Pelle the Conqueror, Martin Andersen Nexø [best fantasy books to read .TXT] 📗

“Now go back to bed, Johanna!” said Morten more gently. “Remember what the doctor said. You’ll catch cold and it’ll all be wasted.”

“What do I care!” she answered, breaking into a coarse laugh. “You needn’t waste anything on me; I’ve had no children by you.” She was trembling with cold, but remained obstinately standing, and answered Morten’s remonstrances with a torrent of abusive epithets. At last he gave it up and sat down wearily. The two men sat and looked at her in silence.

The child was evidently uncomfortable at the cessation of resistance, and became confused beneath their silent gaze. She tossed her head and looked defiantly from the one to the other, her eyes glowing with an unnatural brightness. Suddenly she sank upon the floor and began to cry.

“This won’t do,” said Pelle gravely.

“I can’t manage her,” answered Morten hopelessly, “but you are strong enough.”

Pelle stooped and took her up in his arms. She kicked and bit him. “She’s got a fit,” he said to Morten. “We must take her out to the pump.” She instantly became quiet and let him carry her to bed. The fever was raging in her, and he noticed how her body was racked with every breath she drew; it sounded like a leaky pump.

When Morten, with a few kind words, covered her up, she began to weep convulsively, but turned her face to the wall and stuffed the quilt into her mouth in order to hide it. She gradually became quieter and at last fell asleep; and the two men stole out of the room and closed the door after them.

Morten looked tired out, for he was still not strong. “I’ve let myself in for something that I’m not equal to,” he said despondently.

“Who is the poor child?” asked Pelle softly.

“I don’t know. She came to me this spring, almost dead drunk and in a fearful state; and the next day she regretted it and went off, but I got hold of her again. She’s one of those poor creatures who have no other home than the big timber-yards, and there she’s made a living by going from one to another of the bigger lads. I can get nothing out of her, but I’ve found out in other ways that she’s lived among timber-stacks and in cellars for at least two years. The boys enticed dissolute men out there and sold her, taking most of the money themselves and giving her spirits to encourage her. From what I can make out there are whole organized bands which supply the dissolute men of the city with boys and girls. It makes one sick to think of it! The child must be an orphan, but won’t, as I said, tell me anything. Once or twice I’ve heard her talk in her sleep of her grandmother; but when I’ve referred to it, she sulks and won’t speak.”

“Does she drink?” asked Pelle.

Morten nodded. “I’ve had some bad times with her on that account,” he said. “She shows incredible ingenuity when it’s a case of getting hold of liquor. At first she couldn’t eat hot food at all, she was in such a state. She’s altogether fearfully shattered in soul and body, and causes me much trouble.”

“Why don’t you get her into some home?”

“Our public institutions for the care of children are not calculated to foster life in a downtrodden plant, and you’ll not succeed with Johanna by punishment and treatment like any ordinary child. At times she’s quite abnormally defiant and unmanageable, and makes me altogether despair; and then when I’m not looking, she lies and cries over herself. There’s much good in her in spite of everything, but she can’t let it come out. I’ve tried getting her into a private family, where I knew they would be kind to her; but not many days had passed before they came and said she’d run away. For a couple of weeks she wandered about, and then came back again to me. Late one evening when I came home, I found her sitting wet and shivering in the dark corner outside my door. I was quite touched, but she was angry because I saw her, and bit and kicked as she did just now. I had to carry her in by force. Her unhappy circumstances have thrown her quite off her balance, and I at any rate can’t make her out. So that’s how matters stand. I sleep on the sofa in here, but of course a bachelor’s quarters are not exactly arranged for this. There’s a lot of gossip too among the other lodgers.”

“Does that trouble you?” asked Pelle in surprise.

“No, but the child, you see⁠—she’s terribly alive to that sort of thing. And then she doesn’t comprehend the circumstances herself. She’s only about eleven or twelve, and yet she’s already accustomed to pay for every kindness with her weak body. Can’t you imagine how dreadful it is to look into her wondering eyes? The doctor says she’s been injured internally and is probably tuberculous too; he thinks she’ll never get right. And her soul! What an abyss for a child! For even one child to have such a fate is too much, and how many there are in the hell in which we live!”

They were both silent for a little while, and then Morten rose. “You mustn’t mind if I ask you to go,” he said, “but I must get to work; there’s something I’ve got to finish this evening. You won’t mind, will you? Come and see me again as soon as you can, and thanks for coming this time!” he said as he pressed Pelle’s hand.

“I’d like you to keep your eyes open,” he said as he followed him to the door. “Perhaps you could help me to find out the history of the poor thing. You know a lot of poor people, and must have come in some way or other into her life,