Ida Brandt (21 page)

“It is Ida’s turn to deal,” said Mrs von Eichbaum. This was the first time she had called her by her Christian name.

They played again. Karl became very engaged and silent with Mrs von Eichbaum as his partner.

“It’s you, Miss Brandt,” he said.

Ida sat thinking how much Karl resembled his mother after all. It was the same face.

After the two rubbers, they rose from the card table and Karl and Ida sat over in the corner sofa, while Ida looked in a stereoscope.

“Well,” said Karl, momentarily touching her hand, which lay on the sofa: “You’ re a fine player.”

“It’s been so lovely here,” said Ida softly.

“Yes,” said Karl rather reluctantly “we’ve had a nice time this evening.”

They remained seated beside each other, without saying much, while the lamp above them bubbled gently, and Ida looked at the beautiful, foaming waterfalls of Switzerland in the stereoscope.

Mrs von Eichbaum and the general’s wife sat on the sofa.

“Oh,” said the general’s wife, “it is good to sit down. It has been quite an eventful day.”

Mrs von Eichbaum nodded, and while the two sisters were both thinking of the same things, she said, after a brief silence:

“Good heavens, my dear, when I saw the dogs I cannot deny that I was horrified.”

The two sisters sat in silence for a time, while Mrs von Eichbaum turned a kindly eye towards the two young people.

“A real pair of friends,” she said, nodding and smiling in their direction.

Ida moved across to the table where the sisters were sitting.

Later, as he helped Ida on with her coat in the entrance hall, Karl opened the door to his own room.

“This is where I live,” he said, stepping inside; the lamp was still lit in there.

“And here are a couple of the horses as well,” he said, taking a few more steps and followed by Ida.

“Yes,” she said.

And they were both silent as they stood, just for a brief moment, before the two pictures, which probably neither of them saw, until Karl said:

“Well, we got away.”

And he closed the door behind them.

The sisters remained in the dimly lit dining room. Mrs von Eichbaum had an unusual flow of words in praise of Ida and the entire Brandt family.

“Yes,” said the general’s wife, “she is quite sweet and appreciative.”

“Dear Charlotte,” said Mrs von Eichbaum, who had detected something in the tone used by the general’s wife that Mrs von Eichbaum almost corrected. “She comes from an excellent home. Her father was His Lordship’s right-hand man and as good as his equal.”

The general’s wife stood for a moment before saying:

“Yes, she is really sweet and undemanding in spite of being so wealthy.”

Mrs von Eichbaum made no reply; she had become as it were slightly preoccupied after Karl and Ida had gone. Suddenly her sister said:

“Do you think I should put my grapes in sawdust?”

Mrs von Eichbaum’s thoughts seemed to be taking her in a completely different direction, but she said: “I wonder whether that would not spoil the flavour a little?”

The general’s wife thought the same. She would simply, carefully, put each bunch in a little piece of tissue paper.

The following morning, while she was doing this, Anna Schleppegrell came in to ask whether she might be interested in some silk clothes. Mrs Schleppegrell, the admiral’s wife, ran a small more or less private commission business for Printemps on behalf of friends. The general’s wife told her about the whist:

“With Emilie, Karl and Miss Brandt.”

The admiral’s wife was not acquainted with Miss Brandt.

“Oh, my dear,” said the general’s wife, “a charming girl…her father, the bailiff, was His Lordship’s right hand man as well.”

“What is she doing working in that hospital then?” asked the admiral’s wife.

“My dear Anna, she doesn’t need to do that either. On the contrary, she inherited a pile of money.”

“Oh, I see,” said the admiral’s wife, who suddenly looked as though she needed some fresh air.

∞∞∞

The gate to Mrs von Eichbaum’s home had just closed behind Karl and Ida.

“Oh, I was so nervous,” said Ida, waving her arms up and down like a bird flapping its wings.

“Yes, that was obvious.” Karl put his arm under hers, but as though to excuse herself, Ida said:

“Yes, because I only knew her from Ludvigsbakke, when she sat at the top of the table and when she went for a walk past the pantry window.”

“Yes,” said Karl with a laugh; “I know mother when she has her outdoor clothes on.”

“And in that big lace hat,” said Ida.

“She still has that.”

And they continued to laugh, not at that but as though they simply had to laugh now, out here, in the open.

“But it was so lovely this evening,” said Ida.

They came to Grønningen, and the snow, which was no longer falling, lay among the silent trees like a soft carpet. Karl and Ida fell silent, as though they were walking through a forest.

“She is so fond of you,” said Ida softly; her voice sounded so gentle.

“Yes,” said Karl in the same gentle tone; and they walked on for a while before, slowly and almost reflectively, he said:

“But it’s a mess all the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“All of it.”

“No,” said Ida louder but not that loudly, and she shook her head.

They walked on again and everything was just as silent.

“Look,” said Ida with a smile. “We are the first ones to walk on the snow.”

“Yes,” replied Karl.

And they both looked down at the soft white carpet, on which their feet left marks beside each other.

“It’s so lovely,” said Ida, still smiling.

But when they reached the narrow corner by the tramline, she freed her arm from his and went on ahead, almost running. Karl followed her, looking at her fine, slender back. Then a snowball winged its way to the back of her head.

“There.”

“Karl,” she shouted. But he went on, and she received one more and then one more again, one on her ear and one on her cheek until she defended herself: “Here you are then,” she said, and she pelted him with snow, loose snow, lots of snow, in his face, from the front, from behind and down his overcoat.

“Oh no, we’ re making a din in the street.”

She shook herself suddenly and stopped: there was a policeman in the middle of the white avenue, standing there as straight as a post. But Karl went on, in high spirits, and once round the corner, he crowed like a cockerel.

“The people up there will think it’s five o’ clock,” he said, laughing up at the windows of these respectable middle-class houses. Suddenly he started trotting, stamping his feet, with Ida alongside doing the same, as though they simply
had
to exert themselves, and Karl whistled all the while.

“It’s Nurse Helgesen’s birthday on Monday,” said Ida.

“Are you going to have a party?” asked Karl, still tramping.

“Yes, we are going to make a pudding in the kitchen.”

“What sort of pudding?”

Ida laughed. “It’s supposed to be a rum pudding,” she said, she, too, stamping her feet.

“Are men allowed in?”

“Yes, if you come with Quam,” said Ida.

Karl nodded as they traipsed on,
there
beside each other, and Karl said:

“He wears huntsmen’s underclothes.”

Ida laughed, she was quite out of breath. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve seen them.”

“We’ re home now,” said Ida. They were at the gate.

“I’ll go as far as the fence with you,” said Karl.

And they walked, respectably, past the watchman, across the big, silent courtyard, where the passages were half lit and lay as though dozing and only half awake.

“Just listen to our steps,” said Ida quietly. “They echo here in the courtyard.”

They went past the doctors’ corridor.

“Sshh, who’s that?” she grasped Karl’s arm; but then she laughed, quietly, though she continued to listen. There were the sounds of laughter and footsteps from the doctors’ corridor. “It’s the junior doctors,” she whispered. There was a din in there as everyone shouted and laughed, and Karl sprang up the little staircase and opened the door.

“What’s going on here?” he shouted in a sharp voice.

“The professor,” someone shouted. It was Quam; and the doors opened and shut while Karl started to laugh so loud that it could be heard all over the yard, and Ida joined in as did the doctors up in the darkness; everyone laughed until suddenly everything fell quiet.

“The watchman,” said Ida and started to go.

The night watchman came towards them, slowly and carrying his big lantern.

“Good evening,” he said.

“Good evening.”

“That was only Jensen,” whispered Ida nervously and Karl took her arm.

They turned in at the middle gate, where it was quite dark.

“There are ghosts in here,” whispered Ida.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, this is the way they go when they are going to die.”

“Who says that?”

“The watchmen,” said Ida.

And a little later:

“Because this is the way to the chapel.”

“Are you afraid of that,” said Karl.

“No, not now,” Ida whispered, shaking her head.

They went past the laundry wing and as far as the lamp above the entrance to the mental ward. The building there was closed and silent. The trees in the gardens round it were all covered with snow. Ida stood there with her arm in Karl’s.

“How lovely it is here,” she whispered.

She looked around at it all.

“If all the stars came out,” she said…

“Good night.”

Karl heard the door open and shut.

∞∞∞

It was a few days later. Ida went over to the office with a report that evening. It was late, and Karl already had his overcoat on; he was the only one left and was about to put out the last lamp – the one above the counter.

“It’s a long time since I saw you,” said Karl.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I can’t always come,” said Ida – she did not herself know why she said it almost in a whisper – and, bending her head forward under the lamp, she gave him the report.

Karl took it and touched her hand.

“Ida,” was all he said; he had bent down and kissed her white neck.

“Ida.”

Without saying a word, she had taken her hand away from his. Slowly and cautiously, almost as though she dared not walk there, she crossed the dim courtyard. All was so quiet in her heart.

Nurse Kjær was in the doorway to the dining room, where the ladies’ voices could be heard loud and all talking at once, and she placed an arm around Ida’s waist when she arrived. But Ida slowly pushed it away with her hand.

“Oh dear me,” said Nurse Kjær, as Ida sat down by the door. “Am I not allowed to touch the young lady any longer?”

All the nurses were chatting and gesticulating along the table. Nurse Kaas, Nurse Boserup and Nurse Roed had moved their chairs out on to the floor and in loud voices – the most excited of all was Nurse Kaas, who was flushed right up to her bobbed hair – were eagerly discussing the new association that Nurse Boserup wanted to form, an association of nurses from both the King Frederik and the Municipal Hospital. A list had been circulated and a meeting was to be arranged.

“He would surely not refuse us the use of the lecture room,” said Nurse Kaas. “He” was the professor, and the term was used as though heavily underlined, while Nurse Boserup started to gesticulate at Nurse Krohn from the easy ward and said that surely, despite them all being women, (this was one of Nurse Boserup’s set phrases) it must be possible to summon up sufficient interest in their station to achieve some rights some time.

The three continued to discuss in loud voices while Nurse Helgesen, speaking from her permanent place behind the urn, said:

“It would surely at all events have to be done in consultation with the doctors.”

Nurse Kaas, indignantly thrusting her breast forward in her blouse, but otherwise pretending not to have heard that, said:

“I would happily be secretary, at least if the idea is that we should be independent.” Nurse Kaas was so to speak always the secretary,
first
for collections and
then
for addresses. And Nurse Roed said that what they should aim for was shorter periods on duty and then payment for holiday periods… “But I really believe, like Nurse Helgesen, in consultation with the doctors.”

“The first thing is that we should have our food improved,” said Nurse Øverud in her Funen accent.

But Nurse Friis, sitting with her shoulders hunched and leaning back in her chair, said to Nurse Berg:

“No, leave me out of this. Apart from anything else, it would mean being together with one’s colleagues even when not on duty.”

Ida had not said anything. It was as though, in the light from the flames and among all the others, she was all alone there, conspicuously alone.

Then Nurse Kaas suddenly said:

“What does Nurse Brandt say?”

“I’m listening,” said Ida, the expression on her face unchanged.

But Nurse Boserup said:

“I suppose Nurse Brandt is not really interested. She’s got money in the bank, of course.” And she slapped her right hand down on her open left hand.

“Yes, Boserup knows all about that,” said Nurse Friis to Krohn.

But Nurse Kaas had risen to go over to Ida. She had the discreet idea that Brandt could always advance the money for the preliminary expenses, whereas Nurse Kjær, who was of the opinion that Boserup had been ill-mannered, went across to Ida again and stroked her hair.

“Never mind,” she said. “The one thing that is certain is that we shall have to pay a subscription.”

Ida had simply not heard anything. She just looked up for a moment and smiled at Nurse Kjær.

“Have you seen their shadows?” she whispered, her eyes laughing. “They look so odd.”

On the wall behind the excited ladies, their large, gesticulating shadows were dancing to and fro on the wall like jumping jacks.

And they both laughed, different laughs, Ida quite quietly, as though from far away, from a different, distant world until Nurse Kaas went over to her to talk about the association again. It was really of importance to the profession that they should work for some sort of independence.