reasoning with itself. The old strategy – “Can’t you see how sad it is for me?” – would no longer work. He would have to come up with something else.

The truth was that Frank Monsen was about to lose his grip on the situation.

On the way to the meeting Christa said, “Doesn’t the moon look strange tonight? It almost seems bewitched.”

“You’re mad!” Ingeborg laughed. “You always say such mad things. You can barely see the moon, it’s practically covered by the clouds.”

“That’s exactly what makes it seem bewitched. So shrouded, so full of secrets. And deathly pale.”

Ingeborg laughed nervously.

They passed the stand for the milk churns, and Christa remembered the strange young man she had seen there. But she didn’t mention him.

“Have you seen the new boy in the choir?” Ingeborg asked confidentially.