Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 30 - The Brothers

Malin didn’t appreciate Marco quite so much. There was a reason for the way Ulvar behaved. But Marco ...?

He was incredibly handsome! Jet-black curls covered his well-shaped head. His skin had a dark hue – sometimes golden, at other times almost black. It changed according to the light in the room. His exquisite face with its pure lines would always draw one’s eyes. The grey, almost black eyes, the finely arched eyebrows, the peculiar smile ... It was precisely the smile that confused her so much. Marco was an unfathomable little creature. Of course, one can’t be expected to understand a tiny infant. Personality is something that comes later on. Yet Marco had something more, something that had already taken shape. Malin knew what it was: he considered! For him, she wasn’t just another moving shape making kind sounds. She was a human being, and he pondered who she might be – or what she could be.

It was uncanny! She felt that she was being scrutinized by Marco, especially as he never seemed to disclose his thoughts. He would never yell when she scrubbed his ears or when soap got in his eyes. He would simply gaze at her just as Ulvar did. But Marco’s eyes showed no trace of hatred, just omniscience. Then a hint of a smile would appear on his lips. Malin never knew whether his smile was cool, sad or merely impersonal.

Saga’s twins were truly extraordinary.

They seemed to adore Henning. They would kick their little legs in delight when he came, and he would sit for hours, burbling and playing with them. This would bring tears to Malin’s eyes, because it was such a beautiful image of three little orphaned boys.

She loved them with all her heart. However, the one she loved the most was Henning. At least until the little ones developed their own personalities.

The months went by.

The wet nurse stopped coming because she wasn’t needed any more. The two boys ate the same food now that they were no longer babies. They could sit up and seemed sturdy and healthy. Ulvar had tough hands, which he liked to use when there was something he didn’t care for. Marco’s eyes were calm and alert to everything around him. He seemed to grow handsomer day by day, while Ulvar’s appearance moved in quite the opposite direction. Malin and Henning had got used to him and didn’t think he was so horrible to look at. But other people who dropped in would often scream because he looked so awful. Then Malin would tell them quietly to be a bit more considerate. Ulvar was a human being and she didn’t know whether he would grow up to be sensitive or vengeful. Then they would chuckle and say: “Surely he doesn’t understand anything yet,” but Malin could see a pensive look in their eyes.

Henning didn’t talk about his parents any more. The subject seemed to be taboo and Malin never raised it. She knew it was something that frightened the boy to death. He didn’t want to hear her say: “Now, Henning, you must realize that ...”

Malin didn’t want to say it either. The memory would fade over the years and he would slowly become resigned to it.

Now it was 1862, and Henning turned twelve. Strangely enough, the farm seemed to be doing better. Malin thought that Henning was cut out to become a brilliant farmer, better than his father had ever been. Viljar had wanted to do something else, but had come to terms with taking care of Linden Avenue, the Ice People’s last bastion in the parish.

They were even able to afford a farmhand, whom they needed because although Henning and Malin were clever people and worked hard, there were some heavy chores that they didn’t have the strength for. Besides, there was a limit to how much they had time to do.

The farmhand was a kind, elderly man. Not exactly quick on the uptake – but he didn’t have to be, did he? He was kind to the animals, which was the most important thing, and he was good at what he did. However, he avoided any mention of the two baby boys. He kept away from them, preferring not to see them. Malin had seen him fold his hands in prayer if he happened to see them in the kitchen. A swift, frightened prayer. She didn’t raise the subject, and thought it best to ignore it.

Malin thought it was wonderful that she could work until her back ached and her brain couldn’t be bothered to think when it got dark. It meant that she didn’t have time to speculate about her own life. She couldn’t help admitting to herself that it was a problem. She knew that her parents, Christer and Magdalena, expected her to marry and have children. And continue the Ice People’s line.

The Ice People mustn’t die out! They were the only ones who could save the world if Tengel the Evil ever woke from his sleep and seized control of the earth. Whether the Ice People could defeat him was a different matter, but those who were in possession of the clear water of life were the only ones who could counteract the effect of the water of evil. It was their duty to live on.

Malin’s parents were now the only members of the Ice People left in Sweden. And Linden Avenue was all that was left to the Ice People.

One day, Henning was bound to marry – provided he didn’t work himself to death on the farm, helping to take care of Saga’s two little boys.

But those two? You couldn’t count on Ulvar. He was a brute and a monster. And Marco ...?

Malin was quite unable to make him out.

One thing she did know was that she was unlikely ever to get married. She was pleasant and efficient, as she wasn’t afraid of admitting to herself, but young men never looked at her twice. If she was ever to marry, she was the type of person an old widower would choose. Common sense and calculation. A capable, stable wife, who could take care of an already established family and home and that he could boss around, knowing that she would carry out any order to the best of her ability. And who could give birth to a series of wholesome children.

Except that Malin didn’t want an old greybeard. That was why she was happy with these three small boys who needed her, so she drowned everything she might have felt she was missing in hard work.

She was twenty years old and had taken stock of her life. It was a bit early for that perhaps, but Malin had always been very down to earth. She had dispensed with any illusions a long time ago. A few passionate crushes in Sweden had come to nothing. The objects of her tender love had barely noticed her. One had chosen her best friend instead. Another was a young teacher at the deaconess school. For some months she tried to catch his eye, wishing him to look deep in her eyes. One day, he suddenly wrinkled his brow and said: “Are you new here, Sister? Because I don’t seem to have seen you before.” Before she had time to answer, he had turned away indifferently and begun to talk to a colleague.

That was when Malin knew that she wasn’t one of the great eye-catchers. It was also when she decided to travel to Norway, because she was concerned for Saga.

What a good thing that she had made the journey and had arrived in time to help the three lonely little boys! When she saw the immense confidence that Henning placed in her, she couldn’t help feeling horrified at what would have happened if she hadn’t come.

Malin felt the burden on her young shoulders, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.

As time went by, the twins got to their feet. They would totter and tumble several times before they managed to move from one room to the other, over doorsteps that seemed like small mountains to them. This meant that Malin and Henning had to spend more time taking care of them, because Ulvar was full of energy and stubborn. A certain wickedness had been noticeable in him from the very beginning, but now he had discovered that he could get hold of anything within his reach he really became a handful. Malin and Henning were often so tired in the evenings that they just looked forward to the moment when he fell asleep.