The Prophets of Eternal Fjord (9 page)

What should I say? he mumbles.

The Lord's Prayer is always an option, his brother-in-law replies from below in a voice that is loud and clear.

He opens his mouth, then closes it again, mute as a codfish. The text that each and every person in the kingdom is able to speak in their sleep, has vanished from his memory.

Very well, says Gram, once he has climbed down again. Let us inspect the Latin school at the back.

His brother-in-law is kindly disposed to him that evening as they sit in the living room of the rectory with Abelone and Kirstine. Gram tells the ladies of their excursion into the neighbouring parish. Only now does it occur to Morten that they have visited Rødby Kirke and Latin school.

Some days later he is finally able to spend time alone with Abelone. They have all gone by carriage to the narrow spit of land that reaches out into the Langelandsbælt and which the locals call the Elbow. Morten and Abelone walk arm in arm along the shore. Kirstine sits behind them among the shrubs and reads a book, protected from the elements by her white garments and shawl and a wide-brimmed, veiled hat. Her husband naps under a parasol, a pair of thin legs protruding beneath a large belly. He has consumed a solid lunch of pie, cheese, sweet ham and no small amount of wine.

The strait is grey in colour, with occasional stabs of sun from an unsettled sky. Rain clouds come and go without releasing their contents. By evening, when the air cools, there will be a downpour. Across the water lies the island of Langeland. The fields of Spodsbjerg are plainly visible to the eye, flax-coloured panels bordered by stone walls and hedgerows. A number of sails can be seen, ships on their way to or from the countries of the Baltic.

What a marvellous view, says Abelone.

Indeed, says Morten, accommodatingly. It is a beautiful spot.

Do you think you can live here, Morten? It cannot be beautiful all year round. Your sister says that in winter it is quite a harrowing place.

I imagine, he says, and laughs. It seems your father and my brother­in-law, the Reverend Gram, have already found a living for me.

Is it not what you want? What we want?

Certainly!

Finding a living is no easy matter in our day.

This is true.

Johannes Gram is a man of influence. If he lets a word drop to the provost, you will doubtless be given the parish.

Yes.

Have you other plans, Morten? Have we other plans?

No. I just find it all so, I don't know, so real. So sudden.

Things happen so quickly sometimes, says Abelone, absently. Such is the way. I feel I am years older since the spring. But I am glad. You have made me happy. Are you not happy, Morten?

I am, he says. I am happy.

I love you, she says.

He half turns towards her with a smile and pats her hand. He reminds himself that he must remember to say something similar at some appro­priate time, without making it sound false or like an automatic reply. I love you. Hm, a difficult sentence indeed.

They return to the others. His sister, too, has fallen asleep and lies with her book at her breast. Ants crawl on her hand, which lies flopped in the sand. He crouches down and sweeps them away without waking her.

In the evening he reads aloud for them, a German translation of Rousseau.
Man is born free and everywhere he is in chains!
The words receive sarcastic comment from the Reverend Gram. Kirstine makes apologies and retires early on account of feeling indisposed. Abelone follows shortly after, leaving him alone with his brother-in-law. A tall grandfather clock stands ticking against the long wall. Gram brings them glasses and a decanter. They get drunk while hardly exchanging a word. Morten reads his book, his brother-in-law Luther's sermons.

This Rousseau may be inserted in a certain orifice, as far as I am concerned, Gram eventually proclaims, and staggers to his room.

Luncheon in the great dining room some days later. It has been raining since the excursion to the Elbow and they have kept indoors, reading and playing cards. Gram's ageing mother has arrived home from a journey to Altona to visit an old female friend. She is an affable woman who, in season and out, cheerfully allows her son to bite off her head. At one point during the meal he abruptly clatters his cutlery down upon his plate, rises to his feet and bellows: Mother, you are the dullest person I know! I am ashamed! And with that he marches to his study and does not show himself for the remainder of the day. It is a scene that repeats itself with variations during the days that follow. The reason for their difference is a mystery to Morten, who notes only that seemingly innocuous, everyday remarks invariably cause his brother-in-law to explode.

My son has a strong temper, says the mother with a chuckle. He takes after his father.

The weather changes and they can once more stroll in the woods and along the shore. Things begin to repeat. The woods, the shore, the sea, the same people who greet them as they walk through the town, the heavy meals followed by leaden afternoon naps, the drowsiness when waking up before evening, the effort to summon the energy to go for yet another stroll, only to remain in the chair and read or pass the time with a game of patience. Then another evening of reading aloud for each other, punctuated by the continuing disagreements between the pastor and his mother. He conducts not a single conversation of a personal nature with Kirstine during the entire visit. Indeed, he avoids it on purpose, terrified of what she might confide to him, and he to her.

They depart with the packet boat on the tenth of August and take lodging in a single room at an inn in Vordingborg under the name of Falck, where they spend a week together, much of it without leaving their alcove bed.

We are good at this, she says. At being on our own together. Let us never forget it and let us never allow anyone or anything to change it.

He finds it an odd thing to say. As though she has a premonition that some dreadful event will occur.

Back in Copenhagen. He is with Abelone and she is happy to be home again. They stroll arm in arm in the town and amble through Rosenborg Have with the two sisters. They see the great regatta in the city's canals. They make excursions to the countryside in the company of Madame Schultz. When again he is alone with Abelone, she asks him to show her the sordid quarters around Nikolaj Kirke and the ramparts, and to explain to her what goes on behind the walls.

He tells her. He conceals nothing. She listens with interest.

But why, Morten?

Why what?

Why do they do it?

It is their only way of earning a living.

But the men, I mean. Why do they do it?

It is the men's lust, he says. It is their savage nature, a fearful thing. An innocent girl such as yourself cannot understand it.

Innocent, ha! Do you not think girls may possess a savage nature? Let me show you savage!

She wishes to be taught, and in teaching her he becomes himself a student. This is quite another matter than death's exact and static revela­tions. It is muscles responding to the touch, glands releasing substances more fragrant than the deathly fluids in the vaults of Bredegade. It is eyes widening and beads of perspiration on the lip, sweat that can be tasted, a pulse throbbing at an artery in the neck, gasps of breath of so many nuances as to be language on their own. And he is an attentive pupil, a sensitive teacher.

Miss Schultz is fond of the inadmissibility of copulating while still being fully clothed, with the exception of small apertures through which a thing may stick out or be stuck in and received. They can spend hours arousing each other with words and small, innocuous touches of the hand, until one of them can withstand no longer and they begin to snatch and tear at each other's clothing. Often she slaps him hard in the face from sheer excitement, or else happens to bite him.

The opportunity of being together presents itself only seldom. Madame Schultz watches over her daughter and nothing can be concealed from the two sisters. But they are nevertheless betrothed and as such are allowed to walk in the town without a chaperone. The things she says to him during these walks would be enough to make an old whore blush, he says, and she laughs heartily.

Who is the innocent one now, Magister Falck?

When she sneaks up to his room in the evenings, presumably with her sisters' knowledge, she insists they enter the roles she has devised for them. They play the mad King Christian and his prostitute mistress Støvlet-Cathrine. They play brothel. She commands him to treat her badly and to pay for her humiliations with a few meagre coins. He plays along, and yet he is unnerved. Perhaps it is not men's lust that is the worst, he thinks to himself.

At the end of August he moves into a small room in the attic of the Seminarium Groenlandicum. He writes a letter to Abelone by which he breaks the betrothal.
My dear Abelone, my heart, friend of my soul, love of my life!
It is no easy letter to compose.
Our visit to Nakskov prompted me to look into the future
, he writes.
And there I saw that whether I content myself as a rural provost or else follow a call to the colonies of Greenland, what we have enjoyed together will be destroyed for always. It will destroy you, as it will destroy me. I have not the heart for such, my beloved Abelone. Let us therefore be parted, so that what we are may continue to be, and our love be preserved in its original form
.

He details the tribulations life in a Greenlandic colony will impose. It is no place for a young woman of her fine standing, a place in which the worst of vices flourish and where the majority of those who venture there succumb to cold and sickness. He cannot defend it.
The scurvy, Abelone. Alas, to see you removed of your sparkling white teeth. The mere thought of it is more than an honest man can bear!

It pains him to write such a letter, which he composes in a serving house in Vestergade, drinking several mugs of ale as he ponders. The headache with which he awakes the next morning is not caused by drunk­enness. He knows, of course, that the explanations he has proffered are but claims and poor excuses. He cannot fathom why he is so unable to marry her. All he knows is that he does not desire it. Yet to state as much would be unthinkable.

Some days later he receives a frosty letter of business from Schultz. The printer makes it clear that while fully entitled to pursue the breach legally, he has for the sake of his daughter's reputation, which already is tarnished by Falck's treachery, as well as in concern for her weakened state in general, decided to let the matter pass.
In the expectation of the Magister that he repair from the countenance of my family, and preferably as soon as possible travel to the far and frigid place in which he intends to work, I remain his respectfully, Thøger Schultz, Printer
.

The unfriendly letter lifts his spirits. It is a liberation, a clear signal that opens up the gates of his life, much like those that allow a person out of a plague-ridden city into the open countryside and fresh air.

But Miss Schultz will not permit him to retreat so easily. She manages to find him, and in the middle of a lesson in which he is receiving instruc­tion in the Greenlandic affixes, she bursts in and announces in the presence of all the alumni: Morten Falck, you lecher! You owe me five rigsdalers for having lain with me!

The classroom is deathly silent. The remaining Greenlandic affixes are scattered to the floor and the only thing to be heard is old Egede's nervous titter.

Miss Schultz .  .  . what kind of garb is this? says Morten, staring in bewilderment. He has risen to his feet. Abelone is clad in a loose, pleated, gaudy dress with train, cut low to make her bosom swell. Her shoulders are bare, her hair let down, and in her hand she awkwardly grips a little parasol that rests against her shoulder. You look like a woman of the street!

He receives a triumphant smile in return.

Egede ushers them into his office and leaves them to their own devices. Morten hears him chuckle and click his tongue as he returns to the classroom. Abelone flops down on a chair, abandons her parasol and bursts into tears. I just wanted to show you I'll do anything for you, she sobs. If I can shame myself in front of a whole audience of priests, then I can surely accompany you to the furthest corner of the world, don't you see? She weeps. She wrings her hands. Take me with you. Let me be your companion, Morten. I have said I will go with you anywhere in the world, have I not?

Indeed.

Then let me go with you, my dearest. I can be a good friend and a faithful wife. I can teach the children of the savages. We can keep each other company in the dark nights and read Rousseau.

Impossible. The rules do not allow accompanying spouses.

Do you remember the summer? Do you remember how you ran after me, the way you bundled me to the ground and took me by force? And then ever since, have we not had fun together? What we have shown and confided to each other cannot be given to anyone else. It will be lost if we are no longer together, can't you see? Lost for always.

He considers her. She extends a hand, a leather glove. He accepts it reluctantly, feels her fingers through the material, the softness of her flesh, the bones. He lets go again. He is embarrassed by what has happened, the thought of what the other alumni will say, and when his eyes meet hers he can tell that she knows what he is thinking.

It is you who are narrow-minded, she says. You think only of your reputation. How will you fare among the savages, Morten? You will perish from shame at what they will do to you.

Yes, he says, perhaps you are right. And for that reason I attend the seminary here, to prepare for life among the savages.

I can be your own little native, she says eagerly, her tone altered at once. I can be as wild as the savages, if only you allow me the chance.

I know you, he says. I know what you are. You are a good and gentle girl of fine standing. Savagery is but a game for you.

And for you! We are alike, even if you refuse to admit it. I understand you. Perhaps I would have done the same if I were a man. But we can liberate ourselves from it all. We can be free together.