Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 26 - The Secret

Eskil had completely forgotten his anxiety from the night before. Eldafjord and its surroundings were just amazing.

Terje said: “Actually, city-dwellers are my biggest source of income. That’s why I’ve renovated an old house – and I thought that you and I should take a look at it. Perhaps you might like to rent a room there ...”

Eskil’s heart began to thump. “Well, why not?” He stopped himself: he had been about to make for the road that led to the hidden building up behind the forest. But he stopped in time and let Terje lead the way. He had been quite right – they walked up the hill.

Then Terje shocked him so much that he almost jumped up in the air. “That person who told you about the beautiful Eldafjord ... Did he happen to mention a treasure?”

Eskil could feel his face turning as red as a beetroot. He needed a minute to recover. Finally, he said slowly: “So it must have been him after all. Somebody did tell me about a treasure somewhere. It wasn’t until I was in the kitchen just now that it occurred to me that he might have had Eldafjord in mind. Only it didn’t make sense to me. The memory is so vague that it’s never stuck in my mind.”

He didn’t dare to check whether Terje believed him. He was walking with his head bent, pretending to be very focused on the spring flowers at the side of the road.

Terje said in a strained voice: “Yes, that’s quite right. It’s here at Eldafjord.”

“Is it true? I don’t remember the story in detail.”

Terje gave a bitter laugh, which didn’t sound good. “That’s why people come here, because they have heard about the treasure. It’s fine by me if they want to search for it, because I don’t believe it exists. Anyway, I earn money from the ones who come here.”

Eskil laughed: “It sounds like a good business. Where do you think the treasure is? How old is it, and what is it? I must say it sounds exciting.”

“It’s nothing but old wives’ tales. They say it dates from the seventeenth century, from the time of my ancestor. He was the one who built the house we’re on our way up to, the original part I mean. I’ve added to the building, and if I may say so, it’s a really nice house now. It’s true that old Jolin was rich, but a treasure ...? That’s something people have invented.”

As they walked through the forest in the beautiful spring morning, a thought occurred to Eskil. He was walking slightly behind Terje and when he looked at the man’s booted feet, Eskil felt that he was gliding away from reality: the worn soles of his boots moved rhythmically as if in a dream. He saw the grass and the earth they were walking on sticking to Terje’s boots, and yet to Eskil it was as if he was seeing it all in paintings, in pictures.

It was a strange feeling that Eskil couldn’t explain. A moment later it was all over, and he was back in reality once more. Terje Jolinssøn was very real and down-to-earth, and Eskil was walking up a road, nothing more.

“Anyway, I’ve no intention of searching for treasure,” he laughed nervously.

Terje turned to face Eskil. “You’re welcome to do so. People here have searched for centuries without finding anything. They have cut into walls and dug under floors; they even pulled the roof down once but without success.”

“But really, from the 1600s? That’s two centuries ago. How can a legend be kept alive for so long? What’s the foundation of the story?”

Terje replied: “I think it’s written down in an old almanac. Old Jolin hid all his belongings and his gold in his house. That’s all it says. I believe the book was found in the bishop’s palace of this diocese in the last century. I’ve never seen it, but we Jolin sons don’t believe in the story about the treasure.”

“So you’ve never searched for it yourself?”

Terje’s laughter sounded slightly false. “No, I haven’t! I put much more faith in what one can earn and achieve through hard work. Cause and effect. Agriculture, and building an attractive house for those who can pay to live there. My two older brothers were stupid enough to believe in the treasure, so they ended up doing nothing.”

They had arrived. Eskil looked up at the most elegant, well-maintained house he had ever seen. Every single detail had been carefully worked out so that the first floor, which was clearly a later addition, would blend with the very old ground floor. The house was beautiful.

“Jolinsborg,” said Terje flatly.

Eskil couldn’t explain why all the hairs on his neck and down his spine stood on end.

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