Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 35 - The Flute

“What are you thinking about, André?”

“Oh, just something someone said. Before we went into the church, as people were flocking in, I heard someone say, ‘Have you noticed how much that girl resembles Erling Skogsrud?’”

“Who said that? And about whom?”

“A couple of elderly ladies, I don’t know who they are. They were looking at Mali. I tried to get hold of them, but Mother called me over at that very moment to see to some flowers that had just arrived.”

“Where are the ladies now?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t see them inside the church because we were sitting in the front row. And I haven’t seen them since. We were right next to the coffin and now ...”

“We must find them before they disappear,” Henning interjected resolutely. “They were talking about Mali and she is undoubtedly the one who is closest to the Skogsruds. You say they mentioned Erling Skogsrud?”

“Yes.”

“And our missing relative was called Knut. He could easily have had children and grandchildren since 1870.”

They had carefully managed to push their way forward through the crowd of mourners pensively strolling along the gravel path.

“But if the ladies were acquaintances of Malin, we would have heard about the Skrogruds earlier,” André objected. “Everyone knows that we are searching high and low for that family. And I’ve looked into every single Skogsrud family for miles around, Grandfather!”

“Perhaps it’s not entirely certain that you have.”

“There, there are the ladies! They are boarding a carriage!”

André and his grandfather broke all the rules of proper funeral etiquette as they rushed past the mourners. They ran the last bit.

“Excuse me,” said André to the surprised ladies in the carriage. “May we please have a word with you for a moment?”

The ladies did not get out of the carriage, but nodded quizzically.

“My name is André Brink,” he began.

It turned out that the two elderly ladies were old acquaintances of Per Volden’s family. Since they hadn’t been able to get to Per Volden’s funeral they felt they ought to make up for the omission by attending his wife’s.

André came straight to the point. “I happened to hear you mention the name Erling Skogsrud. Could he by any chance be part of the family we have in mind? Where does he live?”

Behind them they could hear Vetle banging a stick against the churchyard’s new iron fence, which made an infernal racket, making them cringe with discomfort. But it was probably the boy’s way of expressing his grief over the loss of his grandmother.

One of the ladies answered André: “Erling Skogsrud used to live in Nittedal. Where he lives now ... I really don’t know.”

Wasn’t she hesitating a bit? And why was the other lady keeping her mouth so tightly shut?

“But you do know his family?” Henning asked.

“Not particularly well,” she answered in an oddly reserved way. “They lived far from us.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know whether there was a Knut Skogsrud in that family?”

“That was his father,” they answered quickly, in unison.

Could that really be so? No, it sounded too good to be true.

“Well, then ... perhaps we are talking about the same family,” André said carefully. “We would like to know more about this Knut Skogsrud. Would you do us the honour of dining with us this evening at Linden Avenue?”

Unfortunately, they were unable to do that as they had a train to catch.

So André had to quickly ask them a few questions. “Do you know whether Knut Skogsrud came from Trondhjem?”

“We never heard any such thing,” one of them said. “But he spoke the same dialect as they do up there.”

“Is he still alive?”

“No, he died years ago. His wife is also dead. And their only heir was this ... son.”

The other lady nudged her and they whispered agitatedly to each other. Then they turned back to André and Henning. “Erling was married for a while in his youth. But his wife abandoned him, taking their son, Knut, with her. And we won’t say any more about it. Shortly after that ... they took him.”

She had lowered her voice as though she was ashamed of what she was saying.

André and Henning were certain that they had finally managed to locate the right Skogsrud family.

After many more questions and evasive answers, they managed to get some kind of picture and the ladies went on their way to catch their train.

The two men headed home deep in thought.

“Everything adds up,” said André. “Knut Skogsrud is the right age. Or was, if he is dead now. He had a son, Erling, in 1884.”

“So he must be thirty-two now,” Henning interjected.

“Yes. This Erling married young and had his son in 1909.”

“So he is now seven years old. About the same age as little Christa. And Erling’s wife left him in 1912 and took their son with her.”

“To an unknown location in order to escape her husband,” said André. “These Skogsruds have a habit of disappearing into unknown territory.”

“Yes, unfortunately, for they are members of the Ice People.”

“Yes, we can be sure of that now that we’ve learnt Erling’s fate.”

“Locked up in a lunatic asylum for violent behaviour and, as they put it, vile actions.”

“Yes, and here’s something it’s very important to take note of. He was never a nice boy as a child but he was rather good-looking and girls were attracted to him. But as an adult he started to change. For the worse.”

“Like Sölve,” Henning nodded. “Exactly like Sölve.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t only his character that got worse. His appearance did as well.”

“Sölve is supposed to have developed yellow eyes as an adult.”

“But Erling changed more than that. The good-looking young man started to look ghastly. How did the ladies describe him?”

“They couldn’t really, because they had probably not seen him themselves. They had just heard rumours.”

“At any rate, it sounds to me as if he was one of the stricken of the Ice People.”

“Yes. Well, anyway, he escaped from the asylum in Gaustad a few years ago. I believe it was assumed that he had gone abroad, if I am not mistaken?”

“He went to war, which one can easily imagine with his violent tendencies. Since the first country you come to when leaving this country is Germany, he presumably fought on the Germans’ side. But that’s just a guess: we don’t really know.”

“But he is dead now?” asked Henning, who hadn’t been entirely able to keep up with all the information.

“Yes, that’s what the sweet old ladies said. He fell on the western front.”

“Yes. Well, at least we’re completely clear about Emma Nordlade’s branch of the family, aren’t we?”

“Yes. Emma’s son Knut had a boy named Erling, who in turn had a son called Knut, who is now seven years old. I think we can safely consider that branch of the family to be complete.”

“Wonderful,” sighed Henning. “All that’s left to do now is to locate Erling’s wife and his little son Knut.”

“Exactly. I’m sure that won’t be easy if she’s been trying to hide herself from her violent husband. She may have changed her name.”

“We must find out what her maiden name was and where her family comes from. But we can definitely stop searching for Erling, can we?”

“Yes. He was killed in the war. And I must say that I’m rather relieved. I don’t think we would have liked him.”

“I share that opinion. Goodness, there certainly are a lot of people on their way to Linden Avenue. And I had hoped that we could have grieved over our beloved Malin in peace and quiet by ourselves today.”