Shallow Soil Part 29

Tidemand was at the tiller and could not be dislodged; he sailed the boat and did not utter a syllable. He looked well as he stood high in the stern, rising and falling against the blue background of sea and sky. His wife called to him once and asked him if he were cold, an attention he could hardly believe and therefore pretended not to hear.

"He is deaf," she said smilingly. "Are you cold Andreas?"

"Cold? Not at all," he called back.

And by and by the party reached the jetty.

Hardly had Ojen stepped ash.o.r.e before he called a cab. He was in a hurry to get home and find his ma.n.u.script or learn the worst. He could not rest until he knew his fate. But perhaps he would meet the company later on.

Would they be at Sara's?

They looked at each other uncertainly and did not know what to say. But Ole Henriksen declared that he was going home; he was thinking of Tidemand, who was in need of rest and quiet. They parted outside Tidemand's house.

Mrs. Hanka asked abruptly, before even the door was opened:

"Will you please let me have a hundred or so?"

"A hundred? Hm. Certainly. But you will have to come with me to the office; I haven't got the money here."

In the office he handed her the bill; his hand was trembling violently.

"Here is the money," he said.

"Thanks--Why are you trembling?" she asked.

"Oh--I suppose because I have held the tiller so long--Hm. Listen, Hanka, I have a pleasant surprise for you! You have asked me a number of times to consent to a divorce; I have decided in G.o.d's name to do what you ask--You understand, I am not going to oppose you any more."

She could hardly believe her ears. Did he agree to a divorce? She gazed at him; he was deathly pale, his eyes were lowered. They were standing opposite each other, the large desk between them.

He continued:

"Circ.u.mstances are different now--My big speculation has failed; even if I am not a bankrupt this moment, I am a poor man. I may avoid closing up shop, but that will be all. Anyway, I shall not be able to keep up this mode of life. And, this being so, I feel that I have no right to interfere with your plans and desires any longer."

His words reached her as from afar. For a moment she felt a vague sensation of happiness--she was free; she would escape the yoke that had become oppressive; she would be a girl once more! Hanka Lange--imagine, only Hanka Lange! And when she realised that her husband was almost a bankrupt it did not greatly upset her; he had said he might not be forced to shut down. Of course, he was not wealthy, but neither was he a beggar; it might have been a great deal worse.

"Is that so?" she said simply; "is that so?"

Pause. Tidemand had regained his composure; he stood again as he had stood aboard the yacht; one could almost see the tiller in his hand. His eyes were on her. She had not said no; her intentions were evidently not shaken. Well, he had hardly expected that they would be.

He said:

"Well, that was all I wanted to tell you."

His voice was remarkably even, almost commanding; she thought: "He has not spoken to me like that in three years." His strength was marvellous to behold.

"Well, do you really want to?" she asked. "You think, then, that we ought to separate? Of course, but--I hope you have thought it over--that you are not doing this simply to please me?"

"It goes without saying that I do it to please you," he answered. "You have requested it often enough, and I sincerely regret that I have opposed you until now." And he added without a trace of malice: "You must forgive me for having interfered with your wishes so long."

She grew attentive at once.

"I don't know what you mean," she said a trifle haughtily.

He did not care about that and did not answer. Hadn't she spoken about a divorce time and time again? Hadn't he put her off? Perfectly composed, he opened his coat and took out his pocket calendar, in which he proceeded to make an entry.

She could not help being impressed by this quiet superiority, which she never before had noticed in him; she happened to say:

"I think you have changed greatly."

"Oh, well, one gets a little grey, but--"

"No, you misunderstand me!" she interrupted.

Tidemand said slowly and looked straight into her eyes:

"I wish to G.o.d you had understood me as well as I have you, Hanka!

Perhaps, then, this would not have become necessary." He b.u.t.toned his coat as if preparing to leave, and added: "Now, in regard to the money--"

"Yes, dear, here is the money!" she said, and wanted to give him back the bill.

For the first time since their interview he tossed his head impatiently and said:

"I am not talking about _that_ money now! Kindly make at least an effort to understand me--Whatever money you need shall be sent you as soon as you inform me where to send it."

"But, dear me," she said in confusion, "do I have to go away? I thought I could stay in the city. What do you want me to do?"

"Whatever is agreeable to you. You will let the children remain here, won't you? I shall take good care of them; you need not worry about that.

As for yourself, I suppose you will want to take an apartment somewhere.

You know it takes three years, don't you?"

She was standing with the bill in her hand, gazing at it abstractedly. She was unable to think clearly; her mind was whirling; but deep down she had a vague feeling of relief--she was free at last! She said nothing; he felt his self-control give way and wanted to get it over with quickly so as not to break down.

"Good-bye, then--" He could say no more, but offered her his hand; she took it. "I hope we shall see each other occasionally; but I want to thank you now for everything; this may be the last chance I shall have--I shall send you the money every month." And he put on his hat and went to the door.

She followed him with her eyes. Was this Andreas?

"Well, I suppose you want to go," she said, bewildered, "and I am standing here delaying you. I suppose we shall have to do as you say--I don't know what I am saying--" Her voice broke suddenly.

Tidemand opened the door with trembling hands and let her out. At the foot of the stairs she stopped and let him walk ahead. When he reached the landing he waited for her; then he opened the door with his key and held it for her. When she was inside he said:

"Good night, then!"

And again Tidemand walked down-stairs, down to his office, where he shut himself in. He went over to the window and stood there, his hands clasped behind him, staring out into the street with unseeing eyes. No, she had not changed her mind in the least, that was not to be expected. She had not hesitated. There she had stood, with her elbow on the desk; she had heard what he said and she had replied; "Well, I suppose we shall have to do as you say." There had been no hesitation, no, none at all.... But she had not exulted, either; she had spared him from witnessing any outburst of joy. She had been considerate--he had to admit that. Oh, Hanka was always considerate; G.o.d bless her wherever she went! She had stood there.

Hanka, Hanka!... But probably she was rejoicing now; why shouldn't she be? She had had her way.... And the children were asleep now, both Ida and Johanna. Poor little things; they did not even reach up to their pillows!

Well, they would be provided for. One might be getting a little grey, but there was still a fight or two left....

And Tidemand went back to his desk. He worked over his books and papers until daylight.