Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 32 - Hunger

“The doctor who’s come here to fish – perhaps we should ask him?”

“But we can’t disturb him, he is a hospital doctor and he’s on holiday!”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to ask!”

A bold young man ventured up to the farm where the doctor was renting a room for a few days. The hospital was located farther down the valley.

The good doctor was sitting in front of an ample breakfast. His fishing tackle was in the hallway ready for use, for the river here had an abundance of fish and attracted many tourists. But at this time of year the doctor had the fishing ground to himself, as a crust of ice lay thin and crisp along the bank of the river.

But there was no doubt that the doctor was ready to come along when he heard the story. He only needed a few minutes to change his plans for the day and prepare for a “sick call”.

Some robust farmers were waiting by the market, a small group of men who had been selected to go up there. And the children were standing with them, their hearts pounding anxiously: what if they couldn’t find their way back to the place?

But there had been no need for them to worry. For, just like the fairytale of Hansel and Gretel, they had left light, clear footprints in the snow on their way down. The baskets they had filled with moss were almost empty now.

The men scrutinized the young doctor sceptically as he approached them. What would a greenhorn like that know about disease? But as he came closer they were able to see that he wasn’t quite so shockingly young as they had initially thought. They discerned a sense of responsibility and gravity in his serious face that put them more at ease. He was dark, with clear-cut features, regular eyebrows and a sharp profile, and he was tall and lean.

He greeted them and asked a few questions, first and foremost addressing the children, who swallowed and answered in trembling voices.

One of the men said, “It’s very commendable of you to come, Doctor. I never did catch your name?”

“No, of course, I apologize,” the doctor answered with a smile which for a moment made his severe-looking face brighten up. “It’s Christoffer. Christoffer Volden of the Ice People. Shall we go?”

Chapter 2

Malin’s son, Christoffer, had gone his own way.

His grandfather, Christer, had died in 1893, leaving his widow Magdalena with the family business she had inherited from her grandfather, Molin. Even though the government had been sure to reduce the Molin empire to a completely ordinary company, Christer had managed his money well. So when Magdalena passed away in 1895, the twenty-one-year-old Christoffer inherited everything, in accordance with Grandmother Magdalena’s will.

It was truly a fine inheritance for the young man, but he had other plans. He didn’t want to be a businessman and he had no intention of moving to Sweden. His interests lay elsewhere.

He wanted to become a doctor, and his parents supported him in his decision. They could see that it was where his talents lay, and he had already started on his degree. So after several family consultations it was decided that Christoffer’s father, Per Volden, was to focus his attention on the Molin inheritance. But neither he nor Malin were interested in moving to Sweden so they employed reliable people to run it for them. However, in the long run this became too complicated, so they sold the whole operation to other seriously interested parties, giving them a handsome profit that allowed them to build a house and invest in other projects in Norway. In this way, Per Volden acquired a new interest that he felt able to manage.

A huge carriage filled with furniture arrived from Sweden. An entire railway carriage. It was the last of the Ice People’s Swedish possessions, which amounted to quite a bit. And another surprise awaited them: Saga had left her possessions in the care of Christer back when she left Sweden for good. Her money had been deposited in a bank account, where it had yielded interest, and both that and all her belongings went to her only grandchild, Ulvar’s daughter, Vanja. Of course, Marco was entitled to receive his share, but where in the world was he? Nobody knew.

Vanja received her inheritance with great enthusiasm. She was a coquettish little eleven-year-old who took great pleasure in looking at all the beautiful furniture and things from her grandmother’s home. Henning made sure that she got a few things to put in her room, while the rest went into storage. But when Viljar died in 1899 and Belinda a year later, Vanja was allowed to take over their part of the house and furnish it in the way she wished. She was sixteen years old then, and loved going on shopping sprees to buy clothes and other luxuries. In the end Agnete and Henning had to cut down her allowance, and with a sigh she realized that she had enough clothes for many years to come. It couldn’t go on like that – she would need to have a reason to go shopping in the future!

Meanwhile, Christoffer Volden finished his studies.

He applied to a medium-sized hospital in one of Norway’s valleys, because he felt he could be more useful there than in Christiania, where most doctors ended up working.

Christoffer got on well. He had a genuine desire to help others, and such a serious attitude always results in a certain amount of thoroughness in one’s occupation. He would always take time to talk to his patients, which he considered to be an important factor in improving their health. Dr Volden’s name was spoken with devotion by lonely little old ladies who feared for their lives and felt utterly insignificant in the intimidating, unfamiliar world of the hospital, by sheepish lads with broken legs who were reluctant to use the bedpan, and by fine gentlemen and ladies who wished to discuss their terribly interesting illness with someone who would actually listen to them.

Christoffer’s personal life wasn’t quite so uncomplicated. Despite the fact that he considered himself to be exceptionally fortunate in that regard, something had gone awry that had led him to embark on this solitary journey along the river.

Things had actually begun rather well. During his first year in Lillehammer – for that was where the hospital was located – he had made the acquaintance of Lise-Merete, a young lady who had immediately caught his attention. Her skin was amazing – golden brown and as smooth as newly polished wood. In order to emphasize the incredible clarity of her complexion, she pulled her hair back into a high coil, which was the latest fashion in the town. The coil, which went all the way around the head, maintained its shape with the help of bun-rats or sometimes, in emergencies, bread crusts hidden inside it – which men, of course, didn’t suspect in the least. Every self-respecting woman wore this style, and the hats they wore had to be fastened with long hat-pins, which were, according to the men, mortally dangerous weapons.

Lise-Merete was the daughter of one of the town’s most influential men. Apart from her perfect skin she was perhaps not all that beautiful, but she had a unique charm about her that dazzled all the men. So she had numerous admirers, but after meeting Christoffer Volden a few times she had eyes only for him.

And Christoffer was overjoyed. Lise-Merete was just perfect, he thought. Gentle, friendly, thoughtful, pleasant to everyone, intelligent and quick-witted, with a good sense of humour and a proper sense of style.

Lise-Merete had no need to tuck bread crusts into her hair, she would never have dreamed of doing anything so unhygienic. She carried herself with dignity, but the fashion of the time also happened to be so strict that the ladies were forced to keep their backs as straight as a lightning bolt at all times. She enjoyed showing Christoffer off at the frequent parties that were held by the most distinguished residents of the town, but she was never in any way arrogant. Her charming smile always managed to win everyone over.