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

He brightened up in a charming smile. “Wallonia? Well, yes, I am. What was your father’s name?”

“His name was Kol Simon. No, wait, he was christened Guillaume Simon.”

The man thought for a moment. “Simon ...? My grandfather had a sister who married a Simon, but he died. And she remarried. Wasn’t it said to be an unhappy marriage?”

“My grandmother’s second marriage? Yes, she married someone who wasn’t from Wallonia.”

The man gave Saga a warm smile. His eyes were kind and gentle. “Then we’re bound to be second cousins, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we must be!” said Saga, shaking his outstretched hand cordially. “How nice! It’s so nice to get to meet somebody from my father’s side of the family. What’s your name?”

“Marcel. Let’s not bother with my surname. It’s far too long and complicated.”

Saga smiled. “Well, of course, it must be a Walloon name. Oh, I’m so happy!”

“Me, too!” he replied, though it didn’t lift the expression of sadness in his smile. Saga gleaned that his life hadn’t been easy.

“Where are you going?” he asked Saga.

“To Norway.”

“So am I,” he said, with a slightly broader smile.

“Won’t you join me in the coach?”

He shook his head. “Can’t afford it.”

“But I can ...”

Marcel stopped her immediately. “Don’t say it! Now and then I get a lift on a cart, which is good enough for me.”

“Well, in that case we must talk this evening! We ...”

She was interrupted by someone entering the room. All of a sudden, it was as if the entire taproom was illuminated.

Saga thought that it must be because of his golden-blond hair. Or the radiant expression on his face. He seems so elevated, so ... supernatural. His bearing – he looked as if he owned the whole world! His overwhelming personality... She had never seen anyone like him!

Count von Lengenfeldt walked straight up to their table. “I say, it’s my friends from the road,” he said. “May I join you?”

Of course, they agreed: they were flattered to have him at their table.

He was extremely well dressed: he carried a tall hat in his hand, and his cravat and accessories were strikingly coloured, but otherwise he wore the discreet and elegant fashion of the day. Saga’s relative, Marcel, looked shabby by comparison – like a pilgrim returning from his long, arduous journey.

The count was also on his way to Norway, to Christiania. That was all he said. He was completely silent about the purpose of his journey.

Once again, Saga had to explain the relationship between her and Marcel, as the count told them he was baffled by their similarity. It seemed to amuse him, making him quite light-hearted. The travelling salesman did most of the talking, under the influence as he was. Now and then the count tried to steer the conversation on to more interesting topics than buttons and bows and grumpy counter-jumpers, but the salesman could spoil any topic with his vulgar remarks.

Saga often caught the count’s gaze, which made it very clear what he thought of their chatty fellow passenger. Occasionally, his incredibly beautiful eyes seemed to have a very devilish expression in them, showing another side to his personality. Despite his manifest generosity towards the world in general, Saga sometimes had the feeling that he was playing a role, but it was difficult to decide what his true nature was.

Beer does have an unavoidable effect. The travelling salesman was growing sleepy. He began to gabble unintelligibly and he placed his sticky and unwelcome hands more and more often on Saga’s knees and shoulders.

Finally, he felt the call of nature. He left the table and staggered away to the privy, then went upstairs to his room for the night. The young couple also retired, and Saga was just about to join them. But the count stopped her: “Won’t you stay just a little longer? You seem a cultured lady, I would like to chat a bit more.”

Saga looked questioningly at her relative, who nodded. So she stayed. She couldn’t see anything wrong in doing so.

It turned out to be an interesting conversation. Both men were very erudite, and Saga had to make a great effort to keep up with them.

After an hour, the count said: “You’re an attractive girl, Saga. Absolutely lovely. But you’re far too aloof and serious. Let go of the warmth I know you have inside – I see traces of it in your eager moments but you quickly close down once more. What is it that you’re afraid of?”

Saga looked down. “I ... I have my reasons ...”

“May we hear them?” asked the count encouragingly. “I’m sure you can understand that people feel the urge to coax out the warmth in you. Don’t you agree with me, Marcel?”

Marcel didn’t reply immediately, but gave her an arch smile. Then he said slowly, “Yes ...”

“Well, tell us, Saga.”

“Much of it is undoubtedly because I’ve just been through a terrible divorce and have lost confidence and belief in myself. However, that isn’t the most important thing right now ...”

It felt right to tell these two people. They would understand, and Saga hadn’t had many opportunities to discuss her turmoil.

“You see, it happens that I was born to be ... born to carry out a major task. It is a great burden, and perhaps this is why I seem a bit hard.”

“You’re not hard,” said the count. “Just cool and somewhat reserved.”

“We have noticed that,” Marcel said in his soft voice.

“You have an air of great strength,” agreed the count, who wanted them to call him Paul. “I know about these things because I’m slightly out of the ordinary myself.”

“I’d say that you’re very much out of the ordinary,” Saga breathed.

The count laughed – he liked what she said. “Anyway, tell us about your task!”

“It’s a long story!”

“We have the whole night.”

Saga hesitated. “Well, I don’t think there’s any harm in telling you ... I’m allowed to speak about the Ice People.”

“The Ice People?” repeated the count. “Haven’t I heard that name before? A cursed clan, sold to Satan?”

“No, not to Satan,” Saga corrected him. “To evil really. Even if Christians call the evil power Satan, it’s more than just that, surely? More comprehensive?”

“Yes,” nodded the dark Marcel. “Christianity’s Satan is only a small fraction of evil.”

Paul didn’t answer. He seemed ill at ease at the turn the conversation had taken. Saga wondered if he was deeply religious? Or perhaps he didn’t like the fact that she was a divorcée?

The rain beat against the window. They could hear water pouring into newly formed streams out in the courtyard.

Saga said anxiously: “You mustn’t think that I’ve been sold into the service of evil. My task is to fight it. But I don’t yet know how.”

“Can’t we hear a bit more about the Ice People?” Marcel asked.

Saga reflected on this man’s enormous authority. He was handsome, although by no means as overpowering as Count Paul. In a way, she found great comfort in Marcel’s calm demeanour. He was the type of person you could seek protection from, even if he was just as poor as the other was rich. In addition, Marcel had something undefinable about him, something the neglected Saga didn’t recognize as sensuality. She was drawn towards it without really understanding what it was, except that it made her uneasy. The light-grey eyes in the dark, closed face, the smile that you knew could show itself there and which you wanted to trigger once more – it all seemed immensely attractive to her.

It wasn’t Marcel’s fault that he was completely overshadowed by Paul. A man so handsome that it made you gasp for breath now and then, and so charming that it almost hurt.