Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 13 - The Devil´s Footprint

Nevertheless, he had a plan, although he didn’t care to talk too much about it. If you wanted to lift a cross from the shoulders of mankind, you also had to sacrifice something.

Once he had made up his mind, he felt at ease and efficient.

He knew of a young boy who wasn’t appreciated by the poor family he had been born into. He was so crippled that he hadn’t even been given a proper name; he was just called Limpy. He could control neither his arms nor his legs. His legs couldn’t keep pace with him when he ran, and his arms would assume the most grotesque positions. Everybody in the street laughed at him when he walked because it was easy to make fun of somebody like him. His parents had many other children and therefore hardly a spare moment for him, so he was forced to wear the same old rags a couple of years at a time, and when they were obliged to get new clothes for him, because the old ones were almost dropping off him, they would complain of how much money he cost them and what a gross misfortune had befallen them. The neighbours muttered about the Lord’s punishment and the parents felt hurt because they didn’t think that they deserved to be punished like that.

Colonel Plucky bought Limpy for two shiny rixdollars. His parents thought they had an excellent bargain, and didn’t ask what the colonel wanted to do with the human wreck.

Limpy was eleven years old. He tried to say something when the colonel came to take him away but nobody could understand what he said. No one saw the tears in his eyes, or if anybody did, they said nothing.

As Colonel Plucky dragged him away, his parents and siblings were already arguing about how they would spend the money.

Colonel Plucky stood in the shadow of a wall, proudly admiring his work.

Three of his men lay in wait opposite a small square, with their guns ready. He himself stood at a safe distance, looking down onto the square with its horse trough and street lamp. In the middle of the square stood Limpy, with one twisted foot tied to a pole by the horse trough.

The boy’s helpless moaning reached right up to the colonel. It won’t be long now until you won’t have any more to moan about in this world, the colonel thought, feeling like a great philanthropist. Things will be much better in heaven, because doesn’t it say in the Bible that people like you will be the first?

The night was dark, the sky brooded blackly over the quiet town. Everybody had been ordered indoors. Only the lamp on the square shone in the darkness.

The boy down there yelled and moaned. You just yell, the colonel thought. Yell so that the monster hears you and becomes curious. He hates human beings, that’s for sure, and here is one served up on a silver platter!

The colonel laughed at his own joke. Poor, empty-headed devil who understands nothing, he thought. It’s simply the decree of Providence that such creatures have no understanding ... although people talk about the work of the Devil. They say there was a curse on the parents that caused them to get a changeling. Served them right! Well then, the Devil’s helper is bound to turn up to fetch his offspring.

The colonel smiled once more at his joke. He was so extremely funny tonight.

Down on the square Limpy could feel how his powerlessness was getting the better of him and he let out a new yell of sorrow. He didn’t know why he was standing there like this, what he had done wrong. All he knew was that the man with the bad eyes had taken him away from his home.

Limpy was used to being beaten and abused – this was all he knew. He thought that he must be the most impossible child on earth since nobody cared about him.

Although he was unable to make himself understood, Limpy could think, though nobody had bothered to teach him anything. His small, lonely soul yearned so much for a loving word, a caress or a kindly look.

He had heard the others in the family speak about the church, that this was where you could receive help and compassion in times of poverty, illness and need. He had gone there once. It had taken quite some time because he wasn’t good at walking. He preferred to crawl. He didn’t like to meet people he didn’t know because at best they would stare at him and make the sign of the cross and whisper behind his back. At worst they would assault him and call him horrible names.

But this time he had ventured right up to the church door. He held on to it, stood up and opened it with great difficulty. When the vicar caught sight of him, he ran down the aisle and chased him away, beating and hitting him while he screamed: “Get away from me, Devil!” and “You’ve got a nerve, you monstrosity! Do you want to desecrate the House of the Lord?”

Limpy woke up from his bitter memories. He was scared, desperately scared and alone and didn’t understand why he was tied here, but he sensed that it didn’t bode well.

He gave a start.

In the quiet night he heard something that filled him with renewed anxiety.

Steps. Slow, limping steps ...

That individual limps exactly like me, he thought. Yet there’s something ominous, evil, about those steps. I’m scared, truly scared, and no one wants to help me.

The steps stopped quite near him. Limpy sensed that something was standing in the shadow in the narrow alleyway. He could feel that somebody was gazing at him. Eyes in the dark.

He fell to his knees. Praying was something he had never learnt to do and his only visit to the house of the Lord hadn’t been a success. Kneeling there, he was overcome by helpless weeping. He sniffled and blubbed, not so much from fright but from powerlessness at the inevitable. But even weeping was difficult because he was unable to control his facial muscles.

Everything was quiet and still around him. Limpy dried his eyes with his sleeve and listened.

He had never seen anything there in the shadows, but now he intuitively felt that nothing was standing there anymore. Surprised, he began to sob and sniffle despondently. What had happened?

Colonel Plucky asked himself the same question.

He had also heard the steps and had rubbed his hands. He had heard the soldiers prepare themselves, lying in wait, tense, ready to shoot.

But whoever it was who had stood in the shadow was now gone. Had he discovered them? That wasn’t possible because they were so well hidden behind the shadowy branches.

The colonel’s ears were very nearly popping out of his head but he could not hear a sound. A dog was barking in the distance, monotonously and without any hope of an answer. But here, in the small square, nothing moved, not the shadow of a rat along the wall, not a rustling in the leaves where the soldiers were hidden.

Suddenly he started. He heard a half-stifled rattle from where the soldiers lay. He strained to see but all he could perceive was a huge, dark shadow that moved swiftly, bent over the men.

“Shoot, shoot for heaven’s sake!” he yelled.

It was too late. Three times he heard a short, frightening death rattle. Then the shadow towered up over the men before it disappeared in the dark.

Colonel Plucky no longer lived up to his name. He fled from the square as quickly as his legs could carry him.

Limpy was still on his knees, dumbfounded at what he had heard. He hadn’t seen anything either, had merely sensed what was happening around him. His heart beat so fast that he thought his chest would explode. If it was an animal that was up there it might come down to get him – and he couldn’t break loose.

He moaned with fear as he tugged and pulled at his chain but, of course, he had no strength in him.

Then he heard steps once more and stared, paralysed, in their direction. Something tore itself loose from the darkness of the streets and stepped into the light shed by the flickering lamp.