Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 21 - Devil´s Ravine

Ebba walked in and let out a scream.

“Gunilla, what have you done?”

Her daughter turned towards her, her face expressionless. Her voice was just as lifeless. “I cut myself.”

“Cut yourself? Cut yourself?” Ebba shouted loudly. “Well, then do something! You can’t just stand there!”

Gunilla turned away and looked down at the men on the road once more. Ebba followed her gaze and ran out into the courtyard.

“Karl, Karl! Hurry up. Gunilla has hurt herself. She has cut herself. Hurry!”

Ebba’s hysterical voice revealed a deeper anxiety than the wound might have justified.

The men heard her shouts and came running, all four of them. Meanwhile, Ebba ran indoors again and tried ineffectively to wipe the blood off Gunilla’s arm. It was still bleeding quite a lot.

“How could you have cut yourself like that, Gunilla? Why didn’t you watch out? What did you need the knife for?”

Without waiting for an answer, which she was too afraid to hear, she continued to chastise Gunilla until the men appeared.

Arv Grip of the Ice People took charge immediately. “Have you got some clean rags? And warm water? Now, Karl, you take a firm grip here. You must hold the edges of the wound together tightly!”

He noticed that Gunilla flinched when her father touched her. He also noticed something else: deep bruises around her forearm as if from a brutal grip ...

While the other men fussed and were of no use, Arv dressed her wound. Gunilla was completely calm. He couldn’t help noticing the emptiness in her eyes and was puzzled by it ...

Over the past year, Karl of Knapahult had dropped many hints about Gunilla to Arv Grip of the Ice People. The smallholder knew perfectly well that his daughter would often prolong the errands he sent her to the estate manager with, and that they talked as a mature man and a young girl would do. It was a friendship across the generation gap. Karl wasn’t the least envious. On the contrary, he encouraged Gunilla to go to Bergqvara and came up with a lot of excuses so that the two of them could meet as often as possible.

At first, Arv hadn’t thought much about it. Gunilla of Knapahult was a sweet, pleasant young girl and she had an exceptional personality and intelligence, whereas her background seemed dysfunctional. Arv quite enjoyed discussing her small worries. Usually they concerned animals or plants, but at times he sensed a strong feeling of dejection, a lack of understanding of the ups and downs of life. She clearly needed somebody to confide in. At the moment, he didn’t have so much time for her because the dilapidated main building at Bergqvara was about to be demolished and a new one built in its place, so his hands were full. Even so, he spared a few minutes for her every time she turned up. He felt that he owed this to the poor smallholders.

Actually, he noticed that if she hadn’t been to see him for a few days, he began to miss their little chats ...

Arv Grip of the Ice People was a good-looking man. He was over forty, of course, but he looked exceedingly good for his age. He didn’t have the golden hair of his grandfather Vendel, nor his exceptionally blue eyes. But there wasn’t a single grey hair on his head. His profile was clean-cut and he appeared very cultivated. He had received a good education in his youth and Arvid Erik Posse couldn’t do without him on his large farm in Bergqvara.

Nevertheless, Arv Grip was a lonely man. He had married young but lost his wife after a few years. After that he had sworn never to marry again, the tragedy had simply been too great. He felt that his wife’s memory was holy and wanted to keep it that way, and so he hadn’t wanted to marry again.

However, the memory of his late wife was beginning to fade now. After all, she had died many years ago. In order to suppress the thoughts that came to him when he was alone, he devoted all his energy to work on the farm, wearing himself out in his zeal. This was why the innocent little conversations he had with Gunilla were a welcome change.

He discreetly observed her expressionless face. Then he sent the four others off, asking them to do various errands. He wanted to be alone with Gunilla for a moment. As soon as they were gone, he said: “The wound on your arm is something you inflicted on yourself. Why did you do that, Gunilla?”

His voice was so gentle and kind. Gunilla replied as if in a trance: “The priest wouldn’t listen to me.”

Arv wrinkled his brow. At that moment, Ebba returned with the scissors he had asked her to fetch and Karl brought Gunilla’s homespun jacket.

“I’ll take Gunilla with me to Bergqvara,” Arv said. “I have better medicines there.”

“Yes, please do,” Karl smiled encouragingly. He was delighted. This was the best that could happen. For goodness sake, let them walk together right up to the farm.

“I must say that you’re very clever with your hands, Mr Grip,” Ebba said. “You could almost be a doctor.”

Arv smiled. “No, I’m not that clever. But I come from a family that has always been very knowledgeable about medicines and herbs. Some of them were even regarded as witches and wizards.”

“I say!”

“Yes, but not any more. There was a time when we used to have one in every generation, but that is no longer the case. The last one was a lady in Norway, called Ingrid. Then a young girl in the following generation put an end to it. She was called Shira and was a very peculiar person. She was of the generation before me – she was my aunt! She married Mar, the very last wizard, and saved him. So there are none in my generation or the next one. It’s a curse, you see, from which we’ve now been released.”

Arv knew nothing about his cousin, Sölve, who was the same age as him, and Sölve’s son, Heike, who were both cursed.

Ebba and Karl probably thought that he was talking nonsense, but Arv seemed to notice a hint of interest in Gunilla’s expressionless eyes.

Karl urged them to set off on the long walk to Bergqvara, delaying the two smallholders so that they didn’t interfere with the idyll.

Arv and Gunilla walked down the road in silence to begin with.

“I think you need somebody to talk to, don’t you?” Arv asked quietly.

Her eyes darted but Arv could see that his remark had hit the spot.

“And then the priest didn’t want to listen,” Arv continued.

“No, he ...” Gunilla said, but then stopped immediately.

“Did he start to talk about something else?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Priests often do. After all, they’re only human, you see, and people’s spiritual questions and concerns can be unpleasant. When you can’t come up with an answer for everything, you have to try another approach in order not to lose face.”

“Well, this time it wasn’t so much a spiritual matter,” Gunilla said, bending her head with a smile. “I’ve always held the Church in the highest esteem. Only this was the first time I asked to speak to the priest in confidence about a personal matter and I was very disappointed. He was so condescending about women!”

There was a slight pause while Arv Grip pondered how he was to tackle this.

“Gunilla,” he said in a kind but firm tone. “I’m no priest, but if you need to talk about your problem, then I’m willing to listen. Maybe I can help.”

“No,” she replied. “I don’t want to betray my parents. It was difficult enough with the priest. It wasn’t a success, so I daren’t try again.”

“What did the priest say?”

“That he would have a serious word with my mother!” Gunilla exclaimed fervently. “But it’s Father ...”

She was silent.

“Yes, Gunilla?”

His voice was so gentle. The scent of the forest surrounded them and Gunilla’s loneliness and confusion was enormous. Now they could see the buildings of Bergqvara on the far side of the fields. The route there seemed far too short. Walking slowly beside Inspector Grip was just so nice. She wasn’t in the mood to talk. She just wanted to feel the closeness of a kind, cultivated person.