Barbara (26 page)

Mikkel laughed: “What do you know about that, mother? I’ve not so far noticed that the girls avoid me. I had actually been thinking of finding a girlfriend this Christmas.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” said Birita. “Ladykiller that you are. Your Christmas girlfriends are rarely your girlfriends by Easter. When are you thinking of getting yourself betrothed to a decent girl?”

“I don’t care a damn about your Christmas girlfriends and Easter girlfriends,” said Samson, the youngest of the sons. “I’m going to go to sea now. I want to take part in a war, let me tell you. I’m sure you’ll be able to take me along with you and get me on a warship, won’t you, Andreas.”

The law speaker stopped in the midst of his work. “You shouldn’t talk like that, Samson.”

Samson had risen and was standing there, enormous and enormously lively in the middle of the room. He was swinging his arms about.

“Aye, you are one on your own,” said Birita. “I don’t think Andreas will want to have you with him in Copenhagen to make a laughing stock of yourself.”

Samson made no reply. He closed his eyes, started to rock his shoulders and in a loud voice broke into the ballad “Now sail the nobles of Norway”.

“Aunt Armgard will be after you, Samson,” shouted Mikkel to him.

But Samson took no notice. Like one going berserk he lumbered around the entire room, waving his huge arms in the air and singing all the time.

“You should have a serious word with him, Samuel,” urged Birita.

The law speaker smiled benevolently in his great beard. His beautiful, clear eyes followed his son’s great gestures with secret delight. But finally he cleared his throat and in a deep, half plaintive, half admonishing voice exclaimed, “Good lord, Samson, this really isn’t fitting behaviour for the hours just before we celebrate Christmas. Do quieten down, Samson, please.”

Supper was ready soon after this. Silence descended slowly on the room, and all ate the abundance of good food with solemn faces as they sensed the approach of the great festival. The law speaker read the evening prayers, as was his custom. His deep voice was rather hoarse and, although he read very slowly, he stumbled over the words a couple of times. But he was tired, having just arrived from a visit to Tórshavn, and he was longing to get to bed. The members of the large household started to prepare themselves for the night. Everyone had to be up early the following morning, for it was Christmas Day.

The law speaker’s sons and Andreas went out onto the croft for a moment. There was a light frost. The jagged silhouettes of the mountains cut out huge, sharp sections from the starry sky.

“Shall we have a drink now?” asked Samson quietly. He had opened the door to a barn. A heavy, sweet scent of hay met them from the dark.

“No, better wait,” said Jacob. “It’s not Christmas yet.”

“You and I, Andreas, we ought to stay up until midnight,” suggested Samson. “Then we could have a drink together.”

“Don’t bother Andreas,” said Jacob. “He’s tired after travelling.”

“Well, what the hell,” said Samson. “Then we can presumably sleep in the hay. And then we can get up all the earlier. Shame on those who lie snoozing on Christmas morning. I don’t know whether you will be satisfied with that, Andreas? You are probably used to a different sort of cushion in Copenhagen.”

Down in Regensen, Andreas has often dreamt of being at home and sleeping in a scented hay barn. He accepted readily; his blood was restless and he, too, was impatiently longing for the night to be past. But he had not only come to Stegard in order to celebrate Christmas; he also had another little objective in coming to Vágar.

They could sense the warm scent of the cowshed. The cows were standing in the darkness and chewing the cud, occasionally lowing and breathing deeply. Andreas found something familiar in this sound; he felt at home in Stegard again and he was filled with gratitude for this place, where he had spent so much time in his childhood. He saw before him the imperturbable, heavy and steady shape of the law speaker. He had the same gentle and slow voice as the cows; he was a farmer through and through. But he was a farmer of the great type, generous and hospitable, and the slightly diffident smile that was always to be seen on his dignified face was affectionate, humble, ironical and tolerant. It was part of everything that went on; it was like a flame that flickered with every word that was said, indeed almost every thought that was thought. Such was the wisdom, the sensitivity and the fun that dwelt in this giant. Andreas felt a little ashamed. What face would Samuel Mikkelsen have adopted if he had known the real objective of this visit? There was no knowing. He lay down to sleep in the law speaker’s sweet hay. Through a hole in the stone wall he could see a star twinkling.

He woke, shivering with cold. Outside, the stars were still twinkling.

“Happy Christmas,” said Samson in a hoarse voice. “Have you slept well in the hay? I know you need something to put a bit of heat in your body now.” He handed him a small barrel from which a gurgling sound was to be heard: “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” said Andreas. “And happy Christmas.” He put his lips to the hole in the flask and drank a couple of mouthfuls. They made his stomach burn.

They both got up and shook themselves. It was still night, and there was not a single candle to be seen in Sandavág.

“We must have something to eat,” said Samson. He opened the door to a slatted shed. The door creaked on its hinges. Inside hung dried sheep’s carcasses one after the other, and there was a raw, sour smell of meat. Samson took out his knife and with an assured movement he cut a leg off.

“Meat’s a good thing,” he said. “It’s good when you’re hungry, when you’re cold, when you’re tired and when you’re in a bad temper.”

“And when you’re in love?” laughed Andreas.

Samson pulled a manful face. They ate and carved and ate. Andreas felt a fiery pleasure in this meal; the hard dried mutton broke between his teeth; its acrid juice exhilarated him; his stomach cried out with delight and hunger. “Eat,” said Samson. “We’ll make do with the rest of this leg for the time being… you can be sure that father will be pleased for us to have it.”

They each sat on a bucket. On the floor between them a tallow candle provided some light. Suddenly, they heard footsteps up on the road. Samson listened. “That’s Ole the Gate,” he said. “I know his walk. He’s usually one of the first to come and wish us a happy Christmas.”

They went outside and listened to the steps as they came closer and closer. There were just a few lights to be seen in the village now and there were also signs of movement in the law speaker’s house.

“Well, all the Christmas visitors will soon be here,” said Samson.

The dignified farmers who came very early in the morning to wish the law speaker a happy Christmas were all shown into the best room, where Samuel Mikkelsen himself poured a drink for them. The younger visitors came no further than the parlour, where the sons acted as hosts, and a few unfortunates could hardly be persuaded to go further than the hearth room.

They were all nevertheless entertained generously and finally seated at table around splendid haunches of dried meat. The candles burned in the candlesticks and the men’s shadows flickered like trolls on the whitewashed walls. But there were no loud voices to be heard; all were sedate and decorous in their Christmas celebration.

However, the young were not content to sit there and soon embarked on other Christmas visits. On the other hand, the older people were soon engrossed in all kinds of memories and spent a good deal of time around the law speaker’s silver tankard. He frequently poured for them and finally invited Farmer Halvdan and Farmer Justinus to stay and hear the reading of the Christmas Gospel. By this time they both had rather stiff eyes and were full of profound, Christian thoughts. They did not refuse to stay and hear the Word of the Lord.

The guests and the people of the household slowly gathered in the parlour, where they devoutly seated themselves along the walls.

“You are a learned man these days, Andreas,” said the law speaker. “I think I will ask you to read the Gospel for us today. I am sure you will do us that favour.”

Andreas was confused. This was not exactly what he had intended. He wanted at first to say that he was going to Midvág to attend the Christmas service, but he quickly realised that the law speaker was doing him an honour. He felt like a renegade as he settled down at the table with the candles and Jesper Brochmand’s great
Book of Homilies
. Armgard sat over by the stove, her cold eyes half closed, her pale, bony face with the hooked nose immovable as a mask. The last of the servants came in and sat silently near the door.

“Since it is such a solemn feast today, perhaps we should sing a hymn,” said Samuel Mikkelsen as he started to flick through his hymn book. They started to sing quietly:

For us the blessed day now dawns

Then let us all this day rejoice

Our Christ is born this happy morn

Now let us sing as with one voice…

The law speaker led the singing. His voice was not particularly melodious, but there was a resonance in it that moved Andreas and made him think of a bassoon, a horn or some other innocent shepherd’s instrument. He was overcome by a moment’s devotion, but woke up to cold reality when the hymn came to an end. The book lay open before him. Brochmand’s sermons were renowned for their length.

“And it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus…”

He read in the light, lively way he had acquired and immediately heard that the tone was wrong. This was not the heartfelt, halting and naive Danish he had heard Samuel Mikkelsen sing; it was a profane language, a dreadful language. He paused on finishing the Gospel. All his listeners sat motionless, most with their faces hidden in their hands. Farmer Halvdan sat there with glassy, running eyes, pulling at his white beard.

“I think I will go into my room,” murmured the law speaker to himself. “I can hear just as well from in there…”

At that moment Andreas chanced to look at Samson, who was sitting entrenched with the stove between himself and Armgard. He thought he saw the flash of a smile cross his face. He felt humiliated and made to look ridiculous in this dignified seat in which he had been placed contrary to his wishes.

“Come O Children of God,” he began, “and weep at the world’s neglect in failing to receive Jesus Christ, Saviour of the World and King of Kings. Behold, now that thing is being fulfilled that Elijah so clearly prophesied: ‘The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib: but Israel doth not know, my people doth not consider.’”

No, the law speaker ought to have read this. Andreas was unable to strike the right tone; he blushed at the priestly dignity conferred on him and merely wished that it should have an end. He could already have been half way to Midvág by now. He read without thinking, he no longer understood the words, he thought only of how he could shorten this torment. But all around him his listeners sat intent with their faces buried in their hands.

Then a sound was heard from the bedroom, at first a slight sound, but one that rapidly became louder. It was all too obvious that someone was snoring. Andreas glanced into the room and at the foot of a bed he could see Samuel Mikkelsen’s crossed legs. He wanted so much to laugh; his voice became weak and unrecognisable; sweat broke out on his forehead; he read and read while the house was shaken by the law speaker’s snoring. But the congregation still sat there piously with their faces hidden. Only Armgard looked straight ahead – her face looked as though of stone.

Andreas gabbled away; he was himself almost insentient. He was constantly overcome by an urge to laugh; it was a sickness, an attack of cramp. He had already read numerous pages, but there was still no prospect of the word amen. He felt like a disabled ship, out of sight of land and without a compass, being tossed on the wild ocean of Brochmand’s eloquence. The next time he had to turn a page, he turned several. He did not himself know whether it was two or four, and it made no difference for there was still no amen to be seen.

Then Armgard spoke: “Wait, Andreas,” she said. “Turn back a page.”

Andreas turned back a page and to his delight he discovered an amen. He looked gratefully at his aunt and made to read the remainder of the sermon.

“No, Andreas,” said Armgard. “You have not got back to Christmas Day yet.”

Andreas looked at the book in some confusion. At the top of the page it said Lesson for the Feast of St Stephen. He understood not a word of it.

Armgard had risen. She gave a resounding bang on the table. “Turn back, turn back, confound you. God forgive me for what I say. Sitting there and reading page after page about St Stephen on Christmas Day! What are you thinking of? Turn back to the place where you cheated the first time.”

Andreas turned back, page after page, all of which he had read. And finally he found the amen to Christmas Day. It was on one of the pages he had jumped.

Armgard had sat down again. “Read from the place where you cheated,” she repeated brusquely.

Andreas started to read again, as obedient as a small child. There was a painful silence when he finally said amen. But at that moment the law speaker appeared suddenly in the doorway to his bedroom, refreshed and smiling.

“Thank you very much indeed,” he said, “for taking that on. If only we could read Danish as fluently as you can.”

“Aye, my friend,” agreed Farmer Halvdan in his old man’s falsetto. “Your reading is heavenly, just as good as a Danish pastor’s. But you read it a little too fast for my old ears.”

Andreas was still a little embarrassed. The listeners came one after one to shake hands with him and thank him for the reading. Last of all came the law speaker’s sons, dignified and silent like the others, but inside illumined with laughter.

Farmer Halvdan and Farmer Justinus had begun to take their leave. The law speaker asked them to stay and said they were letting Christmas in.

“Dear friend,” they said. “Are we not letting Christmas out? We have had everything we could wish for. Both the gospel and the sermon.”