Growth of the Soil, Knut Hamsun [best self help books to read txt] 📗

“But you’ll be coming back again?” says Aronsen.

Why, of course. Knew of no reason why the Government or the police should try to keep him.

Isak managed to lead round to the portable forge once more and stopped, looking at it again. “And what might a bit of a machine like that cost?” he asked.

Cost? Couldn’t say offhand⁠—a deal of money, no doubt, but nothing to speak of in mining operations. Oh, a grand fellow was the engineer; not in the best of humour himself just then, perhaps, but he kept up appearances and played up rich and fine to the last. Did Isak want a forge? Well, he might take that one⁠—the company would never trouble about a little thing like that⁠—the company would make him a present of a portable forge!

An hour after, Aronsen and Isak were on their way down again. Aronsen something calmer in mind⁠—there was hope after all. Isak trundles down the hillside with his precious forge on his back. Ay, a barge of a man, he could bear a load! The engineer had offered to send a couple of men down with it to Sellanraa next morning, but Isak thanked him⁠—’twas more than worth his while. He was thinking of his own folk; ’twould be a fine surprise for them to see him come walking down with a smithy on his back.

But ’twas Isak was surprised after all.

A horse and cart turned into the courtyard just as he reached home. And a highly remarkable load it brought. The driver was a man from the village, but beside him walked a gentleman at whom Isak stared in astonishment⁠—it was Geissler.

There were other things that might have given Isak matter for surprise, but he was no great hand at thinking of more than one thing at a time. “Where’s Inger?” was all he said as he passed by the kitchen door. He was only anxious to see that Geissler was well received.

Inger? Inger was out plucking berries; had been out plucking berries ever since Isak started⁠—she and Gustaf the Swede. Ay, getting on in years, and all in love again and wild with it; autumn and winter near, but she felt the warmth in herself again, flowers and blossoming again. “Come and show where there’s cloudberries,” said Gustaf; “cranberries,” said he. And how could a woman say no? Inger ran into her little room and was both earnest and religious for several minutes; but there was Gustaf standing waiting outside, the world was at her heels, and all she did was to tidy her hair, look at herself carefully in the glass, and out again. And what if she did? Who would not have done the same? Oh, a woman cannot tell one man from another; not always⁠—not often.

And they two go out plucking berries, plucking cloudberries on the moorland, stepping from tuft to tuft, and she lifts her skirts high, and has her neat legs to show. All quiet everywhere; the white grouse have their young ones grown already and do not fly up hissing any more; they are sheltered spots where bushes grow on the moors. Less than an hour since they started, and already they are sitting down to rest. Says Inger: “Oh, I didn’t think you were like that?” Oh, she is all weakness towards him, and smiles piteously, being so deep in love⁠—ay, a sweet and cruel thing to be in love, ’tis both! Right and proper to be on her guard⁠—ay, but only to give in at last. Inger is so deep in love⁠—desperately, mercilessly; her heart is full of kindliness towards him, she only cares to be close and precious to him.

Ay, a woman getting on in years.⁠ ⁠…

“When the work’s finished, you’ll be going off again,” says she.

No, he wasn’t going. Well, of course, some time, but not yet, not for a week or so.

“Hadn’t we better be getting home?” says she.

“No.”

They pluck more berries, and in a little while they find a sheltered place among the bushes, and Inger says: “Gustaf, you’re mad to do it.” And hours pass⁠—they’ll be sleeping now, belike, among the bushes. Sleeping? Wonderful⁠—far out in the wilderness, in the Garden of Eden. Then suddenly Inger sits upright and listens: “Seems like I heard someone down on the road away off?”

The sun is setting, the tufts of heather darkening in shadow as they walk home. They pass by many sheltered spots, and Gustaf sees them, and Inger, she sees them too no doubt, but all the time she feels as if someone were driving ahead of them. Oh, but who could walk all the way home with a wild handsome lad, and be on her guard all the time? Inger is too weak, she can only smile and say: “I never knew such a one.”

She comes home alone. And well that she came just then, a fortunate thing. A minute later had not been well at all. Isak had just come into the courtyard with his forge, and Aronsen⁠—and there is a horse and cart just pulled up.

“Goddag,” says Geissler, greeting Inger as well. And there they stand, all looking one at another⁠—couldn’t be better.⁠ ⁠…

Geissler back again. Years now since he was there, but he is back again, aged a little, greyer a little, but bright and cheerful as ever. And finely dressed this time, with a white waistcoat and gold chain across. A man beyond understanding!

Had he an inkling, maybe, that something was going on up at the mine, and wanted to see for himself? Well, here he was. Very wide awake to look at, glancing round at the place, at the land, turning his head and using his eyes every way. There are great changes to note; the Margrave had extended his domains. And Geissler nods.

“What’s that you’re carrying?” he asks Isak. “ ’Tis a load for one horse in itself,” says he.

“ ’Tis for a forge,” explains Isak. “And a mighty useful thing to