Читать книгу The Song of the Blood-Red Flower - Johannes Linnankoski - Страница 3

Table of Contents

The setting sun shone on the wooded slopes of the hill. He clasped the nearest trees in a burning embrace, offered his hand to those farther off, and gave to them all a sparkling smile.

There was joy on the hillside.

The summer wind told fairy tales from the south. Told of the trees there, how tall they are, how dense the forests, and the earth, how it steams in the heat. How the people are dark as shadows, and their eyes flashing with light. And all the trees in the wood strained their ears to listen.

The cuckoo perched in the red-blossomed pine, near the reddest cluster of all. "It may be as lovely as lovely can be," cuckooed he, "but nowhere does the heart throb with delight as in Finland forests in spring, and nowhere is such music in the air."

All the hillside nodded approvingly.

In a little glade half-way down the slope some newly-felled firs lay tumbled this way and that—their red-blossomed tops were trembling still.

On one of the stems a youth was seated.

He was tall and slender, as the trees he had just felled. His hat swung on a twig, coat and waistcoat were hung on a withered branch. His strong brown chest showed behind the white of the open shirt; the upturned sleeves bared his powerful, sunburnt arms. He sat leaning forward, looking at his right arm, bending and stretching it, watching the muscles swell and the sinews tighten under the skin.

The young man laughed.

He caught up his axe, held it straight out at arm's length, and flourished it gaily.

"Twenty-five down already, and the axe as light as ever!"

The cuckoo called. The young man looked toward the top of the hill. "A wonderful spring," he thought. "Never have the trees flowered so blood-red and bright, nor the brook sung so merrily, nor the cuckoo called so near. 'T would be no surprise to see the wood-sprite herself come out from the trees."

He rested his head in his hands.

"Some say they never come nowadays, but Grandfather, he's seen them himself. They're grown shy, now that the woods are being cleared."

"Come, strawberry blossom,

Come, raspberry blossom,

Come, little cows,

It is late."

The sound came from the other side of the hill, like a tinkle of silver bells on a lonely winter road.

The young man's heart beat faster. He started up, and turned towards the sound, holding his breath to listen. But he heard nothing more, save the heavy throbbing in his breast.

He took a few steps forward and stopped. "Will she come this way, or. … "

"Come, summer star,

Come, little cows,

Hurry home."

It seemed quite close now, just beyond the ridge.

"Coming—she is coming this way!" He hurried on again, but, startled at his own impatience, stopped once more, stepped back, and stood with his eyes fixed on the crest of the hill.

Something golden shone through the trees, something that fluttered in the wind. Below the gold a white blouse, a slender waist, and then a blue skirt.

"The fairy of the forest!"

The girl was standing on the hilltop. She shaded her eyes, and began walking toward the farther slope. What now? He was on the point of racing after her, then jumped on to a tree stem, and put his hands to his mouth as if to shout. Suddenly he dropped his hands and stood irresolute. Then he jumped down, picked up his axe, mounted the stem again, and looked at the girl intently.

"Wait till she gets to the big fir yonder; then if she doesn't look round, I'll give one blow of the axe and see if she'll hear."

The girl walked on—the axe was raised. …

"Come, summer star. … "

She turned round, and caught sight of him, started, and stopped, blushing as she stood.

"Olof!"

"Annikki!"

He sprang down and hastened toward the girl.

She too came nearer.

"You here? And never said a word! How you frightened me!"

"I was just going to call when you turned round."

They shook hands, heartily, as comrades.

"Look!" he cried eagerly; "isn't it just like a palace all round—the castle of Tapio, and I'm the lord of the castle, and you're the forest fairy, come to visit me. And your clothes smell of the pine woods, and there's a scent of birch in your hair, and you come playing on a shepherd's pipe, music sweet as honey. … "

The girl looked up in astonishment. "What—what makes you talk like that?"

He stopped in some perplexity. "'Tis the forest talks so. But now you must come in—right in to the palace."

They went through to the middle of the clearing.

"And have you felled all those, all by yourself?" She cast a warm glance at his sunburnt neck and powerful shoulders. "How strong you are!"

The boy stepped on more briskly.

"There! Now we're in the palace. And here's the seat of honour—isn't it fine? And here's a bench at the side—but a guest must always have the seat of honour."

"And what about the master of the house?" asked the girl, with a laugh.

"He'll sit on the bench, of course."

They smiled at each other.

"And see, it's decked out all ready, with sprays of green and red fir blossoms."

"Yes, indeed—a real palace. It's two years now since we had a talk together, and now to meet in a palace … !"

"We've not seen much of each other, it's true," said he, with a ring of remembrance in his voice. "And we used to be together whole summers in the old days. Do you remember how you were mistress of the house, with twenty-five milch cows in the shed, and as many sheep as Jacob at the end of his last year's service?"

"Yes, yes, I remember." Her blue eyes sparkled, and the two young people's laughter echoed over the hillside.

The forest woke from his dreams, and stopped to listen to the tale of the children at play.

"And how we played snowballs on the way home from school? And your hair was all full of snow, and I took it down—do you remember?—and did it up again in the middle of the road."

"Yes, and did it all wrong; and the others laughed."

The trees winked at one another as if they had never beard such talk before.

"And the confirmation classes after!" said the girl warmly. "Oh, I shall never forget that time—the lovely summer days, and the shady birches near the church. … "

The trees nodded. The house with a cross on top—all they had heard of it was the bell that rang there, and the big firs had wondered what it was. Now here were human beings themselves telling what went on inside.

"And you've grown up to a great big girl since then! It seems so strange—as if you were the same and not the same."

"And you!" The gentle warmth of a woodland summer played in the girl's blue eyes. "A tall, big woodcutter you've grown."

They were silent for a while.

The trees listened breathlessly.

A warm flood rose in the young man's breast—like a summer wave washing the sands of an untrodden shore.

The girl's kerchief had fallen from her head. He picked it up and gave it to her. Through the thin stuff their fingers touched; the youth felt a thrill in every limb. Suddenly he grasped her hands, his eyes gazing ardently into hers.

"Annikki!" he whispered. He could find no words for the tumult in his veins. "Annikki!" he gasped again, entreatingly.

A faint flush had risen to her cheeks, but her glance met his calmly and frankly. She pressed his hand in answer.

"More than anyone else in all the world?" he asked passionately.

She pressed his hand again, more warmly still.

He was filled with joy, yet somehow uneasy and confused. He wanted to say something—warm, fervent words. Or do something—throw himself at her feet and clasp her knees—anything. But he dared not.

Then his eyes fell on one of the treetops close by He slipped one hand free, and broke off a cluster of blood-red flowers.

"Take them—will you? In memory of how you came to the castle—to

Tapiosborg."

"Olofsborg," she laughed.

The word broke the spell. They looked at each other, and again their laughter rang through the woods.

He drew closer to her side, and tried to fasten the red flowers at her breast. But as he bent down, his hair touched hers. He felt it first as a soft, secret caress, hardly daring to believe it, then it was like a burning current through his body, that stayed tingling like fire in his veins. His breath seemed to choke him, his heart felt as if it would burst. Passionately he threw his arms about her and held her close.

The girl blushed. She made no resistance, but hid her troubled face against his shoulder.

He pressed her closer. Through her thin blouse he could feel her blood burning against his breast. He felt his senses going, a painful weakness seemed to stifle him, as if only a violent movement could give him breath. Feverishly he clenched his left hand, that was round her waist; with his right beneath her chin he raised her head.

"Annikki!" he whispered, his lips still nearer. "Only one. … "

She drew away, shaking her head, and looked at him reproachfully.

"How can you ask? You know—you know it wouldn't be right."

"Then you don't care for me, as you said!" he cried passionately, as if accusing her of faithlessness.

The girl burst into tears, her slight shoulders quivering. The cluster of flowers fell to the ground.

"My flowers … " she cried.

A flush of shame burned in the young man's cheek. As if stricken powerless, his hands loosed their hold, and he set the girl down by his side.

She was trembling still. He gazed at her helplessly, as one who has done wrong without intent.

"Annikki!" he said imploringly. "Forgive me, Annikki. I don't know what made me do it. If you only knew how sorry I am."

The girl looked up, smiling through her tears. "I know—I know you would never try to hurt me."

"And you'll be just the same now—as if nothing had happened—will you?"

He took her hand, and his eyes sought hers. And trustingly she gave him both.

"May I put them there again?" he asked shyly, picking up the flowers from the ground.

The girl laughed; the blossom laughed.

"And then I must go—mother is waiting."

"Must you?"

They rose to their feet, and he fastened the blossoms at her breast.

"How good you are!" he said, with a sense of unspeakable joy and thankfulness.

"And you too. … Good-bye, Olof."

"Good-bye—fairy!"

He stood in the clearing, watching her as she went, till the last glimpse of her had vanished between the trees.

She turned round once, and the red flowers in her white blouse burned like the glow of the setting sun on a white cloud.

"I'll fell no more to-day," said the youth, and sat down on a fallen tree, with his head in his hands.