Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 26 - The Secret

Terje Jolinssøn was an extremely handsome man, and yet Eskil couldn’t help feeling slightly uneasy in his company. Was it a brutality in the way Terje moved, or his low, scheming voice? Not that he was unkind – no, not at all. He spoke in a low voice as if he was afraid that somebody might hear him. There were obviously several other people in the house. The kitchen where they stood was neat and tidy. It showed the touch of a woman.

“Yes, I can certainly rent you a room for a couple of days,” Terje said, smiling like a tiger. “It all depends on how much you want to pay, because the rooms are of various qualities.”

Eskil, who had received all his travel money back thanks to the intervention of the king’s emissary, was willing to pay what he was used to paying for a good room in a reputable inn. Terje’s eyes grew bigger for an instant, and a satisfied smile quivered at one corner of his mouth.

Eskil added swiftly: “I’d prefer to stay in this house.”

Terje didn’t seem to be in favour of that. “You will hear a child crying at night, which can be very annoying. I can offer you much better rooms.”

In Jolin’s house? Already? Eskil wasn’t quite ready for that just yet – he was too exhausted, tired and hungry.

“All I want right now is to get some sleep,” he said, smiling nervously at Terje. “A child crying won’t disturb me. But it would be absolutely great if I could have some food because it’s a long time since I had anything to eat. I’ve been rowing nearly all day.” Eskil laughed as he showed the palms of his hands, and Terje shook his head at his recklessness. “Well, if you’re willing to settle for a modest room for tonight, that’s fine with me. Then we can find better lodgings for you tomorrow. You can have something to eat and we’ll see to your hands.”

“I’ll accept that.”

A little while later, Eskil went to bed in a small well-kept room. He was full up and satisfied, his hands had been bandaged – and he fell asleep immediately.

In the middle of the night, Eskil was woken by a long scream of the utmost agony. He sat up in bed and listened. He could discern a soothing woman’s voice. It was a child who was screaming and it went right through Eskil. How could anyone suffer so much pain? A child! The agony echoed in him: it was as if he was feeling the pain himself and he felt the tears of compassion fill his eyes. It wasn’t an infant but an older child – you could tell by the voice. The woman was murmuring kind words, trying to comfort the child, but Eskil registered her desperation and despondency.

A door was opened roughly and the moaning became louder. Then a furious man’s voice could be heard. “Can you get that damned brat to keep quiet? We have guests in the house!”

The woman said something in a low, cowed voice.

“Give him a dose that will keep him quiet once and for all. I’ve said that a thousand times!” the brutal man’s voice said. “Why should he be bothered? This can hardly be good for him.”

She was startled and hushed the man. “He can hear you, Terje!”

“So what? Surely you don’t imagine that he’ll ever get better?”

The door was slammed.

Eskil lay for a long time, listening to the child’s moans, which abated little by little and finally quietened down completely.

My God, he thought, what’s going on? That poor, poor child! And the parents! Naturally, Eskil felt an urge to help like everybody else, just as everybody imagines that he or she is just the one to be able to. However, in this particular instance, it seemed completely futile.

Dawn broke through the small window. Eskil got up and looked out. It must have been very early because the dew lay like cobwebs all over the grass outside. He could see only a small part of the yard, because the stables blocked his view of the rest. Whatever Terje Jolinssøn was, he must be a hardworking man. Everything emanated, if not affluence, then energy and hard work on the farm.

A cock crowed on a neighbouring farm. Eskil walked back to his bed and lay down to sleep again.

When he woke up, he could hear activity in the house so he washed himself and got dressed. Terje was in the kitchen when he went down. He was sitting at the table, mopping up grease from his plate with a crust of bread. Eskil said good morning and was offered a seat at the table, which was laid for three. Since one place had been used, Eskil sat down at the third.

“Has your wife gone out?” he asked politely.

“She’s not my wife but my sister-in-law,” replied Terje. “She’s feeding the child.”

“She’s a widow then?”

“Yes, my brother’s. I let her stay here because she has nowhere else to go. Besides, it’s good to have a housekeeper. Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

Eskil lied: “Yes, I slept like a log. All through the night.”

Terje nodded, satisfied.

A young, but mature, woman came into the kitchen and greeted Eskil politely. She had many of the same features as the other people he had met in Eldafjord. Unlike Terje’s eyes, hers radiated warmth and humour – though sadly overshadowed by sorrow – and a zest for life that Eskil found really engaging.

She was probably around thirty. Beautiful, with dark eyes. Or rather, they seemed dark but were actually bright. Her complexion around her eyes was dark, which suited her. She didn’t give an impression of being exhausted or weak. Nevertheless, her facial features betrayed a tragedy.

“It’s so nice to have a guest in the house,” she smiled. “I hope you’ll have a long stay with us.”

Terje screwed up his eyes. “What’s your reason for coming to Eldafjord in the first place, Eskil?” Once again, Eskil spoke of the man he had met so long ago, the one who had boasted about Eldafjord and made him curious. He had to admit it: his expectations had been met. This place was magical!

Terje leaned forward, picking at a piece of bread that lay on the table. Eskil thought that Terje’s voice contained a veiled threat: “This man – did he say anything else about Eldafjord?”

The woman, whose name was Solveig, had stopped moving abruptly. She looked frightened. What was Eskil to say? How much ought he to reveal? How well known was the story about Jolin’s treasure? Should the man Eskil had met many years ago have known about it?

Terje’s eyes were sly and the woman stood stock-still as they waited for Eskil’s reply. He gave a strained laugh and shrugged his shoulders: “No, what would that be? All he said was that this place is beautiful. And I was in Western Norway anyway. Or, wait ...”

He pretended to think. “No, perhaps it wasn’t him.”

“What do you mean?” asked Terje.

“I think I’m mixing up two different people. When I was a child, somebody told me about ...”

Suddenly, Eskil was on his guard. Terje and Solveig were too attentive.

“No, no,” he said with a deprecating gesture. “I mixed everything up. That had nothing to do with Eldafjord.”

Terje dropped the topic reluctantly. His sister-in-law, Solveig, heard a sound from within the house and hurried off. Terje got up from his chair immediately.

“If you’ve finished eating, perhaps you would like to look around?”

“Yes, I would like that!”

Like most people who lived in the country, Terje took his beret from a hook on the wall. Indoors you would be bare headed, but when you went outside, you would put something on your head, no matter how cold or warm it was. This was how people were brought up from childhood. Eskil wasn’t so particular about things like that, but he felt a bit bare on his head.

They went outside. At the door, Eskil stopped abruptly.

“Fantastic!” he exclaimed spontaneously.

“Yes, I agree, but it won’t make you rich,” Terje replied. “Still, it’s a place worth visiting for city-dwellers. See the snow-clad mountains, the meadows covered with small, white flowers. And the blue colours everywhere – the fjord, the mountainsides, the sky ... even the air!”