In God's Way Part 33

This grieved him much; he stood there, the embodiment of an earnest entreaty to be allowed to stay. She, too, perceived the change in him; Kallem took her hand and she grew calmer. The longer he stood there, the more she felt pity for him. He had suffered, he was a good lad; she tried to smile at him, even stretched out her poor wasted hand. Karl looked at Kallem, but did not take her hand, nor did he advance a single step; but his agitation increased, and, as though she would quiet it, she whispered: "Good Karl!" He went away.

He was very quiet and silent after this visit, just as though he were brooding over some plan or purpose. He talked still less to Kallem, and not at all to anyone else. Every morning he was allowed to be up-stairs for a little while; he played for her down-stairs, but otherwise went about alone the whole day.

As he was playing one morning, she could tell by the first few chords that it was something of his own. Once or twice before she had heard some sc.r.a.ps of his own composition; now he had adopted a different method, but the originality of his talent suffered by it. This new piece was a beginning to something greater, a wild introduction full of stormy pa.s.sions! Heavens! thought she, it must be meant for himself.

After the cras.h.i.+ng storm there came a calm, and a melody arose, simple and touching; can that be meant for me? Then there came shrieks and yells breaking in upon this peaceful little melody; a few bars of melody and several bars of lamentation and crying, the first air rus.h.i.+ng and mingling with the other, all done in a natural sort of way--almost too natural, for it became irresistibly comical. She had to be careful not to laugh, for she could not stand that sort of thing.

She looked at Sissel Aune to ask her to hurry down and put an end to it; but Sissel Aune's clever face expressed so much astonishment on hearing these most natural shrieks. Dear, dear, can people scream like that in music too? The last hidden remains of Ragni's old merry humour broke out in a few peals of laughter, a few more, and then the cough!

Again the cough, and again and again, a worse fit than she had ever had before.

Through his playing, Karl heard the bell rung down to the kitchen; he heard Sigrid rush up-stairs and come tearing down again calling for the doctor. Karl knew that he had just gone across to the hospital, and ran off himself, without hat or coat; he could not find him at once, so they did not get back before the fit was over. There was a greater quant.i.ty of blood than usual. Kallem was much alarmed, Karl could see, for he had gone up-stairs after him almost unconsciously. He retired, though, immediately.

Later in the morning her room was aired, but Kallem stayed there all the time; Karl pa.s.sed by outside, and heard him talking, so he ventured to peep in. Ragni lay there much exhausted, but Kallem had just asked her if she did not feel any better? She caught a glimpse of Karl, with his great, big, frightened face. She recollected how she had laughed at him, and she had heard from Kallem that in his fright he had run to fetch him without either coat or hat. She made a sign to Kallem that Karl was to come in. She smiled at him, even raised her hand a little, just a very little; was it to thank him? He ventured to draw nearer, he would take her hand to-day. He would do more, he would bend down over it; there came a look into his eyes. Kallem, who was standing at her right, saw it; saw, too, that it was the hand she was holding the handkerchief in that he would have bent over and perhaps kissed; he hastened to say:

"Do not do that, Karl."

Karl drew himself up again and looked at them both; but again there came that strange look in his eyes, and in an instant he seized both hand and handkerchief and kissed them both. Before anything could be said, he stood upright again as though he would challenge them all, or had done some mighty deed of valour. Ragni lay there with eyes devoid of hope or understanding; she could not take in his warlike att.i.tude, his high-flown purpose, but only felt the more convinced of his terrible instability. Karl had vanished.

If his wish were to die with her, it was a mistaken calculation, which, under other circ.u.mstances, would have been amusing, since she had just been tidied and arranged after her attack and had had a fresh handkerchief given her. But Kallem thought only that what is ordered for the best only makes mad folk still madder--she had been much startled.

As soon as he could, he went in search of Karl. He found him with his overcoat on, hurrying out. But Kallem called out:

"Where are you going to?"

Karl did not answer; he was excited and only thought of getting away, Kallem drew him into the room, placed himself in front of him and looked steadily at him, then put his arm round his neck. Upon this, Karl burst into tears. He complained that he was altogether impossible; n.o.body ever wanted him and he was fit for nothing. For long Kallem could not get in a word; the other would not let himself be comforted; his misery and worthlessness were too great, and he was utterly without talent. He had that morning been playing his latest composition, originated like none other, out of his own life; the most true that he could produce, and it had seemed to him to be comical, terribly comical! Ah ha! thought Kallem, is it that; that is the matter?

And it was that. He could feel in her presence how she judged him!

Kallem saw his mistake in having let him come to them at all; he thought with horror of all Ragni must formerly have gone through with him. He had considerable difficulty himself in keeping him in order just now.

One day he said to her--she had just been asking after Karl--"You evidently have had more trouble with him than I had the slightest idea of." She closed her eyes, then opened them again smiling.

Karl did not come to see her any more, did not even ask to be allowed to do so. He could not play during all this self-torture; Kallem had almost to threaten him before he could succeed in hearing any of his own little pieces. At last he agreed, but with closed doors; Ragni, however, heard them and thought them very pretty; so did Kallem. Karl became quite happy again at this; some of his self-a.s.surance returned, and by degrees he became more agreeable.

When once Kallem had got everything quiet and in order, his turn came.

He fought manfully, but not always with success, and Karl felt there were others besides himself who suffered, and others to be thought of too. A total change came over him. He now only lived for Kallem, full of care and thought for him. There was one mode of comforting him that never failed; this he often had recourse to. It was to speak of Ragni and give an impressive description of her. He could paint beautiful pictures of all the peculiarities of her nature and person; could artistically depict some action or word of hers with such adoring fervour, that it was balm to Kallem's feelings; he stood in need of the warming rays of sympathy, for he was sinking with despair at her increasing weakness. She could not even keep her head on the pillow; it fell either to one side or the other, her eyes had an ethereal look, that seemed to spiritualize everything she gazed at; her thin, silent lips were half open on account of the difficulty in her breathing; as she lay there in that white room, between the white sheets and in that white gown, she was like some gasping fledgling in a deserted, downy nest. Often when Kallem left the room, unable to restrain his grief, or from over-fatigue, it was Karl who persuaded him to rest, or found the right word to comfort, or sing endless praises of her.

She could not talk much, indeed she felt no inclination to do so; but, when she did speak, she showed that she did not for a moment mistake her state--as consumptive people generally do. One day she made a sign to Kallem to bend down closer to her. "Kristen Larssen," she whispered, "there in that corner." She smiled and added: "I am not afraid of him any more now." Another time she sent for Kallem only to say. "You must not feel anger toward anyone--for my sake." She mentioned no name.

Kallem pressed her hand; her eyes flashed on him in rapturous joy.

Sometimes she tried to smile, a thing no longer in her power. If she remarked his tears, she would beckon to him, and put her fingers through his hair. Once while so doing he thanked her for everything, from their first meeting till this moment--she tried to pull his hair; he was not to say those kind of things.

Since then they scarcely spoke. They used the language of the eyes, with pressure of the hands. They were one in their grief, and had no thought left unuttered. The grat.i.tude they felt toward each other, the horror of an approaching separation, could not be expressed in words.

The hour was at hand.

One evening they heard Sissel ring, and ring and ring. Sigrid rushed up, after her Kallem and Karl; the latter remained outside! He could hear that it was a fit of coughing, a terrible one again. He could not conceive that she still had so much strength; each separate cough seemed to stab his breast; it cut right through him and crushed him; the cold sweat broke out on him when he heard her groans of pain; he could not bear to listen, yet he dared not go away. Probably this was her last hour. He heard how Sigrid was weeping, and heard her say: "Oh mistress! mistress!"--and soon after: "She is dying!" He opened the door. The first thing he saw was blood, and he sank to the ground fainting.

When he came to himself, he was lying on his bed; Sigrid was sitting beside him crying. This was the first thing he remarked; then suddenly he remembered everything and asked: "Is she dead?"

"The doctor thinks it will soon be over."

Later on they were both allowed to go in. There she lay in her bed as if asleep, white as the sheets she lay on. Kallem was holding her hand; as they entered they could not see his face, only the heaving of his shoulders, and hear his groans. Sissel stood at the other side. How wonderful it was to see the different degrees of grief. Although her strong, open features were full of sympathy, still they belonged to an outsider; she seemed removed miles from Kallem's silent despair.

"Is she dead?" whispered Sigrid. Sissel shook her head. And Ragni heard the question; she looked up. She exerted her last strength to please them; she tried--one can't say to smile, for that was beyond her power now; no, she wished to send them some last message. It lighted on Sigrid and Karl; but she at once transferred it to Kallem. A moment after she was dead.

The others left the room; Kallem still sat on. When he went down, he found no one. Karl had gone to his room, Sissel and Sigrid were sitting together in the latter's room. The kitchen was empty; rooms empty, office empty. He had promised to read something she had written, yes, there it lay under Karl's letter, and on it was written: "By and by."

But he could not read it now, scarcely, indeed, as long as she still lay in the house. He went up to her book-shelf and gazed at it--the image of her own self. How often had he done this before and smiled at the t.i.tles of the books. His eyes now fell on "Vildanden" by Henrik Ibsen. He was so tall, that, looking at it from above, it seemed to him there was a gap between the last leaves, so he took out the book. Just fancy, she had cut out the leaves where Hedvig's sad story is about to close, where she shoots herself, and all that follows after that. Cut it right out; it ought never to have happened.

Nothing could have affected him more. He threw himself down on the sofa, and his sobs were like those of an ill-used child. Of course she was too refined and too timid; the world we have to battle in is still too rough; it must improve before such as she can live in it. She tried to take from it all she did not like; but it was she who was taken.

XI.

Some days before the Sunday on which the struggle between Ole and Josephine about little Edward's education had taken place, he had had a cough. That evening he was not quite well, so was kept indoors.

In a few days he was out again and seemed very bright; but one evening he was feverish and cross, with a dry cough, and so was kept in on the following days. Accustomed as he was to be in the open air, he grew fretful and lost his appet.i.te; Josephine had many a fight with him and at last had to be severe. Then he began whimpering and wanted to go to his grandmother; that was not allowed. But when his grandmother came to see him, he was cross and peevish and went off to his father. But he came back again crying; he had not been allowed to pull out the books from the lower shelves to build a house with.

So he was put to bed feverish and cross; complained that when he coughed it hurt him again in the right side of his chest; during the night he was in a high fever, raving about Kristen Larssen; that he was chasing all the boys and was going to carry them off to h.e.l.l in a big bag.

Josephine doctored him with compresses of turpentine, etc.; but in the morning, when his father came up to see him, she begged that the doctor might be sent for.

Kent was their family doctor; he was not able to come before the evening, and found that the boy had pleurisy in the right side. All that Josephine had done was quite correct; he himself gave some orders respecting the necessary diet, and prescribed a mixture to be taken every other hour, also that if the fever increased so that his temperature rose higher than 39 degrees Centigrade, he was to be sent for.

The next few days the boy seemed better, had a little appet.i.te, coughed less; his temperature in the evening was never higher than 38 degrees.

G.o.d be praised!

Though the danger had only been very slight, both Tuft and Josephine felt it like a gentle pressure on the shoulder by an invisible hand! In this way they were forced to draw nearer to each other, and they sought opportunities of talking together--certainly it was only about the child's state; but something both in voice and manner seemed pleading for pardon.

His cough and the pain in the side decreased, and by degrees the boy grew visibly better; but his appet.i.te was not good; he still had a little fever every day, and he did not gain strength. They bought him some new toys which he was delighted with the first day; but the next day he was tired of them; he listened to the fairy tales which his father and mother told him by turns, without asking a single question; he took no notice of his grandmother's visits. Sometimes he would grow quite hot, and directly after felt quite cold. Kent was specially anxious because the child's temperature rose every evening; he began to give him quinine, then tried a blister! Josephine would not leave his bedside and could not bear to hear of anyone taking her place; neither did the child like anyone else to come near him.

However there was an improvement, and the minister said one evening, when they were sitting together after having tried the child's temperature: "We shall escape with a good fright, Josephine." She looked up at him; he put out his hand; she placed hers in it, but seemed half ashamed and took it away again.

Dr. Kent had told them that Fru Kallem was very ill; she could no longer leave her bedroom. Later on they heard from others that she suffered from decline; they each separately asked Dr. Kent, who told them that it was galloping consumption.

The minister did not mention it to Josephine; but he said to Kent that this would doubtless be a blessing for his brother-in-law; possibly he would now be less burdened and able to work his way higher up.

Josephine took it in quite a different way; he could see it by her increased reserve; only very rarely would she say a word or two to him.

Some time afterwards, as she was lying on her bed one afternoon and wondering how it would affect her brother if Ragni were to die--suddenly she saw him. At first she thought nothing of it; but it grew so excessively distinct. She saw him stretched at full length on a sofa in his office; she could see the whole room, curtains, bookshelves, books, desk, two tables, a large armchair, several half-opened books, and sheets of paper covered with writing lying side by side.... She saw each sheet, each little detail, and he himself in a brown suit of clothes which she did not know. But she had never been in the office since it was furnished, and had never seen that furniture, nor the curtains and carpet; but she had no doubt whatever that it was exactly as she saw it. At any other time this would have produced a strange impression; but now it was all swallowed up in the fact of her seeing him; for he was so worn and wasted by grief! The closer she looked at him, the worse it became. In such despair did he seem to be, that never before in her life, not even when their father died, had anything so moved her. She saw him tossing about sobbing bitterly; she saw him holding his hands clasped before him. At last she saw nothing but him, the agony of his eyes from under the busy brows and spectacles, and all around him a great waste.

She awoke bathed in cold perspiration and so exhausted that she could hardly lift a finger. From that time she seemed weighed down by a vague fear: it deprived her of sleep. Had this to do with her brother, or her boy? Little Edward lay there beside her, with laboured breathing and a cough that seemed to come from a distance. His high forehead seemed empty, his eye restless; his hands were no longer a small boy's rough little fists, they were ethereal. At times she would hasten up to him, just to be sure he was there. Ah me! it had come to that; but merciful heavens--surely she was not going to lose him? She seemed to recognize her brother's suffering in this of her own, and each time felt as though they were drawn together in it. Her boy's fate grew to be one with Ragni's. In wakeful nights and during anxious days, both these destinies became so entangled and interwoven that to her mind they seemed to depend on one decision.

Until now her religion had chiefly been a desire for freedom and an unflinching love of truth. In her great anxiety this became fatalism, unbending, mystical fate. Everything startled her; she was always seeing signs and warnings. It seemed as though the boy could only lie on the side that was affected, otherwise it pained him so that he cried out ... and each time she helped him, she could not make this out at all. She propped him up with air-cus.h.i.+ons; he replied by heartrending entreaties to be left in peace. She no longer knew what was right or wrong. He would not even let her come near his legs; he always wanted to have his knees bent and the one knee in a certain position over the other, ... and she had to yield to these inexplicable fancies and let herself be set aside as superfluous and troublesome. Was this to show her that she must accustom herself to the idea that she was always in the way?

In the end this would quite wear her out. Her fright from the last time she had moved him till the next time she would have to do it, would have been more than enough. But all the fancies and ideas she took into her head nearly drove her mad; she spoke to no one about it. This new phase with the legs seemed to her so hopelessly mystical in its unreasonableness, that it made her afraid of the boy; he was no longer her boy. Just by chance later on she discovered a good deal of swelling round the ankles. She had always heard that this was the beginning of the end; she could scarcely drag herself down the stairs to the study, where the minister sat in a cloud of smoke. He saw her enter pale and terrified in her white night-dress.

"My dear, what is the matter?" He listened to her, went up with her, and looked at the swelling, fell on his knees by the bedside, burying his face in his hands; he was praying. Across his father's head she heard the short hurried breathing of the little fellow, saw the s.h.i.+ning yet indifferent look he turned on him. She, too, would have prayed; but at that moment the boy pushed his father away with his hand; he could not bear the smell of tobacco. In that way he pushed her away from a possible prayer.

Dr. Kent's kind smile, his quiet, comforting a.s.surance that the illness was the same as when he first had discovered the inflammation, that no worse symptom had set in, and that the swelling probably came from the strained position of the knees, relieved them so that Josephine cried for joy. He examined various matters, thereby confirming what he had already said.