Читать книгу The Ice People 03 - The Stepdaughter - Margit Sandemo - Страница 8

Chapter 3

At long last Dag got the time to read the letters which Sol had brought with her from home. He began with the one from Liv, which he opened carefully and began to read:

“Dear Dag. I miss you dreadfully. Graastensholm is so empty without you. I go up and visit Aunt Charlotte from time to time, which makes her happy. Then she will speak about you, which also makes me happy. But I really do miss walks around the castle. I look up at the tower and remember the times we would stand up there and talk about life in the village down below and how people were no bigger than ants as they hurried about.

Why do we have to grow up, Dag?

I hear that you plan to marry a Miss Trolle. I am happy for you that you have found a person you can share your life with. I hope she will be kind to you. If not I will see to it that she IS! Nobody must treat my brother badly!

As for me, I have now said “yes” to Laurents Berenius, and I don’t think I’ll regret it. You have not met him but he is all one could wish for. Although he would never be able to understand our lives of poverty in the Valley of the Ice People. He is a man who has everything. He recently inherited his Dad’s successful company – and has German and Dutch ships arriving in Oslo with goods either to load or unload. Laurents takes care of all that. He is also very handsome and is a good conversationalist. He tends to be a bit too self-assured and the “I always know best” type of person if you know what I mean. He would never think of discussing his businesses with me, which is why I know so little about them. Nonetheless, he has always been wonderful to me and I am so overwhelmed by his attentiveness, which is embarrassing. I am not worthy of it all! But I would be a fool if I declined his proposal, and I DO like him so I am sure that I will have a good life with him. As you can imagine, it is difficult to resist such kindness.

We will get married the week after winter solstice. We all hope that you and Sol will be home by then.

Love to Miss Trolle and you.

Take care,

Liv.

Dag put the letter down. He sat for a moment, overcome by a feeling of discomfort. Then he picked up the next letter. It was from his mother, Charlotte, and contained the usual warnings and many words about how she missed him and felt lonely without him:

“Liv’s fiancée is absolutely delightful. I was the one who brought them together. They met here at Graastensholm and Laurents fell in love with Liv at first glance. No wonder! When I think about it, Liv is bound to be every man’s dream of a wife. I am so happy for her.

Silje, with her charming spelling mistakes, wrote about the forthcoming wedding:

“Tengel an me wer a bit worried for Liv is so yong. Te boy cannit wate to hav her. He is a terably gode match for our litel girl. She cannit find beter. Well, boi is not the rite word. He is a growen man. She move to Osslo an that good then not so far awei. You an Sol must com home to see the weding.

I wori so fo Sol – you now why. Look after her pleeze Dag! She haz ben wonderful thes five yeerz but now she iz so difficult. I thying her ansestri is shewing agin. But she wented to leev home.”

Tengel, who wasn’t used to writing, had added a few lines in his heavy handwriting, saying that they were all well but that they all missed Dag a lot.

Then there was a letter from Are. Little brother Are – he was growing up as well and probably a young man by now.

It wasn’t a proper letter as such, just a sketched plan of Linden Avenue, showing how he planned to enlarge and improve the outhouses – big plans, it would seem. But this would be no problem for Are. He was the right person to do the job. He had a mind of his own, and he always carried out what he set out to do.

Suddenly, as he finished reading the letters, Dag felt homesick again. He gathered the letters and felt he couldn’t get back to Linden Avenue and Graastensholm fast enough. But he knew that he wouldn’t be able to travel back for the wedding because it would be in the middle of term. And what about Sol? He knew only too well that she wouldn’t be able to make her leave until she’d really tasted everything that this new life had to offer.

Dag shared Silje’s anxiety. Sol wasn’t someone to be trusted on her own. This coming Saturday, Dag had planned to take her to a party and introduce her to some of his student friends. He already feared how things might turn out.

Anyway, she’d made a very good first impression on the Strahlenholm household.

Then he found himself wondering about Laurents Berenius ...

What did Liv really feel about him? What sort of an “I know best” scoundrel was he?

***

Sol’s eyes radiated when she looked about in the brightly lit inn that Dag’s friends had chosen as the place for their party.

They were seated round a long narrow table that showed signs of age in its blackened and worn surface. The people were all young, intellectual men with their sisters or cousins – they weren’t allowed to bring anybody that they weren’t related to. This would be considered low class and such a woman would be thought of as very low class. The ladies’ eyes sparkled and so did their pearls. Large plates were filled with food and the tankards filled to the brim.

Sol knew perfectly well that she attracted attention. Countess Strahlenhelm had let her borrow one of her old dresses, which was one of the most fantastic Sol had ever seen. She’d never felt more attractive than on this evening, and the admiring glances she was receiving from the young men told her in no uncertain way that she was beautiful.

But these boys didn’t interest her very much – except for one who’d caught her attention for other reasons.

“Dag,” she whispered to her brother, “what was it they said about that man over there? The one they called Preben?”

“Forget it,” said Dag putting a chicken drumstick on his plate.

“No, I want to know! They said something about black magic.”

“Sol,” he sighed, turning to her with a serious look on his face: “Do you really have to live life so dangerously?”

“I find it perfectly natural. Never mind, I’ll find out for myself.”

“No, you can’t go around asking people such pointed questions!” Then he paused, considering her question again: “Well, if you really have to know then I can tell you that he’s a member of an esoteric society here in Copenhagen.”

“Esoteric society, you say? Secret – members only, I suppose?”

“Probably – but you must keep away from them. Understand?”

“Yes, little brother,” she said piously as her eyes sought contact with Preben’s. “I understand.”

He wasn’t anything special to write home about. In fact, he had the kind of face that one forgot at once. He’d noticed, however, that Sol was showing an interest in him and later in the evening, after they’d exchanged numerous glances across the table, he approached her. By this time, Dag was elsewhere in the room. Unless Sol was mistaken, he was flirting with a young girl.

“They say that you’re Dag’s half-sister,” said Preben.

“Yes, something along those lines,” replied Sol. “We grew up together.”

“I’ve noticed your interest in my humble self. Might I ask the reason why?”

Sol couldn’t help smiling. “Well, it’s not because of your golden curls, for you have none!” she answered quickly. “Can’t you guess why?”

“Yes. I notice your remarkable eyes. My intuition tells me that you have the same interests as I do.”

Sol nodded. “Take me to one of your meetings!”

“We’re afraid of spies and informers.”

“Do I look like one?”

“Not at all,” he answered. “You look like one who’s drawn to mysticism.”

“I certainly am – in any case to what you call mysticism. For me it’s merely what’s obvious. But I yearn to mix with like-minded people. My whole life has been spent isolated in Norway. I want so very much to talk to others and learn more!”

He nodded self-importantly. “You’ll certainly learn things. You must be prepared for some quite frightening things to occur.”

Sol laughed quietly. “I’m not easily frightened.”

“As you wish. I’ll propose you at our next meeting, and if you’re accepted you can come the following day. But I warn you: These people know an awful lot about black magic. Do you have any references?”

“Only myself, and I think that should suffice. You could ask Dag, but I wouldn’t want you to do that. He’s not supposed to know everything I do here in Copenhagen.”

“Very well, then!”

***

The wedding between Liv and Laurents Berenius went as planned, but neither Sol nor Dag were able to make the journey home for it. The ships that sailed between Denmark and Norway were very sporadic and random, and there were none that would reach Norway in time for the wedding.

Liv was the gentlest of Tengel’s and Silje’s four children – more gentle even than Silje herself, whom she resembled a very great deal. It was exactly as Charlotte had written: She was the dream of a wife and daughter-in-law. She was quick to accommodate and would step into the background if need be. She was very accomplished in almost everything.

Just how clever she was was something Laurents Berenius hadn’t reckoned with.

Liv walked about as if in a daze. She just listened to what others discussed, often agreeing politely but without saying very much herself. She told herself that “everything will be alright. Laurents is such a nice person and so handsome and I’ve been incredibly fortunate. Now Dag is to marry Miss Trolle, and the whole family is happy for us. Yes, I’ve been very lucky.”

Charlotte had spent a lot of money on the wedding. Silje wanted it to be celebrated at the farm on Linden Avenue and of course she was allowed to do so. But Charlotte arranged for great wagon loads of food to be driven down to the farm and arranged a procession of the most magnificent coaches to and from the church. However, Charlotte had insisted that the great banquet was to take place at Graastensholm.

Everyone agreed to this so long as most of the celebrations took place at the farm on Linden Avenue.

“We must impress the Berenius family,” Charlotte said in an attempt at persuading Tengel and Silje to her way of thinking.

“The boy mustn’t be allowed to think that he’s marrying beneath himself because that certainly isn’t the case!”

Liv looked radiant dressed in the rural wedding costume of the district. Her hair had darkened over the years and now had the colour and sheen of unburnished copper. Her complexion was as soft as a petal and her deep blue eyes so trusting that one was moved just by looking into them. Everyone could see just how much Laurents was in love with her.

Liv smiled shyly and beamed while she tried to hide how nervous she was. She was scared and uncertain and her heart still felt the ache of emptiness. “This must be how all brides feel,” she said to herself. Laurents was ever so elegant: Tall with short shiny brown hair and grey-brown eyes. He had a straight, well-formed nose and resolute mouth. She promised herself that she’d make him happy.

The only thing that embittered her joy was that Sol and Dag weren’t there. She would have loved to speak with them in the weeks before the wedding if for no other reason than to ask their opinion of Laurents. Sol had seen him but she’d remained unusually passive. She’d always found other things to do whenever Laurents came to visit, so Liv still didn’t know what Sol thought of him. Dag had always been the one that Liv took her troubles and concerns to, but now he was so far away. He had no time for her thoughts now that he had Miss Trolle to think about. A sister could never be as interesting as a beloved.

The absence of her siblings, Sol and Dag, had left Liv feeling even more than usually unsure of herself.

As they rode from the church to the farm on Linden Avenue, the road was lined all the way on both sides by people from the estate, the village and the surrounding countryside. All would be invited to attend the main celebrations after they’d been well fed in the large barn. Are and some of the maids had decorated the barn, and it looked ever so splendid!

The journey from the church was noisy as was the custom: The bride’s horse was pursued with wild shouts and the sound of musket fire so that Liv would escape the bad magic and evil spirits who tried to grab her on her last day as a virgin.

In the yard she had to drink a large tankard of beer in the presence of the crowd before throwing the empty tankard over the roof of the house. If it landed on the other side of the house, then this was seen as the sign of a good marriage. But the tankard glided out of Liv’s hands and as she pulled back her arm, it slipped. Flying sideways out of her hand, it landed on the front of the roof and fell back again on the same side. Although everybody made light of her mistake, Liv was very upset. She so desperately wanted to make Laurents happy.

It wasn’t long before everybody had forgotten the ‘mishap’. The wedding celebrations, lasting the customary three full days, were a great success and people in the area spoke admiringly about them for years afterwards.

***

It was not until Liv was alone in the big merchant’s house in Oslo that it dawned on her that there was no going back. Her childhood years with Tengel and Silje were now over and from now on she’d only return to Linden Avenue and Graastensholm as a guest. This left her with an uneasy sadness that she found difficult to put behind her.

But once again, she told herself that this was probably how all brides felt.

But they weren’t entirely alone in the house: Laurents’ mother lived there as well. She’d attended the wedding, of course, but had hardly spoken a word. It was as if she sat there looking for something to criticise without being able to find anything. Oh, yes: Liv had heard her utter the same word over and over again: “Extravagance!”

Liv was convinced that if the wedding hadn’t been as magnificent as it was, then the mother-in-law would have complained about poverty and miserliness.

Laurents didn’t want to ‘make her a woman’ during the wedding celebrations itself, as was often the custom. He wanted to wait until they were by themselves. “I know what they’re like, those cheats who walk into the couple’s bedroom, as if by mistake. I won’t allow anybody to spoil our first night together, Liv.”

Instead he’d lain very quietly next to her, looking at her in the candlelight, caressing her slowly and gently, kissing her so carefully until they’d fallen asleep with their honour and virtue intact.

But now they found themselves together in the big house in Oslo where she was now wife and hostess.

Liv carefully folded her wedding dress, or more correctly, her “woman’s dress” which she wore the morning after she got married. Now she would have to wear a headscarf as a sign that she was a married woman. She smiled to herself. This was something Silje, with Tengel’s support, had always refused to wear. How strange it was to be alone here with Laurents! She suddenly realised that she didn’t know him at all and was gripped by anxiety.

No, she mustn’t think along such lines! Not now! She liked him so much. Before Liv had left home, Silje had given her some sound advice: “Men need to feel that they’re loved. Give of your whole heart, my child! I believe this is the secret to Tengel’s and my own happiness. We’re completely open with each other. We’re not afraid of showing how much we mean to one another.”

Yes, thought Liv, Laurents certainly deserves all my love.

***

Back home on the farm on Linden Avenue, Tengel and Silje lay staring into the darkness.

“It was a fantastic wedding,” said Silje with a happy smile. “Now I feel totally exhausted.”

“Of course, you’ve worked really hard,” replied Tengel. “You’ve been busy all the time, and you’ve been preparing for months.”

Silje took his hand. “Have we done the right thing, Tengel? After all, she’s so young.”

He sighed. “That’s also what I was thinking, but you were just as young when we married and you certainly knew what you wanted. Have you ever had any regrets?”

She rubbed her head on his shoulder and smiled. “Now you’re fishing for compliments. I was just thinking how small and forsaken Liv appeared. So vulnerable ... confused ... No, I can’t really find the words.”

Tengel said, “I know what you mean. If Laurents hadn’t been so eager and persistent, I’d never have agreed to it. But he’s a good man; reliable, and desperately in love with her.”

“Yes, and it was what she wanted. Oh, well. I suppose we’re just normal, worried parents who don’t want to let go of their child. Our love child, Tengel ...”

“Yes, you were stubborn at the time! You wanted that child, and today I thank you for being so stubborn.”

“All of them are leaving us, Tengel. First Dag, then Sol – but she’ll come back, I hope – and now Liv. Now we have only Are left.”

“Yes, and he’ll stay.”

“Thank God for that!”

“It hurts to lose one’s children.”

“We’re not losing them,” she said. “They’re still there even though we can’t see them.”

“You’re right,” said Tengel. “The farm is a part of them, something they take with them out into the world. And they’ve left something of themselves here. Their laughter is in the breeze, and their footsteps on the floor. They’ve helped make this house and the whole farm what it is today.”

“Yes, and I think they’ve been happy here.”

“Of course they have!”

He wrapped his arms around her and they snuggled closer together.

***

In the merchant’s house in Oslo, the candle was snuffed out. In the bed, Liv lay in Laurents’ arms. He whispered beautiful words to her, softly stroking her body.

Liv felt that this wasn’t happening to her. She felt that her mind was somewhere else. But remembering Silje’s words, she put her arms around Laurents’ neck and his caresses instantly grew bolder, and Liv felt a new sensation, a pleasant feeling that began to burn inside her. With a murmur of delight she snuggled up to him.

“Laurents,” she whispered, amazed, in his ear.

His hand stopped moving. Not a sound could be heard in the room.

“Lie still,” he said in a muffled voice. “Relax, Liv. You don’t have to say or do anything. It’s a woman’s duty to welcome her husband’s desire. He’s the hunter and she’s his prey.”

Liv was surprised. Trying to get her point of view across she said unhappily: “My love for you ...”

“No,” said Laurents. “You can show your love in a thousand other ways by pleasing me in everything. In bed, the man is the active one. The woman is passive, compliant and a source of joy to him. It’s not for her to show her emotions. That’s what prostitutes are for.”

Liv stared wide-eyed into the darkness of the room, filled with utter despair. It was as if everything inside her died. The flame inside her was extinguished and with a sense of immense shame she gave in to his desire, his caresses and his body.

Afterwards, when he was exhausted, he fell asleep next to her. Liv lay awake for a very long time, hearing only the sound of her own helpless sobs.

***

Sol followed the secretive Preben as he made his way to a small, dilapidated house on the outskirts of Copenhagen. She’d managed to sneak out without Dag or anybody else in Count Strahlenhelm’s house noticing it.

Full of his own importance, Preben had said: “They’re very reluctant to let you join the meeting. So I must ask you not to disturb their sacred black mass with idle trivialities. Remember that Satan will be with us this evening!”

Sol nodded. This sounded exciting.

They went down a narrow stairway that led to the basement. At the foot of the steps, Preben announced their arrival with a heavy knock on the door. A voice from inside asked for the password.

“By the gravedigger’s bones,” replied Preben. Sol was just about to burst into laughter.

A man wearing a black cloak opened the door and they entered.

Another door led to a vaulted basement where a dozen young people were gathered. They regarded the newcomers in silence.

One of the men was much older than the others. His cloak was lined with red and he wore a mask to hide the upper part of his face. But the mask couldn’t conceal the look in his eyes when Sol entered the room. She’d seen that look before and knew exactly what it meant.

She glanced quickly around the room. The arched ceiling was lit up by a great many black candles. Right in front of her stood a long, low altar and over it hung a cross turned upside down. The white-washed walls were covered with magic runes and the names of demons.

After a moment of silence, a young woman spoke. She lowered her voice to give weight to her words.

“We’ve allowed a novice from the province of Norway to join our secret meeting tonight. We’ll decide whether she’ll be allowed to come again. As we’re all very expert in the worship of the Devil and all his secrets, we expect the Norwegian ignorant to adhere to our rules and do no more than learn from our skills. You’ve already sworn an oath to Apollyon – that’s Preben – never to denounce us, haven’t you?”

Sol nodded.

The first girl was silent and another girl took over: “You were allowed to come here because our friend described your strange eyes. But a pair of eyes don’t make a real witch. You’ll have a long way to go before you’re proficient.”

Sol said nothing. The masked man whispered something to the first woman.

She hesitated and her facial expression changed to distaste. Then she nodded and turned grudgingly towards Sol.

“Our wizard, who’s the incarnation of Satan, wants to initiate you himself already this evening. This is most unusual and a great honour. In order for you to know what is expected of you, our wizard will first perform the ritual with one of the other women present.

Sol nodded.

All the women – there were five of them - rushed towards the wizard to offer their services, but he waved them away with a declining gesture.

One of the young men ran up to the altar, carrying a small bowl. He dipped his finger in the bowl and drew a complicated sign in blood on the altar.

The wizard walked over and stood in front of the motif and raised his arms. Everyone fell to their knees and began to chant in ecstasy. It sounded awful.

As the group of people sang, continuing to work themselves into an ecstatic frenzy, the wizard performed a series of rituals. He lighted various candles and placed some objects on the altar. Nothing he did made sense to Sol. To her it all seemed to be a combination of self-invented satanic rituals. She began to feel uneasy. Sol had always been sensitive to her environment and here she felt nothing but exertion in meaningless emptiness. The reek of sweat filled the room.

Then all of a sudden the wizard raised his arm again and at once the room was quiet. Everybody waited in the strained silence, the women in hectic excitement.

Then the man moved one arm slowly down until it pointed directly at one of the girls, who obediently took a few steps closer to him. She let her cloak fall from her shoulders and now stood before him, completely naked.

The man pointed towards the altar, and the girl walked over to it and lay down.

The others began to chant once more. Their bodies swayed and they had also removed their cloaks. All were naked.

The wizard was the only one who kept his cloak on. He now began to draw some patterns on the girl’s body. It looked like an archer’s target. Maybe he was afraid of missing the mark?

The wizard climbed up and lay on top of the girl. His large cloak was draped over the pair of them and hung down over both sides of the altar, but nobody could be in any doubt as to what was being performed beneath it. With loud exclamations of delight, the congregation began to fondle one another with lust, moaning and wailing in a new symphony of sounds.

As soon as the wizard began to reach a peak of excitement, he stopped abruptly and stood up.

With his cloak once more concealing his body, he turned to face Sol while the girl climbed down from the altar, disappointed and unsatisfied. The woman, who was clearly the wizard’s spokesperson, said to Sol: “Take the girl’s place. Satan is ready to initiate you now!”

Sol frowned.

“Take your clothes off!” said the girl impatiently. It was obvious that she also didn’t like that the newcomer was being treated with special favour.

Now the disappointment and anger that Sol had been suppressing since she had entered the room reached a peak, exploded. Her eyes flashed.

“Do you honestly expect me to let this ridiculous humbug have a few moments of cheap excitement at my expense? Not upon my life!”

Sol saw that the expressions on the faces of those present began to harden.

“You’ve sworn an oath,” warned the woman. Preben looked scared.

“How dare you call our wizard a humbug?” shouted the girl who’d been lying on the altar.

“I’ll call you all a bunch of ignorant fools!” hissed Sol. “What do you really know about witchcraft? You’re a bunch of idiots who, without the least bit of talent, are trying to act dangerously and demonically. If you’d looked at yourselves with at least a touch of irony, I might have stayed and taught you a thing or two, but you’re so self-obsessed and full of yourselves! Has this man really convinced you that he’s in contact with Satan? That he is Satan’s replacement on earth – or even Satan himself?”

The wizard realised that his prestige was being called into question. At last he spoke aloud for the first time, but his voice was high-pitched and weak.

“Teach us one or two things?” he asked, mocking her. “I’ll not be challenged by a young girl from Norway, who wishes to placate me. So you question my powers of witchcraft? Watch this!”

He took a powder out of his pocket in his cloak and threw it on the fire. He did this so quickly that those present didn’t see his movements. The powder created a series of small explosions.

“Is that supposed to be witchcraft? Throwing black powder on a fire?” asked Sol. “Any child can do that!”

“I can bewitch you!”

“Then do so if you can!”

He took a deep breath. The mood among his disciples had become more hostile. It was obvious that they didn’t like Sol, and the master fought for his position and prestige.

Walking over to Sol and mustering all his authority, he hissed: “I order you to kiss my hand!”

Sol looked him straight in the eyes with uncontrolled contempt. She was unbelievably beautiful with her flashing eyes, the wild dark hair, and the warm colour of her skin.

He stretched out his hand: “Satan says, kiss it!”

It was so quiet within those four walls that you could hear a pin drop to the floor. Sol’s eyes were now half-open slits.

“Do you honestly believe that I will do as you bid me?” she asked in an empty tone of voice. “I order you to get down on your knees!”

The master’s expression was helpless. Then, unable to resist, he fell to his knees.

“Take off your cloak!” ordered Sol.

He did as he was told. The group of people gasped. Their hero, their god, obeyed the orders of a stranger!

“Look at him!” said Sol, pointing at the man, who stared at her as if in a trance. “Look at his small, wrinkled penis; the sloping shoulders and the roll of fat on his belly. Look at him now!”

With a swift movement, she pulled the strap with the mandrake over her head. As the master caught sight of the grotesque talisman, he flinched backwards in horror, gasping for breath. Sol held the gnarled root over him with both hands.

“Lie down on the floor! Lie down and creep up to the altar and turn the cross the right way up because this has nothing to do with Satanism! There’s nothing demonic in this room!”

To the immense shame of his followers, their “Great Master” wriggled across the floor like a snake up to the altar, and when he’d reached it he got to his feet, grasped the cross and turned it the right way round. Then he sat down and gazed at Sol obediently.

Sol was furious, which was what made her much more powerful. She’d practiced and experimented a lot on her own – and now, in front of an audience, she wanted to try one of the most difficult tricks that Hanna had described to her.

So she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Everyone stared at her. When she’d gathered her energy again, she opened her eyes and walked slowly up to the altar to take her place on the right-hand side of the ‘master’.

“You miserable fool,” she said. “Look to your left.”

A hushed cry immediately rose from the congregation. Sol smiled scornfully. She knew straightway that she’d succeeded.

“She’s ... she’s standing on both sides of him!” one of the followers moaned. The master’s eyes darted back and forth between the two images of Sol, and she could hear how his teeth were clattering with fear. She was unable to see her alter ego herself because she needed to stand completely still and concentrate. In this state, her conscious mind seemed to leave her body and transfer itself to the other side of the altar.

Slowly she relaxed, her mind returned to her body, and the image disappeared. She could feel how she was perspiring, and her legs felt weak. Her heart was beating furiously.

Then she put on the mandrake once more and tucked it away inside her clothes, and walked up to the closest of the wizard’s disciples. Without any warning, she took the leather purse that hung at his side.

She weighed the purse in her hand and said. “This purse contains two silver coins ... a dried rose and a letter.”

He could do nothing else but nod frantically in agreement.

“And you,” she said as she turned to a woman, touching her gently: “You’re expecting a baby with that miserable person at the altar. You’ve been too afraid to tell anyone, but it’s true. You’ll come to suffer for this child, and he won’t help you one bit.”

Then she turned to another man and put her hands on his shoulders:

“Your only thought right now is how you’ll get home to your wife to whom you’ve said nothing about this gathering. You have a relationship with the girl standing right next to you and she thinks you’ll marry her.”

“Stop!” shouted a person. She was the woman that first said something to Sol. “Stop!”

“She’s a real witch,” whispered one of the men, “a real witch! I didn’t know they existed.”

“Oh, yes, they do,” said Sol, feeling very weary. “But they’re few and far between. And you’re sick, my good man. You can’t keep your food down.”

“You’re right,” he nodded.

“Here, take this powder,” ordered Sol. “Drink some of this every morning and get rid of your debt. Then you’ll feel fine again.”

She turned round to face the man who’d brought her to the meeting and said, “Preben. Forgive me that I’ve crushed your dreams. But you must trust me when I say that witchcraft isn’t to be meddled with. I don’t want that humbug to take advantage of you in any way he sees fit. I shall not reveal you – and I trust that you’ll remain silent about me.”

With these words, she left the stinking room. The others sat staring blankly. They’d lost so much: Honour and prestige – and Sol and her secrets.

***

Liv worked hard at making everything perfect in the big house in Oslo, but she had changed. Her inner radiance and the happiness which had always been her trait could no longer be read in her face. Now there was an anxious expression in her eyes, a constant fear that she wasn’t doing exactly as she should. She so desperately wanted to please her husband but she’d had to learn a painful lesson: Everything had to be on his terms.

She remembered with anxiety her small attempts at surprising him. Take, for instance, the small picture of flowers she’d painted in secret and which was a gift for his birthday.

He’d studied it closely for quite a while. “That was sweet of you, Liv, and it’s really pretty. Beautiful indeed, but ...”

“But what?” she’d asked anxiously when he paused.

“I think you should concentrate on embroidery, my dear. A woman shouldn’t be painting pictures. Leave the great and famous artists to do that. My little wife should do that for which she’s best suited. Is there still no sign that you’re pregnant?”

Liv shook her head. She felt utterly useless. She couldn’t even get pregnant! Poor Laurents, he must be really annoyed with her!

She remembered one occasion when they’d been entertaining guests. She was talking to an older man. The lively conversation had covered current affairs and recent events – about the people and what the King had done for Norway. Liv had been delighted, the man was intelligent and interesting; and several more had joined in the conversation.

Then suddenly she caught sight of Laurents staring at her. He was furious. With a gesture of the head, he ordered her to leave the group and she had to make her excuses.

Later that evening he’d been merciless. He’d told her what he thought of women who interfered with men’s business. “You must stop making a fool of yourself,” he’d said. “Don’t ever think that you can compare yourself to a man. I don’t want such an unfeminine wife. Oh, dear. I can see that I have a major task before me. You’ve deceived me. I had no idea that you were brought up so badly. But you’re so sweet and adorable, and you’re my greatest treasure, and we’ll get rid of your shortcomings. Just you wait and see! Don’t be upset. I’ll help you!”

Yes, she was starting to learn her lesson. So long as she did things the way he wanted them to be done, everything was fine.

But at times it was just so difficult to curb her spontaneity, which was such a great part of her personality.

Only last week she’d put her foot in it again. They were visiting one of Laurents’ colleagues and as they were leaving the house, Laurents remarked how brightly Sirius was shining in the firmament. Without thinking, Liv had said: “That’s not Sirius, it’s Deneb in the constellation Cygnus, the Swan.”

When they got home that evening, Laurents had slapped her twice in the face because she’d “humiliated him so much in front of a colleague and his wife.” They all knew very well that the star in question was Sirius, he said angrily. Who did she think she was?

Liv got the impression that the only star in the firmament which Laurents knew was Sirius.

Afterwards he regretted what he’d done and asked her for forgiveness and made passionate love to her in bed. However, from that moment on, the trust and intimacy between them had been broken forever.

And although Liv was a talented artist, she couldn’t for anything in the world bring herself to pick up and hold a brush in her hand again.

Laurents’ mother didn’t do anything to make life easier for Liv. She was a bossy old lady, who was deeply jealous of Liv. She’d prefer to have her son all to herself and wouldn’t have tolerated any daughter-in-law. So gentle and mild-mannered, Liv was an easy prey for her to dominate. This was something the mother-in-law soon discovered and she did so with relish.

Of course, Laurents didn’t notice any of this. He believed there was perfect harmony in the house and if there was the least bit of a clash, he’d side with his mother. After all, Liv was nothing but an ignorant child. Liv wrote home encouraging, short reports to Silje about how good things were. But Liv always wrote her letters at arm’s length because she didn’t want her tears to drip on the pages and smudge the ink.