Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 31 - The Ferryman

Sidsel was holding something back ...

She looked away when the topic of the noise upstairs was brought up.

Well, that would have to wait. The aunts had to be dealt with first!

Benedikte tried to forget how she must have appeared to Sander Brink and forced a smile at the three frightening women.

“Miss Martinsen,” she said to Beate, who was the youngest and possibly the most approachable of the three. “I would like to speak with all three of you afterwards, if I may. I am sure you have valuable information to give me. But first we must concentrate on Sidsel’s parents, who will soon be departing. So if you would be so kind as to go into your own rooms for the time being, I’ll take care of everything.”

Was she being adequately diplomatic now? It didn’t look like it, for the three ladies retired to their rooms deeply offended, resentful of being ordered about in their very own home.

Benedikte turned to Ove and Guri Martinsen, still avoiding looking in the direction of Brink, who was standing with the other two men from the sheriff’s office.

“I’m a little confused,” she said to the couple, trying not to blush at the thought of Sander Brink. “This house seems to contain many strange things. There are at least three different elements here that don’t seem to fit together.”

Oh, if only she had been able to express herself intelligently and eloquently! But that had never been Benedikte’s style. She was a simple soul filled with many emotions.

“For one thing, there is the terrible mess in this snuff-brown parlour ...”

No, that was no way to express oneself. She quickly corrected what she had said: “This brown parlour. For another there are the footsteps upstairs. And, Sheriff, you said that outsiders had noticed a faint light up there at times. Third, there are some other things that puzzle me. I don’t understand ...”

She was suddenly lost in thought. There was something that was deeply mystifying to her, because she ought to have sensed where it was coming from but she couldn’t. It was a foreign element.

“Are you thinking about the paw mark?” asked the sheriff quietly. He wasn’t sure how to respond to this young girl. But she seemed so honest and trustworthy that he didn’t want to grunt at her.

“What?” She came to. “No, the paw ...? I am almost certain that I know what happened in the brown parlour. But I first have to verify it and to do that I will need little Sidsel. Unfortunately! But I can hold her hand the whole time, if she wishes.”

Martinsen stamped his foot and said, “But we must be going soon or we’ll be late!”

“Yes, of course,” Benedikte said. She went over and took Mrs Martinsen by the hand. “Don’t be afraid for Sidsel, nothing bad will happen to her.”

She paused, keeping Guri’s hand in hers while looking at her solemnly.

“You are struggling with an inner conflict, Mrs Martinsen, I can sense that. But it is not necessary because you yourself are responsible for much of it. You are jealous and you don’t need to be.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’ve been saying,” Ove exclaimed excitedly. “You’re just imagining things, Guri.”

“Not just,” said Benedikte, who had let go of Guri’s hand and was now facing Ove. “I could actually sense a lot when I greeted you just now. You like girls, but only in a careless way – like many men your age. You just flirt a little with them, nothing more. You are completely loyal to your wife. So you should both go on that trip, but I think you should be more considerate of Sidsel. She needs you both. Don’t you see the fear in her eyes? You fight a lot, don’t you?”

“Goodness, what kind of girl are you?” said Ove brusquely, but then immediately grew gentler. “Yes, we’ll be sure to sort out our personal lives, but that’s not why you came here – or is it?”

“No, of course, not. I apologize,” said Benedikte, giving them a farewell nod. Then she turned to the sheriff and said: “I think I’d like to start on the upper floor. How do I get up there?”

“Yes, well, I asked the same thing, but the three sisters say you can’t get up there. That floor hasn’t been used for many years, they say.”

Little Sidsel, whose parents had now abandoned her and who therefore clung to the friendly Benedikte, looked frightened.

Benedikte turned to her. “You heard footsteps, didn’t you?”

“Goodness, yes!” whispered the girl. “I swear it’s true!”

“I believe you. But ... you haven’t told me everything, have you?”

Sidsel blushed.

Benedikte, who was very sensitive to the moods of others, led Sidsel away from the men. “What is it? You can tell me. I must know, you see.”

“No, it was so disgusting!”

“Yes, I understand. Whisper it to me, I won’t tell anyone!”

After hesitating for a long time, Sidsel cupped her hand and whispered in Benedikte’s ear: “I heard a bed creaking.”

“As though someone was living up there?”

The girl swallowed. “It was unpleasant bed sounds.”

Benedikte frowned. “You mean ... like when people make love?”

“I don’t know,” Sidsel whispered. “That might be what they’re doing. I don’t know.”

“No, of course you don’t, you’re only eight years old. But thank you, it was very good of you to tell me. And I won’t tell anyone.”

And she didn’t. Because even though Benedikte of course knew about the mysteries of erotic love, it was a world that would never be hers, she knew that too. She was created for friendship and devotion; no man would ever be sufficiently interested in her to want to go to bed with her. That was something she had accepted a long time ago. Until now it hadn’t been hard for her to do so. Until she met Sander Brink.

No, she wouldn’t mention anything about Sidsel’s experiences.

But, somewhat horrified, she pondered what this could mean: a floor that was sealed off and from where such strange sounds came?

“Is it completely impossible to get up there?” she asked, getting up from her squatting position in front of the girl and joining the men.

“Where is the staircase?”

“Behind that door there. It’s locked, of course, but now that the horrible aunts have gone, I think we’ll try to open it with a skeleton key. Olsen, that’s a job for you! It’s about time you made yourself a little useful instead of lecturing me all day.”

The young, omniscient Olsen looked offended but took some tools out of his pocket. It wasn’t long before he had managed to open the lock.

Benedikte opened the door, hoping that the aunts hadn’t heard the ear-piercing creak that came from it.They were met with a rush of dank air when the door opened. Benedikte’s face expressed disgust as she saw what was in there.

The stairwell had entirely collapsed. There were rotting beams and boards lying helter-skelter on the floor, and way up under the roof hung what was left of the stairs. They resembled huge teeth that had never been cleaned. Above them the upper hall was a gaping hole covered by strands of cobweb.

“That will be all, thank you very much!” Benedikte muttered, closing the door. “I’ve seen enough!”

Next she talked to the three sisters.

Sander Brink had taken little Sidsel out for a long walk so that she wouldn’t have to be in the house more than was necessary. But the sheriff and his assistant, Olsen, were present during Benedikte’s conversation with the shrews.

It was a battle against a wall of distrust and warped ideas. No one had the energy to talk to them one at a time, so they decided to speak to all three in a single conversation in the living room.

“This house has never been haunted,” said the tall, scrawny Agnes with dignity. “The girl has a sick imagination.”