Читать книгу The Ice People 32 - Hunger - Margit Sandemo - Страница 7

Chapter 2

Malin’s son, Christoffer, had gone his own way.

His grandfather, Christer, had died in 1893, leaving his widow Magdalena with the family business she had inherited from her grandfather, Molin. Even though the government had been sure to reduce the Molin empire to a completely ordinary company, Christer had managed his money well. So when Magdalena passed away in 1895, the twenty-one-year-old Christoffer inherited everything, in accordance with Grandmother Magdalena’s will.

It was truly a fine inheritance for the young man, but he had other plans. He didn’t want to be a businessman and he had no intention of moving to Sweden. His interests lay elsewhere.

He wanted to become a doctor, and his parents supported him in his decision. They could see that it was where his talents lay, and he had already started on his degree. So after several family consultations it was decided that Christoffer’s father, Per Volden, was to focus his attention on the Molin inheritance. But neither he nor Malin were interested in moving to Sweden so they employed reliable people to run it for them. However, in the long run this became too complicated, so they sold the whole operation to other seriously interested parties, giving them a handsome profit that allowed them to build a house and invest in other projects in Norway. In this way, Per Volden acquired a new interest that he felt able to manage.

A huge carriage filled with furniture arrived from Sweden. An entire railway carriage. It was the last of the Ice People’s Swedish possessions, which amounted to quite a bit. And another surprise awaited them: Saga had left her possessions in the care of Christer back when she left Sweden for good. Her money had been deposited in a bank account, where it had yielded interest, and both that and all her belongings went to her only grandchild, Ulvar’s daughter, Vanja. Of course, Marco was entitled to receive his share, but where in the world was he? Nobody knew.

Vanja received her inheritance with great enthusiasm. She was a coquettish little eleven-year-old who took great pleasure in looking at all the beautiful furniture and things from her grandmother’s home. Henning made sure that she got a few things to put in her room, while the rest went into storage. But when Viljar died in 1899 and Belinda a year later, Vanja was allowed to take over their part of the house and furnish it in the way she wished. She was sixteen years old then, and loved going on shopping sprees to buy clothes and other luxuries. In the end Agnete and Henning had to cut down her allowance, and with a sigh she realized that she had enough clothes for many years to come. It couldn’t go on like that – she would need to have a reason to go shopping in the future!

Meanwhile, Christoffer Volden finished his studies.

He applied to a medium-sized hospital in one of Norway’s valleys, because he felt he could be more useful there than in Christiania, where most doctors ended up working.

Christoffer got on well. He had a genuine desire to help others, and such a serious attitude always results in a certain amount of thoroughness in one’s occupation. He would always take time to talk to his patients, which he considered to be an important factor in improving their health. Dr Volden’s name was spoken with devotion by lonely little old ladies who feared for their lives and felt utterly insignificant in the intimidating, unfamiliar world of the hospital, by sheepish lads with broken legs who were reluctant to use the bedpan, and by fine gentlemen and ladies who wished to discuss their terribly interesting illness with someone who would actually listen to them.

Christoffer’s personal life wasn’t quite so uncomplicated. Despite the fact that he considered himself to be exceptionally fortunate in that regard, something had gone awry that had led him to embark on this solitary journey along the river.

Things had actually begun rather well. During his first year in Lillehammer – for that was where the hospital was located – he had made the acquaintance of Lise-Merete, a young lady who had immediately caught his attention. Her skin was amazing – golden brown and as smooth as newly polished wood. In order to emphasize the incredible clarity of her complexion, she pulled her hair back into a high coil, which was the latest fashion in the town. The coil, which went all the way around the head, maintained its shape with the help of bun-rats or sometimes, in emergencies, bread crusts hidden inside it – which men, of course, didn’t suspect in the least. Every self-respecting woman wore this style, and the hats they wore had to be fastened with long hat-pins, which were, according to the men, mortally dangerous weapons.

Lise-Merete was the daughter of one of the town’s most influential men. Apart from her perfect skin she was perhaps not all that beautiful, but she had a unique charm about her that dazzled all the men. So she had numerous admirers, but after meeting Christoffer Volden a few times she had eyes only for him.

And Christoffer was overjoyed. Lise-Merete was just perfect, he thought. Gentle, friendly, thoughtful, pleasant to everyone, intelligent and quick-witted, with a good sense of humour and a proper sense of style.

Lise-Merete had no need to tuck bread crusts into her hair, she would never have dreamed of doing anything so unhygienic. She carried herself with dignity, but the fashion of the time also happened to be so strict that the ladies were forced to keep their backs as straight as a lightning bolt at all times. She enjoyed showing Christoffer off at the frequent parties that were held by the most distinguished residents of the town, but she was never in any way arrogant. Her charming smile always managed to win everyone over.

For eight whole months Christoffer’s happiness was complete. They spoke of the future – which they planned to spend together – and saw one another as often as they could. But that was only very seldom, because his hospital job was extremely demanding and regular working hours were completely out of the question.

Christoffer didn’t know why he was suddenly feeling slightly ill at ease. Not until he received the letter from Vanja.

It was just an ordinary letter describing the trivial activities of their day-to-day lives; the letter in itself was of little importance. No, it was Lise-Merete’s cautious reaction: “Who is Vanja?”

That made him think of the months that had passed, and he began to have his suspicions. Lise-Merete’s refrain, “Just you and me.” At first he had liked that. Her gentle little attempts to stop him attending get-togethers with his colleagues. Her suppers for two by candlelight, discreet inquiries about the nurses at work. If they attended a party given by one of her many acquaintances, she would always be in good spirits to start with. And she would remain content, so long as he focused his attention only on her. But if he were to start talking to someone else – a male colleague or any other man – Lise-Merete would always walk over to him and slip her hand under his arm to lure him away to another part of the hall. And if he started a conversation with a female acquaintance ... Goodness, why hadn’t he noticed it until now? On such occasions she would suddenly start to complain that she was suffering from a headache and insist on going home. He would tease her and say that her headache was due to that confounded hairdo, but she would ignore him. She would grow silent and wouldn’t give in until he had attended to her properly, like a doctor with his favourite patient. Then everything would be all right again and he could go home. For he never stayed the night at her house. Oh no, that would be completely unthinkable! Lise-Merete wanted to be a virgin bride and he respected her wish in that regard. They had never spoken openly about marriage, but his proposal was merely a formality, which they both knew would soon take place.

Eight months ... He woke up from his thoughts and answered her question. “Vanja? You know who Vanja is!”

“Yes, of course,” she responded in her mild and gentle voice. “She is your relative. But how exactly is she related to you? What does she look like? And you have two stepsisters, as you call them. What about the other one? Benedikte? What is she like? You always have such an affectionate tone in your voice when you speak of her. Is she very beautiful?”

Christoffer laughed. “Benedikte? Yes, to me she is a rare beauty.”

The smile disappeared from Lise-Merete’s face and she looked as if she was going to cry. Whereupon he quickly added: “But in the eyes of the world she is far from beautiful. She is rather stockily built, as tall as I am, and she has a son born out of wedlock.”

“Is that the André you’ve talked about?” asked Lise-Merete with a frown. “If she truly looks the way you’ve described her, how on earth did she manage to conceive an illegitimate child? Because it can’t have been you who ...?”

“Please stop referring to André as illegitimate! No, I am most certainly not his father! I was never told who it was, because I was very young when it happened and they didn’t talk about it at home. No, Benedikte is like an older sister to me. Vanja, on the other hand, is incredibly beautiful.”

He realized as he spoke that he shouldn’t have uttered those words. Lise-Merete got to her feet and for the next hour her warm voice had a cool undertone, which he instantly realized he had heard many times before. He recalled the occasion when a fellow doctor had, laughingly, confided to him that Lise-Merete had interrogated him about Christoffer’s life at the hospital. About his relationships with the female staff and so on. Christoffer had been flattered then – now he wasn’t so sure.

He performed an experiment. After a while, Lise-Merete sat down again, as she normally did, and Christoffer excused himself, saying that he would go to the kitchen and boil some water for coffee. But he tiptoed immediately back out into the hallway and peeped through the chink of the door by the hinges, and saw her standing by the writing desk. She had opened the letter from Vanja and was reading it.

He returned to the kitchen deep in thought.

Since he was already worn out after a prolonged, continuous stint at the hospital, he asked for a few days’ leave of absence so that he could reconsider a few things in his life.

He loved her so incredibly much. She had turned his life into an exciting adventure. But they couldn’t avoid a serious conversation. Of course, he understood why she had so little confidence in him, poor girl, which was precisely why he needed to get away now. So that he could think about what he could do to help build up her confidence in him. For this much he knew: he wanted Lise-Merete; she was the woman for him and he couldn’t live without her!

But when he saw the little flash of suspicion in her eyes as he told her that he needed to unwind with a fishing trip up at the top of the valley, he began to have second thoughts. And when he discovered that she had examined his ticket – to check that he really was travelling north and not south to his home town, he began to feel uneasy. It simply wouldn’t do. He would have to think up some pleasant words to convince her; perhaps he could write a poem to make her understand that she and only she had all his love.

But poetry had never been Christoffer’s forté. He merely felt ridiculous when he attempted it.

That such a pretty young girl, who had the world at her feet, could be so unsure of herself was something he simply couldn’t fathom!

The poor dear child!

It was his last day in the village and he had composed a very beautiful speech which he planned to deliver to Lise-Merete. It was tactful yet completely convincing. Once he had made the speech she would no longer doubt his love.

He was to spend one more day by the river. Not that he was getting much fishing done; to be honest, he wasn’t fishing at all. Taking a life didn’t come naturally to him, even if it was “just” a fish. Instead, he would usually put the fishing rod aside on the river bank and stroll back and forth or sit on a tree stump, deep in thought. There was no disturbance there: the lapping of the water drowned out all the sounds from the village, there was only him and the river and the birch trees, white as frost. He could examine his relationship with Lise-Merete in peace and tranquillity. And he became almost sick with longing for her. Tomorrow he would be seeing her again, she had promised to meet him at the station, and he could just imagine ...

He had just finished breakfast and was ready to set out for the river when a young boy arrived and, holding his cap in his hand, asked whether the doctor could come up to the ridge.

When Christoffer had heard what the situation was he immediately agreed. He would never have dreamed of refusing to go; to him, a person in need was a person he could help. The river would manage just fine without him, and the fish even better.

He approached the little group by the market stall. Two children – goodness, how much poverty there was to be found in Norwegian farming communities! Christoffer interrogated the children about the old woman. Did she have any wounds? Any signs of injury? No, but she was almost dead, the boy explained. And very scrawny.

No scrawnier than you are, my boy, he thought dejectedly.

I wish I could take you back with me to the farm where I live, then you and your little sister would get enough to eat! It would have been like a wonderful dream to be able to do that.

But there was no time for dreaming now. Instead he went into the market and bought some big muffins that were so soft your teeth just sank right into them. He shared them out among those who were to accompany him up to the ridge, and also bought a small pail of milk to wash down the muffins. No one refused his offerings, especially not the children.

The white clumps of reindeer moss showed them the way. One of the farmers had brought his horse and wagon, on which they would be able to transport the sick woman. It wasn’t always easy getting the wagon to move along the narrow path, but they all helped as best they could. They had brought a hatchet to cut down small saplings that were blocking the path, so they slowly managed to make their way up.

The four adults all helped to refill the baskets with moss so that the children wouldn’t have to go home empty handed.

Still, both children were nervous about going back for one particular reason. It was no longer whether they would be able to find their way or not: the moss trail was showing them the way. No, the big question now was: what if she was no longer there? What if they had lured all these men, and the fancy doctor, up there for no reason? Or what if she was a creature of the underworld? A witch or a mare or some other nasty thing?

By and by everyone reached the ridge, and everything became easier from there. The clusters of moss continued to show them the way – and then they were out on the bog.

They had been walking for nearly two hours by then, and the day would soon be over – it was nearly evening. It grew dark early at this time of year.

What would Mother and Father say when they didn’t come home on time? the children thought. Would they be whipped again?

But could they have done anything differently?

Insecurity follows a child constantly. Insecurity in a world of incomprehensible grown-up rules, or rather lack of rules. You never knew when the whip would be brought out, no matter how hard you tried to do the right thing.

Well, it was still daylight, but the question was whether they would make it down before evening fell.

With a great deal of uncertainty, they walked along the edge of the bog. They must be there soon ... The men followed behind with the horse and wagon. The only thing that could be heard was the squeaking of the wagon wheels.

The children’s pace grew slower and slower.

Finally they stopped. The trail of reindeer moss terminated.

“She was here,” said the boy. He didn’t dare to look at the men.

It was clear to see that someone had been lying on the ground there. An area the size of a human body was outlined on the ground, dark against the grey-white frost.

After a telling pause, one of the farmhands said: “I see. But she’s not here anymore. Perhaps she was just sleeping? And managed to move on of her own accord?”

The children’s cheeks burned with shame.

“She was very ill,” said the boy meekly.

His little sister nodded.

The men lifted their gaze and looked around. The bog lay silent and cold before them. Some of the men walked about, looking here and there.

“There!” one of them shouted, pointing. “She’s lying there, among the trees!”

“Oh, so she was able to move a little,” another one muttered. “

So she isn’t completely helpless.”

But he took those words back when they reached her.

“Good God,” one of them murmured.

Christoffer had a sinking feeling. Although he had seen plenty of miserable cases at the hospital, he never would have believed that anyone could be as emaciated as this woman.

“She’s nothing but skin and bones,” said one of the men.

“But she’s not an old woman, that’s for sure,” said another one. “She’s young.”

“Isn’t it Marit of Svelten?” asked the third in disbelief. “But I don’t think I would have been able to recognize her had it not been for her light brown curly hair. Yes, by God, it is Marit of Svelten. But goodness, what in the world has happened to her?”

Christoffer was already kneeling down next to the prostrate figure and had established that she was still alive. He just couldn’t fathom how anything like this was possible.

“Marit of Svelten?” he asked in an encouraging voice. He wanted to know more about her.

The man who knew her answered somewhat apologetically: “She’s just a woman from one of the smallholdings near here. She’s cared for her malicious father ever since she was a child. All her brothers travelled west. To America. She’s not very sociable – I’ve only seen her down in the village a few times, and then she’ll just mumble what she has to say before sneaking off along the side of the road. I suppose she is to be pitied really.”

“I’ll say,” Christoffer said between clenched teeth.

“She used to be very good-looking,” the man continued. “But nobody wanted her because of that mad father. And she herself was a little odd.”

“She has grass in her mouth,” said Christoffer with horror.

“Cloudberry leaves.” Another man, who was squatting next to her, corrected him. “Has she actually eaten any of them?”

“No, it looks as though she spat them straight back out,” Christoffer established. He was so uneasy that he could barely speak.

“She was undernourished, wasn’t she,” said the most enlightened of the men. “Starving to death. I mean, she isn’t dead, of course, but ...”

“But there’s more to it,” Christoffer said. “When I touch her she cringes, as though she’s in pain.”

“But that’s natural, isn’t it? The starvation triggers pain ...”

“Not to the point that someone reacts when they’re practically unconscious. Look!”

He carefully touched her skinny body, whereupon they could all see her face twisting in pain as she attempted to shield herself from his touch.

Christoffer got to his feet and sighed thoughtfully.

“We’ll have to take her to the hospital, of course. But she’s completely depleted: she could use a little something to restore her energy. And if I’m right that she is suffering from stomach problems, she shouldn’t eat anything at all.”

“In which case she’ll die,” one of the men concluded bluntly. “It’s quite a dilemma!”

“We’ll have to try,” Christoffer said. “Is there any milk left?”

They found the pail of milk. The children, who had regained their courage now that they had managed to find the woman again, didn’t look so anxious anymore. Instead, their faces had a look of pride about them. Perhaps they had managed to save a life after all?

Although it didn’t look too promising!

To Christoffer’s relief, the woman suddenly opened her eyes. He gave her a friendly smile so as not to frighten her, for it was undoubtedly a rather perplexing way to wake up.

“Here,” he said gently. “Try to drink a little milk. And then I would like you to tell me where you feel pain.”

Despite her enormous fatigue and the fact that she was so skinny that her skin was stretched tightly as if on the skull of a skeleton, there was something beautiful about the girl, Christoffer could see that. Even the macabre, staring eyes had something beautiful about them in a pitiable, touching way. He felt a lump in his throat at the thought of how she must have suffered in her loneliness, and his smile grew somewhat insecure.

Marit woke up to the all-consuming pain once again. Where was she? It was cold, wherever she was, and her entire body was freezing. Everything was hazy, but she was able to discern that a group of people were standing over her.

Someone was asking her a question, but her brain was unable to absorb the words, they became meaningless.

Slowly she managed to focus her gaze. What a fine-looking gentleman! But so stern! No, it was only his even, sharp features that made him look that way: he wasn’t so stern after all.

But he was so distinguished! Like an angel on Judgment Day! Could she be in heaven? No, not her, the girl who had never been able to tolerate her father. Perhaps she was in the other place?

“I’m sorry” she murmured as she closed her eyes.

The request to be forgiven was typical of Marit’s entire attitude to life.

The voice she heard was persistent. It was talking about milk. Now she was able to understand it. Milk? It was several months since ... He had touched her! Right on the very spot where it hurt the most. Marit crumbled and screamed with the excruciating pain – but what came out sounded like a small whimper.

“It’s exactly as I suspected,” said the voice. “She most probably has appendicitis. It may already have burst, in which case there is nothing that can be done. But we must get her to the hospital immediately.”

The hospital? But that was where people died. Appendicitis? Nothing that can be done?I don’t want to go, I don’t dare to! That was what she wanted to say, but Marit had never contradicted anyone so she remained silent.

Something was placed on her lips. “Now, let’s see if we can get a little something down.”

When the liquid ran in through her mouth she automatically swallowed.

Milk! How wonderful! She wanted more but the pail was removed at once. She had only tasted a few drops: it was ghastly, it was tantalizing!

Her stomach had an immediate response and contracted as though it were having convulsions, so it would seem that the man knew what he was doing. But she managed to retain the little she had consumed. It felt as though life itself had flowed into her.

The man said something to another person nearby. “I’m just giving her a few drops at a time, at long intervals, so that nothing goes wrong. She must have some nourishment to get a little resistance.”“Will you be doing the operation yourself, Doctor?” asked a low, reverential voice.

“That will be up to the hospital,” the man answered. “But I will personally see to it that she gets the best possible care.”

“We don’t doubt that for a moment,” said the other voice, just as reverentially as before. “Look, there is her pail, we had better take that with us as well.”

Doctor? So he was a doctor, the handsome man! Marit opened her eyes again and looked at him anew. She had grasped that he was a distinguished man of some kind, but a doctor? Out here in the wilderness?

In a brief moment of peace and subdued pain, it felt as though she were sinking down into a sense of safety and kindness. She knew she could trust this man. The thought of the hospital no longer frightened her.

And Marit felt probably for the first time in her life that she wished to live after all. So as not to upset the doctor. For his sake she would fight for her life. So that his fight for her wouldn’t be in vain.

At that moment Marit of Svelten was more humble than she had ever been, and that is saying a good deal. And grateful! So utterly grateful that had she had the energy she would have cried.

“We must try to get her into the wagon,” the doctor said. “But careful, careful! The slightest movement is unbearably painful to her.”

But when they started lifting her up, everything vanished in an ocean of excruciating pain in her body. It took a long time, but finally she was lying in the wagon, and the doctor and another man held her so as to shield her from the bumps as the wagon drove across the uneven road.

Marit didn’t recall much from that trip. Only flashes of it.

Weakness. Terrifying pain. Now and then a quenching drop of milk on her tongue. The doctor’s kind, sympathetic eyes. A hand to hold when it was at its worst.

A conversation between the two men.

“She still looks very good, that poor little weakling.”

“How old could she be?”

“Marit of Svelten? Let me see ... Around thirty. Yes, that must be right. Thirty I believe.”

I haven’t turned thirty yet, she wanted to say, but didn’t have the energy.

“But you see, Doctor,” the man continued, “She was always considered to be a bit off. She wasn’t completely right in the head, they said. The father drove her mad, they said. He was a nasty grumbler. He shot at a lad who showed interest in her once. But that’s long ago now.”

More drops of milk were poured on her tongue. They didn’t cause so much pain in her stomach anymore.

Hazy impressions of the village. So they must have reached it at last. They were talking about the train. Not until the next day.

“Horse and carriage will take too long,” the doctor’s voice said. “This is an emergency.”

Another word was used: “Handcar.”. Marit had never heard of it, didn’t know what it was.

But she was transferred, slowly and painfully, to another means of transportation. And another man in uniform sat next to her.

The men and the children wished her luck. Marit gave a forced smile and mustered up a half-stifled “Thank you.”

The doctor gave the children something. A large sum of money to each of them. He must be rich!

And he was. Christoffer was a very wealthy man. An extra asset that had not gone unnoticed by Lise-Merete.

The doctor accompanied her on that strange carriage. Wonderful! Then Marit felt safe. Her pail and his luggage had also been placed on board: he was leaving the village now, he said.

When the handcar began to roll, her body jerked violently. It moved so fast! And so smoothly! Even though there were choppy disruptions at times. Click-click, it said, and each click cut through her jerking body. The man in uniform pumped back and forth with a rod.

Was this the train? No, she had seen one of those once from a distance. This carriage was much smaller. And completely open.

The darkness had fallen now, but wasn’t dense. There was a lantern hanging at the front of the carriage.

She felt terribly cold going at this great speed. The doctor removed his jacket and wrapped it around her pitifully scrawny body. By accident the edge of the jacket grazed her right side and she screamed.

“It hurts mostly on your right side, doesn’t it?” the doctor asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Good.”

Even though her father had taught her not to ask questions, she couldn’t resist asking in a strained voice: “Why is that good?”

“Because if your stomach was in equal pain all over it might be an indication that your appendix had burst.”She pondered that for a moment. Checked to see if it hurt all over her stomach. She didn’t think it did.

It seemed as though she was regaining her energy now. The milk had done her good.

“It’s the Lord’s punishment,” she suddenly said.

Her words made Christoffer wince. “Nonsense!” he then said. “What on earth should you be punished for?”

“I didn’t like my father. It’s better that I clear my conscience now if I am to stand face to face with my judge.”

“If you knew how many people there are in the world who loathe either one or both of their parents or can’t get along with them, then you wouldn’t say such things. I’m sure you had your reasons for not liking him.”

An excruciating wave of pain rushed through her body. She fumbled for his hand which, as far as she could recall, she had done many times on their journey down from the ridge. And she had always found the hand to be right there for her.

And it was this time. It gave her strength.

“Wasn’t he kind?” the doctor asked.

“I wasn’t very efficient at doing my chores, so it’s understandable that he got angry with me from time to time,” she said apologetically. “You have to understand ...”

“So he wasn’t kind,” the doctor concluded.

“No,” Marit finally admitted with a great sigh, as though it was a relief for her to say so. “He wasn’t. He ... he liked to pester me. If there was anything he knew I didn’t like he would do it. Like kicking the dog. Locking me in. Teasing me about how ugly I was. And stupid.”

This unexpected outburst consumed all her energy. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily and with difficulty. “I beg your forgiveness,” she said.

“You shouldn’t have to ask for forgiveness for all the faults of humanity. And you’re neither ugly nor stupid. You shouldn’t feel guilty for not liking him. You did what you could to make sure he was all right. What did he ever do for you?”

She thought for a moment. “Nothing.”

Oh, how wonderful it was to have the chance to talk about it. All that pent-up anger ... She desperately tried to overcome her sense of guilt, because her father had most certainly been bad! Although the fault must lie mainly with her ...

“I had a feeling that he hadn’t done anything for you,” said the doctor in a kind voice. “In which case you shouldn’t be talking so much about the punishment of the Lord. Your father had a good life, didn’t he?”

“Yes. At least ...”

She tried to articulate what she was trying to say. He helped her.

“At least on the face of it. How he felt about himself inside is something no one will ever know. Meanwhile you were really struggling, weren’t you? What kind of a god is it that you believe in, by the way? One that rewards those who are evil and punishes those who are helpful? No, that doesn’t make any sense at all!”

She tried to consider what he said but felt so woozy by then that her thoughts started to get muddled.

“I had planned to follow in their footsteps ...”

“You mean you father’s?”

“No, no. My brothers. To America. But they never answered my letters.”

“So that’s where your siblings are! Is it long since they left?”

“Twenty years.”

Christoffer paused for a moment. “You’ve been very lonely, haven’t you?”

He should never have said that! Not those particular words in such a compassionate tone of voice! A lump began to dissolve in Marit’s throat and her frozen soul, and the deep sob that resulted was terribly painful. It wore and tore in her aching body, she screamed from pain and Christoffer Volden attempted to stop what he had initiated. He could have bitten his tongue off for having said those inconsiderate words.

He frantically tried to get her mind onto other things. He told her about what it would be like at the hospital, told her how she would get a chance to rest. She would get food and nourishment and she wouldn’t have to fear anything, he would tend to her the whole time.

Her consciousness vanished in a whirling stream that subdued the pain. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “I’m so afraid. Stay with me!”

She thought she heard him say “I won’t leave you,” but that could have been wishful thinking. Then everything grew darker and darker around her, the lamplight faded, it was as though she was sinking down into the pain, the dull, throbbing pain.

Christoffer shut his eyes helplessly. He knew her life was hanging by a desperately thin thread. “Dear God,” he whispered inaudibly. “If you are familiar with the notion of justice, then let this poor woman live a little longer! Let her live for her own sake and not for others. She doesn’t deserve to die without getting anything out of life.”

Actually, Christoffer was mistaken there. For in the last few hours Marit had encountered something that up until now had not been her fate: sharing the company of another human being. Kindness and thoughtfulness. Her relaxed hand was still resting in his, as though he was a safe anchor.