Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 29 - Lucifer´s Love

The others stared at him as well. In a pleasant voice, he said to Saga: “Have you had an accident? Can I be of any help?”

Saga came to, and explained with a stutter about the heat in the coach and how the poor woman hadn’t been able to take it.

“My coach is a lot cooler,” he said in his soft, melodious voice. “Why don’t you bring your friend over to my coach? Then you can both join me.”

While Saga struggled to come up with a suitable answer, she could see out of the corner of her eye that the man under the tree had got up and was walking towards them. In a chaotic second, Saga got the impression that this was all destined, as if she was a part of a drama, or a dream. They all turned to the new arrival.

Saga wrinkled her brow. Where had she seen that man before? She didn’t have to wait long for an explanation. The young wife exclaimed: “Heavens! Are you brother and sister?”

Now Saga saw the resemblance. The black curls that framed the square face, the eyes that seemed so bright against the dark complexion, the slightly dreamy, distant expression ... It was as if she was looking at herself, albeit in a more masculine version!

He too had noticed the similarity. She saw this immediately in the surprised twinkle in his eyes. However, there was no time to go more deeply into the coincidence. He knelt down by the sick farmer’s wife, stroked her face and tried to find her pulse ...

“Are you a doctor?” Saga asked, surprised, because he didn’t look like one. His wide, dark-brown cloak resembled a worn monk’s habit more than anything else, and his simple sandals seemed to have experienced a bit of everything.

“I was once,” he said curtly. “But I was forced to give it up.”

This was all the explanation he gave.

The distinguished, handsome blond man stood next to Saga, placing his hand lightly on her shoulder as if to support himself as he bent over the farmer’s wife. Saga drew back very gently. Since her whole approach to life was noli me tangere – don’t touch me – she found it difficult to accept bodily contact with strangers. The wound that Lennart had inflicted on her had added to this feeling. Although this stranger seemed extremely nice on top of all his other good attributes.

The dark man looked up at her. Saga was surprised that both men addressed all their remarks to her, although this didn’t surprise her travelling companions in the least.

“She’ll recover shortly,” he said quietly, in a slightly hoarse voice. “I think she should sit up on the bench next to the driver. That would be best for her.” The coach driver nodded. The man stood up and the woman on the ground came round with a moan, placing her hands in front of her face. Then the dark stranger bowed lightly to Saga and left – before she had time to comment on the remarkable likeness between them. But then it was nothing but a coincidence. The handsome, blond man also bowed. “My coach is still at your disposal,” he said. “It would suit you better to travel in comfort.”

“Thank you very much,” Saga replied with a smile. “I’m quite happy with the stagecoach. However, I’m concerned for my fellow passenger.” He didn’t seem quite so eager to offer the farmer’s wife a lift.

He smiled: “I think she’ll be fine up on the driver’s bench. She just needs to shield herself from the rays of the sun. May I introduce myself: I am Count Paul von Lengenfeldt.”

“And my name is Saga Simon.” She had taken back her maiden name because she couldn’t stand the thought of having Lennart’s name any longer. “Thank you for your kindness and assistance, Sir, but now I think we’d better be on our way.”

His coach left before theirs. Saga watched as it disappeared around a bend. She hadn’t seen much of the driver, but had an impression of a bent, almost deformed creature on the bench. However, the memory of the nobleman was vivid before her mind’s eye. He was so incredibly handsome, like a fairy-tale prince – or an archangel?

What nonsense, she said to herself and smiled. Everyone else had boarded the coach and she took her seat. A storm was brewing.

It was dark when the coach swung into the courtyard in front of the place where they were to spend the night. It was a somewhat better-quality inn than usual. Someone told Saga that they were well into Värmland, so more than half the journey was behind her – thank God! It was certainly strenuous. She got a room – this time to herself – washed and changed before going downstairs for a late supper. They were in the middle of a violent thunderstorm, and rain poured down as if a cloud had burst just over their heads. It was nice to be sitting indoors at a well-provided table.

The farmer’s wife had left the party, because she wasn’t travelling any farther. The travelling salesman thought that he could do with a bit of excitement now, so he had put on a clean shirt and a spot of perfume and downed a few tankards of beer before and after the meal. For quite a while, he vacillated between Saga and the young woman with the child. The baby was sleeping so there were just those four at the table – the young couple, the travelling salesman and Saga.

Over at a table in the corner, Saga saw the dark wanderer who looked so much like her father and most of all like herself. She wondered what had brought him here. Somebody must have offered him a lift. A physician who no longer worked as a physician? Why was he on the road? Saga felt that she had no right to judge another person before she had heard his story. He interested her. Although she rarely looked at him, she was aware that he seemed to look at her constantly. He is wondering at the similarity, she thought, just as I am.

There was a loud clap of thunder and the young wife let out a yell, throwing herself into the arms of the travelling salesman, who immediately closed them around her.

Saga became angry. “Stick to your husband,” she told the woman sharply. “This is absolutely ridiculous!” Her words had a dampening effect on them all and she regretted them, especially since the travelling salesman laughed at her and asked if she was jealous. Anyway, the young wife had been given the spiritual box on the ear that she needed and she immediately stopped her extramarital foolery.

“Please forgive me,” said Saga, embarrassed. “I didn’t intend to be a spoilsport. It’s just that ...”

Well, how was she to explain it? But now she had to go on. “I’m slightly off-balance at the moment. My parents died recently and their marriage was an extremely happy one ... I just can’t bear to see genuine love being made a mockery of with cheap, random, unnecessary foolery. No, forgive me. I have no right ...”

She still didn’t have enough courage to mention her own shipwrecked marriage.

The mood at the table was uneasy. Then the travelling salesman laughed and patted her gently on the hand. “You’re much too serious! We all know that this young lady and I have no evil intentions.”

He looked about the room as if to ask for help from the others at their tables. “You in the corner over there! Come here, you shouldn’t be sitting all by yourself. We already know one another!”

After some hesitation, the man got up and came over to their table. Saga was able to study his face secretly. His features were pure, with deep-set eyes and jet-black eyelashes. His mouth was sensitive, and appealing when he smiled. His black curls fell over his face and down towards his shoulders.

Saga thought there was something sad about him. When he had sat down – humbly, as if he wanted to apologize for intruding – the travelling salesman said: “It’s simply astonishing how much you two resemble each other! Are you sure you’re not siblings?”

“Absolutely sure,” replied Saga, looking searchingly at the man. He was probably about thirty-five years of age, roughly ten years older than herself. “Since you look very much like my father, who came from Wallonia, I must ask you if that’s also where you’re from?”