Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 32 - Hunger

For eight whole months Christoffer’s happiness was complete. They spoke of the future – which they planned to spend together – and saw one another as often as they could. But that was only very seldom, because his hospital job was extremely demanding and regular working hours were completely out of the question.

Christoffer didn’t know why he was suddenly feeling slightly ill at ease. Not until he received the letter from Vanja.

It was just an ordinary letter describing the trivial activities of their day-to-day lives; the letter in itself was of little importance. No, it was Lise-Merete’s cautious reaction: “Who is Vanja?”

That made him think of the months that had passed, and he began to have his suspicions. Lise-Merete’s refrain, “Just you and me.” At first he had liked that. Her gentle little attempts to stop him attending get-togethers with his colleagues. Her suppers for two by candlelight, discreet inquiries about the nurses at work. If they attended a party given by one of her many acquaintances, she would always be in good spirits to start with. And she would remain content, so long as he focused his attention only on her. But if he were to start talking to someone else – a male colleague or any other man – Lise-Merete would always walk over to him and slip her hand under his arm to lure him away to another part of the hall. And if he started a conversation with a female acquaintance ... Goodness, why hadn’t he noticed it until now? On such occasions she would suddenly start to complain that she was suffering from a headache and insist on going home. He would tease her and say that her headache was due to that confounded hairdo, but she would ignore him. She would grow silent and wouldn’t give in until he had attended to her properly, like a doctor with his favourite patient. Then everything would be all right again and he could go home. For he never stayed the night at her house. Oh no, that would be completely unthinkable! Lise-Merete wanted to be a virgin bride and he respected her wish in that regard. They had never spoken openly about marriage, but his proposal was merely a formality, which they both knew would soon take place.

Eight months ... He woke up from his thoughts and answered her question. “Vanja? You know who Vanja is!”

“Yes, of course,” she responded in her mild and gentle voice. “She is your relative. But how exactly is she related to you? What does she look like? And you have two stepsisters, as you call them. What about the other one? Benedikte? What is she like? You always have such an affectionate tone in your voice when you speak of her. Is she very beautiful?”

Christoffer laughed. “Benedikte? Yes, to me she is a rare beauty.”

The smile disappeared from Lise-Merete’s face and she looked as if she was going to cry. Whereupon he quickly added: “But in the eyes of the world she is far from beautiful. She is rather stockily built, as tall as I am, and she has a son born out of wedlock.”

“Is that the André you’ve talked about?” asked Lise-Merete with a frown. “If she truly looks the way you’ve described her, how on earth did she manage to conceive an illegitimate child? Because it can’t have been you who ...?”

“Please stop referring to André as illegitimate! No, I am most certainly not his father! I was never told who it was, because I was very young when it happened and they didn’t talk about it at home. No, Benedikte is like an older sister to me. Vanja, on the other hand, is incredibly beautiful.”

He realized as he spoke that he shouldn’t have uttered those words. Lise-Merete got to her feet and for the next hour her warm voice had a cool undertone, which he instantly realized he had heard many times before. He recalled the occasion when a fellow doctor had, laughingly, confided to him that Lise-Merete had interrogated him about Christoffer’s life at the hospital. About his relationships with the female staff and so on. Christoffer had been flattered then – now he wasn’t so sure.

He performed an experiment. After a while, Lise-Merete sat down again, as she normally did, and Christoffer excused himself, saying that he would go to the kitchen and boil some water for coffee. But he tiptoed immediately back out into the hallway and peeped through the chink of the door by the hinges, and saw her standing by the writing desk. She had opened the letter from Vanja and was reading it.

He returned to the kitchen deep in thought.

Since he was already worn out after a prolonged, continuous stint at the hospital, he asked for a few days’ leave of absence so that he could reconsider a few things in his life.

He loved her so incredibly much. She had turned his life into an exciting adventure. But they couldn’t avoid a serious conversation. Of course, he understood why she had so little confidence in him, poor girl, which was precisely why he needed to get away now. So that he could think about what he could do to help build up her confidence in him. For this much he knew: he wanted Lise-Merete; she was the woman for him and he couldn’t live without her!

But when he saw the little flash of suspicion in her eyes as he told her that he needed to unwind with a fishing trip up at the top of the valley, he began to have second thoughts. And when he discovered that she had examined his ticket – to check that he really was travelling north and not south to his home town, he began to feel uneasy. It simply wouldn’t do. He would have to think up some pleasant words to convince her; perhaps he could write a poem to make her understand that she and only she had all his love.

But poetry had never been Christoffer’s forté. He merely felt ridiculous when he attempted it.

That such a pretty young girl, who had the world at her feet, could be so unsure of herself was something he simply couldn’t fathom!

The poor dear child!

It was his last day in the village and he had composed a very beautiful speech which he planned to deliver to Lise-Merete. It was tactful yet completely convincing. Once he had made the speech she would no longer doubt his love.

He was to spend one more day by the river. Not that he was getting much fishing done; to be honest, he wasn’t fishing at all. Taking a life didn’t come naturally to him, even if it was “just” a fish. Instead, he would usually put the fishing rod aside on the river bank and stroll back and forth or sit on a tree stump, deep in thought. There was no disturbance there: the lapping of the water drowned out all the sounds from the village, there was only him and the river and the birch trees, white as frost. He could examine his relationship with Lise-Merete in peace and tranquillity. And he became almost sick with longing for her. Tomorrow he would be seeing her again, she had promised to meet him at the station, and he could just imagine ...

He had just finished breakfast and was ready to set out for the river when a young boy arrived and, holding his cap in his hand, asked whether the doctor could come up to the ridge.

When Christoffer had heard what the situation was he immediately agreed. He would never have dreamed of refusing to go; to him, a person in need was a person he could help. The river would manage just fine without him, and the fish even better.

He approached the little group by the market stall. Two children – goodness, how much poverty there was to be found in Norwegian farming communities! Christoffer interrogated the children about the old woman. Did she have any wounds? Any signs of injury? No, but she was almost dead, the boy explained. And very scrawny.

No scrawnier than you are, my boy, he thought dejectedly.

I wish I could take you back with me to the farm where I live, then you and your little sister would get enough to eat! It would have been like a wonderful dream to be able to do that.