Short Fiction, Selma Lagerlöf [uplifting novels txt] 📗

the voice of God for him, ceased. It was suddenly calm, with a sharp sun and a splashing as of oars and a gentle rustle as of stiff rushes. These sounds brought Unn’s image before him.⁠—The outlaw cannot have anything, not riches, nor women, nor the esteem of men.⁠—If he should betray Berg, he would be taken under the protection of the law.⁠—But Unn must love Berg, after what he had done for her. There was no way out of it all.

When the storm increased, he heard again steps behind him and sometimes a breathless panting. Now he did not dare to look back, for he knew that the white monk went behind him. He came from the feast at Berg Rese’s house, drenched with blood, with a gaping axe-wound in his forehead. And he whispered: “Denounce him, betray him, save his soul. Leave his body to the pyre, that his soul may be spared. Leave him to the slow torture of the rack, that his soul may have time to repent.”

Tord ran. All this fright of what was nothing in itself grew, when it so continually played on the soul, to an unspeakable terror. He wished to escape from it all. As he began to run, again thundered that deep, terrible voice, which was God’s. God himself hunted him with alarms, that he should give up the murderer. Berg Rese’s crime seemed more detestable than ever to him. An unarmed man had been murdered, a man of God pierced with shining steel. It was like a defiance of the Lord of the world. And the murderer dared to live! He rejoiced in the sun’s light and in the fruits of the earth as if the Almighty’s arm were too short to reach him.

He stopped, clenched his fists and howled out a threat. Then he ran like a madman from the wood down to the valley.

Tord hardly needed to tell his errand; instantly ten peasants were ready to follow him. It was decided that Tord should go alone up to the cave, so that Berg’s suspicions should not be aroused. But where he went he should scatter peas, so that the peasants could find the way.

When Tord came to the cave, the outlaw sat on the stone bench and sewed. The fire gave hardly any light, and the work seemed to go badly. The boy’s heart swelled with pity. The splendid Berg Rese seemed to him poor and unhappy. And the only thing he possessed, his life, should be taken from him. Tord began to weep.

“What is it?” asked Berg. “Are you ill? Have you been frightened?”

Then for the first time Tord spoke of his fear. “It was terrible in the wood. I heard ghosts and raw spectres. I saw white monks.”

“ ’Sdeath, boy!”

“They crowded round me all the way up Broad mountain. I ran, but they followed after and sang. Can I never be rid of the sound? What have I to do with them? I think that they could go to one who needed it more.”

“Are you mad tonight, Tord?”

Tord talked, hardly knowing what words he used. He was free from all shyness. The words streamed from his lips.

“They are all white monks, white, pale as death. They all have blood on their cloaks. They drag their hoods down over their brows, but still the wound shines from under; the big, red, gaping wound from the blow of the axe.”

“The big, red, gaping wound from the blow of the axe?”

“Is it I who perhaps have struck it? Why shall I see it?”

“The saints only know, Tord,” said Berg Rese, pale and with terrible earnestness, “what it means that you see a wound from an axe. I killed the monk with a couple of knife-thrusts.”

Tord stood trembling before Berg and wrung his hands. “They demand you of me! They want to force me to betray you!”

“Who? The monks?”

“They, yes, the monks. They show me visions. They show me her, Unn. They show me the shining, sunny sea. They show me the fishermen’s camping-ground, where there is dancing and merrymaking. I close my eyes, but still I see. ‘Leave me in peace,’ I say. ‘My friend has murdered, but he is not bad. Let me be, and I will talk to him, so that he repents and atones. He shall confess his sin and go to Christ’s grave. We will both go together to the places which are so holy that all sin is taken away from him who draws near them.’ ”

“What do the monks answer?” asked Berg. “They want to have me saved. They want to have me on the rack and wheel.”

“Shall I betray my dearest friend, I ask them,” continued Tord. “He is my world. He has saved me from the bear that had his paw on my throat. We have been cold together and suffered every want together. He has spread his bearskin over me when I was sick. I have carried wood and water for him; I have watched over him while he slept; I have fooled his enemies. Why do they think that I am one who will betray a friend? My friend will soon of his own accord go to the priest and confess, then we will go together to the land of atonement.”

Berg listened earnestly, his eyes sharply searching Tord’s face. “You shall go to the priest and tell him the truth,” he said. “You need to be among people.”

“Does that help me if I go alone? For your sin, Death and all his spectres follow me. Do you not see how I shudder at you? You have lifted your hand against God himself. No crime is like yours. I think that I must rejoice when I see you on rack and wheel. It is well for him who can receive his punishment in this world and escapes the wrath to come. Why did you tell me of the just God? You compel me to betray you. Save me from that sin. Go