Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 32 - Hunger

But he was so distinguished! Like an angel on Judgment Day! Could she be in heaven? No, not her, the girl who had never been able to tolerate her father. Perhaps she was in the other place?

“I’m sorry” she murmured as she closed her eyes.

The request to be forgiven was typical of Marit’s entire attitude to life.

The voice she heard was persistent. It was talking about milk. Now she was able to understand it. Milk? It was several months since ... He had touched her! Right on the very spot where it hurt the most. Marit crumbled and screamed with the excruciating pain – but what came out sounded like a small whimper.

“It’s exactly as I suspected,” said the voice. “She most probably has appendicitis. It may already have burst, in which case there is nothing that can be done. But we must get her to the hospital immediately.”

The hospital? But that was where people died. Appendicitis? Nothing that can be done?I don’t want to go, I don’t dare to! That was what she wanted to say, but Marit had never contradicted anyone so she remained silent.

Something was placed on her lips. “Now, let’s see if we can get a little something down.”

When the liquid ran in through her mouth she automatically swallowed.

Milk! How wonderful! She wanted more but the pail was removed at once. She had only tasted a few drops: it was ghastly, it was tantalizing!

Her stomach had an immediate response and contracted as though it were having convulsions, so it would seem that the man knew what he was doing. But she managed to retain the little she had consumed. It felt as though life itself had flowed into her.

The man said something to another person nearby. “I’m just giving her a few drops at a time, at long intervals, so that nothing goes wrong. She must have some nourishment to get a little resistance.”“Will you be doing the operation yourself, Doctor?” asked a low, reverential voice.

“That will be up to the hospital,” the man answered. “But I will personally see to it that she gets the best possible care.”

“We don’t doubt that for a moment,” said the other voice, just as reverentially as before. “Look, there is her pail, we had better take that with us as well.”

Doctor? So he was a doctor, the handsome man! Marit opened her eyes again and looked at him anew. She had grasped that he was a distinguished man of some kind, but a doctor? Out here in the wilderness?

In a brief moment of peace and subdued pain, it felt as though she were sinking down into a sense of safety and kindness. She knew she could trust this man. The thought of the hospital no longer frightened her.

And Marit felt probably for the first time in her life that she wished to live after all. So as not to upset the doctor. For his sake she would fight for her life. So that his fight for her wouldn’t be in vain.

At that moment Marit of Svelten was more humble than she had ever been, and that is saying a good deal. And grateful! So utterly grateful that had she had the energy she would have cried.

“We must try to get her into the wagon,” the doctor said. “But careful, careful! The slightest movement is unbearably painful to her.”

But when they started lifting her up, everything vanished in an ocean of excruciating pain in her body. It took a long time, but finally she was lying in the wagon, and the doctor and another man held her so as to shield her from the bumps as the wagon drove across the uneven road.

Marit didn’t recall much from that trip. Only flashes of it.

Weakness. Terrifying pain. Now and then a quenching drop of milk on her tongue. The doctor’s kind, sympathetic eyes. A hand to hold when it was at its worst.

A conversation between the two men.

“She still looks very good, that poor little weakling.”

“How old could she be?”

“Marit of Svelten? Let me see ... Around thirty. Yes, that must be right. Thirty I believe.”

I haven’t turned thirty yet, she wanted to say, but didn’t have the energy.

“But you see, Doctor,” the man continued, “She was always considered to be a bit off. She wasn’t completely right in the head, they said. The father drove her mad, they said. He was a nasty grumbler. He shot at a lad who showed interest in her once. But that’s long ago now.”

More drops of milk were poured on her tongue. They didn’t cause so much pain in her stomach anymore.

Hazy impressions of the village. So they must have reached it at last. They were talking about the train. Not until the next day.

“Horse and carriage will take too long,” the doctor’s voice said. “This is an emergency.”

Another word was used: “Handcar.”. Marit had never heard of it, didn’t know what it was.

But she was transferred, slowly and painfully, to another means of transportation. And another man in uniform sat next to her.

The men and the children wished her luck. Marit gave a forced smile and mustered up a half-stifled “Thank you.”

The doctor gave the children something. A large sum of money to each of them. He must be rich!

And he was. Christoffer was a very wealthy man. An extra asset that had not gone unnoticed by Lise-Merete.

The doctor accompanied her on that strange carriage. Wonderful! Then Marit felt safe. Her pail and his luggage had also been placed on board: he was leaving the village now, he said.

When the handcar began to roll, her body jerked violently. It moved so fast! And so smoothly! Even though there were choppy disruptions at times. Click-click, it said, and each click cut through her jerking body. The man in uniform pumped back and forth with a rod.

Was this the train? No, she had seen one of those once from a distance. This carriage was much smaller. And completely open.

The darkness had fallen now, but wasn’t dense. There was a lantern hanging at the front of the carriage.

She felt terribly cold going at this great speed. The doctor removed his jacket and wrapped it around her pitifully scrawny body. By accident the edge of the jacket grazed her right side and she screamed.

“It hurts mostly on your right side, doesn’t it?” the doctor asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Good.”

Even though her father had taught her not to ask questions, she couldn’t resist asking in a strained voice: “Why is that good?”

“Because if your stomach was in equal pain all over it might be an indication that your appendix had burst.”She pondered that for a moment. Checked to see if it hurt all over her stomach. She didn’t think it did.

It seemed as though she was regaining her energy now. The milk had done her good.

“It’s the Lord’s punishment,” she suddenly said.

Her words made Christoffer wince. “Nonsense!” he then said. “What on earth should you be punished for?”

“I didn’t like my father. It’s better that I clear my conscience now if I am to stand face to face with my judge.”

“If you knew how many people there are in the world who loathe either one or both of their parents or can’t get along with them, then you wouldn’t say such things. I’m sure you had your reasons for not liking him.”

An excruciating wave of pain rushed through her body. She fumbled for his hand which, as far as she could recall, she had done many times on their journey down from the ridge. And she had always found the hand to be right there for her.

And it was this time. It gave her strength.

“Wasn’t he kind?” the doctor asked.

“I wasn’t very efficient at doing my chores, so it’s understandable that he got angry with me from time to time,” she said apologetically. “You have to understand ...”

“So he wasn’t kind,” the doctor concluded.

“No,” Marit finally admitted with a great sigh, as though it was a relief for her to say so. “He wasn’t. He ... he liked to pester me. If there was anything he knew I didn’t like he would do it. Like kicking the dog. Locking me in. Teasing me about how ugly I was. And stupid.”