Читать книгу Egholm and his God - Buchholtz Johannes - Страница 4

But Egholm was so shaken by his interview with the Angel that he did not go round to the Deacon after all. The Deacon was a pottery worker, living at a village just outside the town.

He went back home to look again and make sure it was right. He clutched the Bible tightly under his arm as he walked, as if in dread lest the all-important text might drop out.

Yes, there it was. He read through the passage again in wonder, and fell to musing anew.

That same evening Evangelist Karlsen came round.

Egholm shook his head nervously.

“It’s no good, Karlsen. No. I’m not going to give in.”

Young Karlsen stood staring open mouthed.

“No. I’ve settled up with myself once and for all. I won’t give in. I know well enough what you’ve come for.”

“But, my dear friends, what on earth are you talking about? Anything wrong?”

“Karlsen, you know as well as I do it’s your father sent you round,” said Egholm almost pleadingly.

“I swear I know nothing of the sort. I’ve only just got back this evening. From Veile. Know Justesen, the horsedealer, there? Been seeing him. And then on the way – I’ve been dragging my bag along, and it’s heavy. I thought I’d just look in for a breather.”

“Let Sivert carry it for you,” said Fru Egholm.

“No, thanks, it’s all right outside on the stairs. I never like to leave it very long.”

Egholm put his hand to his eyes; the cracked and furrowed countenance of the Evangelist always distracted his attention. Then he began telling of his discovery – first, in mysterious roundabout hints, then suddenly breaking out into fiery declamation, with the open book before him, and his finger-nail underlining the words.

Karlsen was thunderstruck. And he thought he knew his Bible… Never in his life had he come across that place. He stamped about the room, spitting into all four corners.

Egholm went further; he drew up an outline of the new laws, the entire reorganisation…

“It’ll be a hard struggle for me, I know. But I’ll…”

“Oh, we’ll manage it all right,” said Karlsen cheerfully.

“Eh? D’you mean to say … you’re on my side?”

“Oh, I’m on the side of the Bible, of course.”

And there was Egholm with the enemy’s leading general won over, without a blow!

“It’s the only thing to do, anyway,” explained Karlsen, “as things are now. There’s been some talk about you having my place when I moved up. But I don’t know what they’ll say to that now…”

“Me! Evangelist!” Egholm turned stiff all over.

“Yes,” said Karlsen quietly.

“I’ve never heard a word about it before.”

“Well, the Elders have gathered together… But it was to be a surprise, you understand?”

“Yes, yes,” murmured Egholm faintly. Again it overwhelmed him for the moment, but he recovered himself, and said, with a laugh:

“Who knows, they might make me Angel now.”

“Almost sure to, I should say,” opined the dark Evangelist.

Egholm felt calm and strong now, no longer dizzy as he had been during the morning. And Karlsen was really a jolly sort, after all. Here he was, actually gloating over the face his respected father, the Angel, would set up when the bombshell burst.

The upshot of it was that they worked out a plan together.

Egholm was to prepare a grand speech for the meeting next Wednesday. Karlsen knew – now he came to think of it – quite a lot of first-rate texts that could be used, in support of the new discovery.

“But don’t you think” – Egholm lowered his voice confidentially – “wouldn’t it be better if I went round to the Brethren, and just let them know how it stands?”

Karlsen pondered.

“H’m. I should say, the best way’s to take the whole congregation by surprise, all at once. Better effect, you know, when you can stand there and throw out a hand and there it is! And you’ve quite a decent platform manner, to my mind.”

“Yes,” agreed Egholm, beaming.

“Anyhow, I’ll trot round and tackle a few of the thickest heads myself. I’ve a certain amount of influence, you know, and authority, and all that. I know how to manage them.”

“Why, then, it’s as good as done!” Egholm’s voice was almost a song.

“Easy as winking,” said Karlsen confidently.

“You don’t know how glad I am you came over to the right side at once.”

“Oh, never mind about that. You can always do me a little service some time in return.”

They stayed up till nearly midnight. Egholm strode up and down, filling the room with words. Possibly he was already rehearsing for the coming Wednesday. Karlsen smoked, and drank many cups of black coffee. The children hung over the table, limp and heavy with drowsiness, casting greedy glances at the settee. Their mother tore at her sewing more violently than usual, and sighed aloud.

At last Karlsen took his leave. Egholm could not bear to break off even then, but went out with him. He waved his arms in the air, and tripped about, now and then actually circling round his companion as they walked.

Did he think, now, the Bible Society would care to have a dissertation on the two conflicting points? There ought, at any rate, to be some kind of indication, an asterisk, say, in the first place, to save others from confusion.

Karlsen thought they very likely would.

The street lamps glowed red in the fog. A policeman appeared at a corner, waved to them cheerfully, and said sympathetically: “Get along home; that’s the best place for you.”

“Thinks we’re drunk,” said Egholm, and stopped for breath. “But – we’ve been talking, and never thought … your bag. We’ve forgotten all about it.”

“Bag? Oh yes… No; that’s all right. I spotted the old man’s cart just outside the station, and sent it home by that.”

“Good! Then that’s all right.” Egholm’s thoughts were at once occupied with something else. His brain was fluttering with innumerable winged thoughts.

“Well, better say good-night.”

“Good-night, Karlsen. And thanks, thanks. You shall be Angel, if I can put in a word.”

Egholm looked round, confused. Where had they got to now? These big houses … it wasn’t the way…

“I’ll see you right home,” he offered.

“Well – er – I’m not exactly going home just yet,” said the Evangelist, with some embarrassment. “Just a hand at cards with a few friends, that’s all.” He sighed guiltily. “But if I do win a kroner, say, it means ten øre to the Brethren… Oh, I forgot, that’s all over now, of course.”

“But – d’you mean to say there’s anybody up at this time of night?” asked Egholm in astonishment.

“Only a couple of friends – Brethren in the Lord.”

“But where?”

“In the red room at the Hotel Postgaarden,” said Karlsen innocently.