Margit Sandemo: The Ice People 30 - The Brothers

Henning put his hand to his chest. That was where the mandrake was hanging. Calming, comforting. When the angel had touched Henning, it had been so ... so ... He had seemed to feel stronger. As if he had turned into the strongest person in the world. But the sensation had worn off, so that when the creatures disappeared, Henning was once more just a young, insecure and very lonely boy who had been given far too great a responsibility.

The fire in the fireplace was burning nicely, making the rooms warm.

“Can you lie there a little bit longer, do you think?” he asked the two babies. “I have to go out and milk the cows. I need to feed you. I’m sure you must be hungry by now?”

They had to be, because they were crying pitifully. The pathetic little whimpers went right through him. Never had the cows been milked so fast! He tossed breakfast to the different animals: hay to the cows, gruel to the pigs, barley to the chickens, and so on. Mucking out would have to wait. Then he ran like a busy little pixie across the yard and into the house with the full buckets of milk.

Henning thought that the most crucial thing was for the two little ones to have some food. He left them lying in their warm blankets while he prepared the milk. Warmed it a bit and ... what was it Saga had said? Mix it with water? But how was he to make them drink the milk?

As he sat there on the edge of the bed with a bowl of milk on the chair, trying to coax a bit of it into them with a teaspoon, Line from Eikeby came by.

She was a pale, thin woman, who was probably younger than she appeared. Every single line in her face and body pointed downwards – she could no longer claim such a thing as a figure or pure features. A life of endless heavy work and constant worries had taken their toll. Her husband wanted to sell Eikeby to the townspeople who were spreading all over Graastensholm parish – or, to be more precise, what had once been known as Graastensholm. Line didn’t have any say in this. The sorrow of having to leave her childhood home – because it was her farm, not his – weighed heavily on her. The Eikeby people had always regarded themselves as relatives of the Ice People. Mattias’s mother had come from Eikeby, and when the Ice People had needed help on their farms they had always turned to them. Relations had been rather tense for the past fifty years, after Heike brought the troublesome grey people with him to Graastensholm. But since Saga had intervened and banished the grey people, the Eikeby people had begun to communicate with the Ice People once more. Cautiously and with a pretty bad conscience, since they had let down their “relatives” for so long.

“Well, heavens above,” said Line as she came into the room. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

Henning moaned: “Oh, Line. Please help me. They don’t want to drink. I’m so afraid they’ll die.”

“What are you saying, boy? Are they Saga’s? Has she had them now? Where is she? I suppose she’s in bed?”

Henning moaned: “Saga’s gone.”

“Gone? What do you mean? Well, did you ever see such a sweet little baby? And the other ... Oh, God, oh phew! Is he one of them? I certainly saw Heike, but this one here is worse than the Devil himself! Well, Henning, what ... Oh, Jesus Christ, you mean Saga must be ...” Her voice sank to a whisper: “ ... dead?”

Henning confirmed it with tight lips.

“Where is she then? Is she up in her room?”

“No,” he replied hoarsely. “She died last night. On the way here.”

“Is she ... in the gig?”

“No, where she died. Far from here.”

Line tried to take it all in. It took a little while.

“Oh, good heavens!” she said then. “Where? We must bring her home!”

Henning’s thoughts whirled in panic. He couldn’t very well tell Line that two black angels had fetched Saga. “No, that ... isn’t necessary. There was someone there. Some church people, I think. They promised to take care of her and give her a fine funeral. Immediately.”

“But surely you must ...”

“She was very compromised.”

“Oh, I see,” Line replied weakly. “But what about your parents? Where are they? You can’t look after these little babies on your own?”

Henning replied swiftly: “They’ll be coming soon. The ship has just been slightly delayed.”

Line stared at him. He really was all by himself – with two newborn babies!

His lower lip quivered.

“Delayed?” she said in a toneless voice. “For how many days?”

“They’re not in any danger,” he said quickly. “It hasn’t struck Målen, it’s taken another course.”

“Has it vanished?”

“Only for the moment. They’ll soon find it, it’s probably in port now. But we couldn’t wait because Saga became ill and had to come home.”

Line realized that Henning couldn’t take much more. His stiff face and his dismissive attitude showed that right now he was scared stiff of any tenderness or compassion. He had his pride, the little chap.

She turned to the babies and said: “The twins. They must have some food.”

There was no doubt about that at all. They were yelling quite determinedly, though their frail voices hadn’t drowned out the conversation.

Line said: “Let me see ... Is there anybody in the parish who can breast-feed them now? So many new families have moved to Graastensholm parish that I don’t know half of them! No, I can’t think of a wet nurse, but I’ll look into it. Anyway, you can’t feed them with a teaspoon. That won’t work! But we have a bottle that we use for the newborn lambs ... I’ll fetch it straightaway.”

She disappeared out of the door. Henning collapsed on a chair. He didn’t even have the energy to think about the grotesque fact that these newborn babies would have to use a bottle that lambs had used.

The news soon spread through the parish. Henning had a trying day, not least receiving the many curious and helpful people that came pouring in all the time.

They had found a wet nurse, but she would only take care of the good-looking baby. She didn’t want to have anything to do with Ulvar. Poor Henning was really confused, trying to decide what he ought to do. A crowd of women stood around the big bed where they lay.

“What a little angel!” one of them sighed about Marco. Thank you very much, Henning thought bitterly. Do you want me to tell you who their father is? Then perhaps we could have some peace here? But of course, he said nothing.

By the afternoon he was worn out. No one had given a thought to the eleven-year-old boy and the enormous responsibility he had been given.

Little Marco had been dressed in baby clothes that had been collected in the parish, but nobody wanted anything to do with Ulvar. Henning had asked for the boy to be given the surplus clothes, and after a lot of whispering, the women gave their permission. Henning had to dress the little boy himself. He fumbled and it hurt him to feel the distorted body with the horribly sharp shoulders that had taken Saga’s life.

Now the babies were lying in bed. The women had hidden Ulvar’s face so that they didn’t have to look at it, but newcomers were constantly walking over and lifting the blanket to see it and be shocked.

The wet nurse wanted to take Marco with her immediately, but Henning opposed this very vehemently. With horror in his heart, he sat on the edge of the bed by the children and explained that he had promised their dying mother that he would not separate them. Finally, the wet nurse promised to come several times a day because she didn’t live very far away.

But young Ulvar ... Somebody muttered: “It would be best if he were allowed to die,” and others nodded. Line from Eikeby was the only one who showed some compassion. She hadn’t been able to find the primitive bottle used for newborn lambs – which was probably just as well – but she taught Henning how to feed the boy with the edge of a linen rag dipped in milk. She didn’t want to touch “that devil of a child” because she had a large family at home who needed her. Henning had thanked her and prepared the milk according to Saga’s instructions. He carried Ulvar out into the kitchen and sat with him in his arms, and after numerous attempts he managed to get Ulvar to understand that he had to suck the linen rag.