Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 22 - The Demon and the Virgin

So far, the creature had done her no harm. On the contrary. Even if her life of solitude had made her suspicious and ever so watchful, she had to admit that there was no end to the amount of help she was getting. One morning, the tiny plot that she cultivated had been carefully dug and weeded, in case she wanted to sow something there. The bucket that stood outside the door was always full of fresh spring water. Everything she set out to do had already been done when she reached it. It was all rather eerie but also exciting.

One day, something frightening happened. Some small boys had come up from the valley and gone into the forest. As they were rushing around here, there and everywhere, they discovered the goat and tried to catch it. The goat was frightened and fled in panic. Before Vinga, who was hiding, had time to stop it, the goat had fallen over the edge of the ridge. The boys, tired of playing around, wandered away.

Vinga stood on the slope, wailing, but then she heard the goat bleating below her. She ran home to fetch the rope she had made from osiers. She was scared and worried about her goat. And furious with the thoughtless boys.

As she was returning, she met the goat halfway down the slope. It was quite agitated and its coat was full of moss and lichen, but otherwise it was unhurt. It certainly couldn’t have climbed back up by itself.

Vinga began to sense a feeling of gratitude towards her invisible enemy. In her eyes, helping an innocent animal was a heroic deed.

“They’re probably just trying to ingratiate themselves with me,” she muttered. “They want to win my confidence before they strike!”

The game of cat and mouse continued. Vinga couldn’t make up her mind to run away. After all, she was also slightly curious. A new dimension had been added to her monotonous life. And since things were going well ...

One late afternoon, something happened that stopped the game. It was already dusk when she returned to her smallholding after helping the goat find somewhere to graze. She stopped abruptly at the edge of the forest and hid behind some juniper bushes. There were some people standing by her house. One of them was a strongly built woman who stood, arms akimbo, looking searchingly at the building. “The boys aren’t mistaken. I’m damned if I know how anybody could live here,” she said in a shrill voice. “It really is too bad!”

There was screaming and commotion under the porch. Vinga saw a man and a woman, trying to pull a boy to his feet.

“Why did you try to go in there?” the woman shouted – she was probably his mother. “Those logs are rotten!”

The boy groaned and the father thundered. Farther off there were two other men watching the scene. One of them was extremely burly. Could that be her invisible friend? If so, she was right to have been suspicious of his motives.

Yet another boy came out of her house. He had clearly managed the balancing act required to get inside.

Vinga recognized him as one of the boys who had chased the goat. “Somebody is living here,” he said. “Do you believe me now?” They had managed to get the unlucky child out of the hole in which he had been stuck.

“We must tell Mr Snivel about this,” said the woman with the shrill voice.

Vinga was really anxious. Now she would have to flee, straight away, tonight! She was so worried that she forgot all about the goat. It trotted calmly past her and out into the open.

“Oh, no, come back!” she whispered.

The boy shouted: “There it is again. There’s the goat!” Vinga had no choice. She couldn’t sacrifice her only friend. She ran out from her hiding place and quickly tied the rope she was carrying around the goat’s neck. Then she ran as fast as she could into the forest, pulling the goat, which was reluctant to begin with but became more compliant.

Of course, they had seen her. They shouted and rushed after her, all of them.

“It’s her,” the woman shouted. “It’s Tark’s daughter, Vinga. I swear it is! Come back, we don’t want to hurt you!”

Vinga wasn’t able to distinguish between friend and foe. For her, people meant Mr Snivel and a life in Mrs Fleden’s house. It was a long time since she had interacted with other people and she was as frightened as a calf that had got lost and had been out all winter.

Vinga had been out for much longer than that. She wasn’t interested in finding out whether these people were kindly disposed or not. They were people – and thus dangerous.

Normally, she would have been able to lose them. But she had the goat in tow and she didn’t want to let it down. She imagined the most terrible things: that they would slaughter and fry her best friend, which just mustn’t happen! She ran through the forest with her heart beating furiously because she was so scared. She was running for her life and that of the goat. The goat dug its heels in: it didn’t want to join in and didn’t like the rope at all. Vinga pulled and tugged and groaned in despair. There were lots of places she could hide, but she couldn’t get to them because the goat was with her.

She still had a good lead but she could hear that the boys and the men were definitely after her, and behind them the women were shouting that they should wait – which, of course, they didn’t.

Darkness had fallen, which was to Vinga’s advantage. Night fell rather late at this time of year but it was now so dim in the forest that the details became blurred and only outlines could be made out. The goat wasn’t the quietest creature she could have had with her. It bleated and stepped on twigs and complained about the way it was being treated.

Vinga stopped and listened, desperate at her inability to shake off her pursuers.

They were getting quite close!

She was about to run on when something suddenly appeared beside her, and lifted up the goat. Before she had time to protest, a voice whispered: “Come!” Then the creature disappeared, away from the pursuers. Vinga hesitated for a second and then followed the voice.

Now things got easier. She couldn’t see what was running in front of her but she could hear quick steps. They ran up the mountain, alongside a stone wall; she knew exactly where she was. Then she stopped because her pursuers had also stopped. She listened.

One of the boys had fallen and hurt himself. Their agitated voices told her that they were exhausted, had lost their sense of direction and were furious with the dark forest.

“I just can’t go any farther,” said the shrill woman’s voice.

A man’s voice replied: “The boy is bleeding. We won’t find her in this darkness. It’s hopeless. Let’s go home.”

Another man said: “We almost had her and then she was suddenly gone. No, we must give up!”

Vinga turned to see if she could trust the creature that had helped her. But only the goat was there.

Suddenly she felt awfully tired. It was the kind of fatigue that comes with despondency. For the first time in a long time, she felt the need to cry. Where should she go now? Her smallholding had been discovered. Those people would probably turn up the following morning. It was late in the evening and she was used to being asleep at this hour. To begin packing up her possessions, her pots and pans and tools, in the dark, and leaving with it all and the goat without knowing where to go ... Vinga felt as if she was about to climb a huge mountain. She didn’t have the energy to think.

But she couldn’t just give up; she was responsible for the goat. Dejected, without any hope or will to live, she began to walk back towards the home where she wouldn’t be allowed to sleep tonight, or ever again. The tears were burning behind her eyelids.

Elistrand she would never get to see again. Now she would also have to leave Gråstensholm Parish. She had stayed close to Elistrand in a futile, desperate hope that she would get back to her childhood home. During lonely evenings she would fantasize that her mother and father were still alive and that the farm was buzzing with life as it had been in the past. She imagined people at work in the fields and in the forest, the servants who would always greet her, and her father who would lift her up high in the air, asking her if she wanted to ride in front of him on the horse. Her mother’s hands patting her goodnight, the lamp they lit in their room – which shone through a crack by the door. How reassuring it was to see that light.