The Ice People 1 - Spellbound (The Legend of the Ice People) (8 page)

Chapter 5

In the time that followed, Silje was allowed to come to the church three times every week. Actually, Benedikt would have liked her to come every day because they had put pressure on him to finish his work soon. He was furious at “the ignorant, uneducated barbarians who didn’t understand that they mustn’t put pressure on artists,” as he put it.

Silje would also like to be with the children so that she didn’t lose touch with them. Besides, she wanted to relieve the old women at home on the farm. The thing was that the two women had chosen a child each to care for so it didn’t seem that they had anything in particular against Silje leaving for the church. They were so fond of the children that Silje often had to smile.

“Poor old maids,” Benedikt would say. “This is their second flush of youth.”

“But Sol is so troublesome,” Silje objected. “They’re not my children but I’m very attached and fond of them and … well.”

She was sorry that she didn’t see Dag very much. Grete had monopolized him and although she was always kind, Silje sensed that she was jealous, tiptoeing impatiently when on rare occasions Silje was allowed to change his diaper.

“Just let them take care of the children,” Benedict said with a laugh. “Anyway, the church will soon be finished.”

“And … what then?”

“Then you’ll be back at work at the farm again. I’ve an assignment further away and unfortunately you can’t join me there.

Silje didn’t reply. A fantastic part of her life would soon be over.

***

One day while Benedikt was perched under the church ceiling, he said in a concerned tone of voice: “I can’t seem to be able to find a colour for this tunic.” He searched the ceiling so that his neck was just about to be dislocated.” I’m stuck and stupid – all the colours of the rainbow border on that tunic, and what have I got to choose from?”

Silje climbed down from the scaffold, placing herself underneath him. “She looked critically at what he’d painted. “Brown,” she replied.

“Brown? But …. Well … yes, you’re right! You’re a genius!”

“No, I’m not but it helps to look at a painting from below.”

Benedikt gave a happy grunt and the very next moment he swore at a brush that was as hard as stone. But then he stopped, asking for forgiveness for his blasphemy of the church.

He’d had a bit too much to drink the night before which always made him slightly grumpy in the morning. Silje noticed it on his worn cap. When Benedikt pulled it down over his forehead, Silje knew that he couldn’t tackle high-pitched sounds or dazzling sunlight. If, on the other hand, he placed his cap at the back of his head with the prim straight up in the air, he was his old self – or he’d secretly taken a swig. His ingrained sense of respect banned him from drinking in the church. But Silje knew that he’d kept some in the cart because now and then he’d made a beeline for it.

She climbed up on the scaffold, and for a while they painted in silence.

Then Benedikt began to giggle a bit.

“What’s on your mind?” asked Silje.

“Some fellows from the parish dropped by yesterday and looked at our paintings. They saw the Devil in the side chapel and I think they were both shocked and agitated because they stayed in there for quite some time.”

Silje blushed. She didn’t want to go in and look at it after she’d painted it.

She hesitated for a moment. “He … you know whom I’m referring to … said that he’d seen it – when he visited the farm. I didn’t like that.”

Benedikt looked extremely guilty. “No, that … was a mistake. He happened to walk in here, and then he asked and so I had to tell him that you’d painted it. One mustn’t tell a lie in a church.”

At the back of her mind, Silje thought: “You’re a sly fox because right now you’re telling a fib. I bet you dragged him in here!”

“What did he say?” Silje asked calmly.

“Nothing. He seemed absolutely overwhelmed, confused. So I said that we’d better get this girl married since she could make such a passionate painting.”

“Oh dear. Surely you didn’t say that?” Silje moaned. “What … what did he say to that?”

I don’t know. He struck me as somewhat irritated, but I suppose this was because I said something along the lines of ‘we oldies had better see to it that she gets married.’ He probably doesn’t like to belong to the same age bracket as me. He left immediately afterwards. It could well be that he was slightly offended that you’d portrayed him as the Devil, but what else can he expect?”

“Oh dear,” Silje moaned quietly. “He wasn’t supposed to see it.”

“I must admit that it was a bit stupid of me, and I was actually quite scared afterwards. Ugh, I can’t stand talking about it more right now. I’d rather like to know why your speech is so educated. Your background is quite poor, right? They say that roses can grow among thistles and on dunghills, right? But with you it’s
remarkable
. Can you read and write?”

“I can read and write fairly well. You see: One of the little sons on the estate where I lived took a great liking to me. I was his nanny of sorts. I played with him and … And he wanted me to be with him everywhere. And this was how I was also present in the classroom. Needless to say, I wanted to absorb as much as I possibly could. I was like a dried-out plant that drank knowledge, Mr. Benedikt. I just wanted to learn and learn – everything! I began to speak like them. I borrowed the boys’ books because I realized that I’d had a chance which other girls wouldn’t. Of course, it was sort of bit by bit because I wasn’t in the classroom all the time. But I suppose some of it entered my dull brain.”

“Wait a minute. In order to learn like that and under those circumstances, you need to be intelligent. Where did you get that from?”

Silje thought for a moment. “My mother knew an awful lot. And her father was literate. He wrote composed letters for the other peasants. He also made very beautiful wood carvings.”

“Ah, your artistic vein!” Benedikt exclaimed. “Thank you, Silje. Now I’ve an explanation for several of your mysteries. “Er ... what’s
that
?”

Both of them listened. Heavy steps could be heard from the church tower.

Silje looked anxiously at Benedikt. He stared back.

“Are there any ghosts here?” she whispered. It was as if her whisper echoed up to the church vault.

“Wait!”

Benedikt and Silje climbed down from the scaffold. Silje didn’t want to hang defenceless between heaven and earth while all the spirits of the world trampled down from the clock tower. She had to pluck up all her courage in order not to run away.

“Who on earth can it be who hides up there?” whispered Benedikt. He took one step towards her, and she wasn’t sure whether he would protect her or sough to protect himself.

They waited in excitement, and Silje instinctively clenched her fists. Then the door to the tower creaked and a bearded man came out.

“I’m so damn hungry, Benedikt. Could you spare me some bread, I wonder?”

“What? Is this where you hide, frightening my art pupil out of her mind?”

“So she was supposed to be the only one who was scared, was she?”

“Sure, we’ve got food but we always forget to eat it. Silje, please bring us the lunch box.

Silje ran to fetch it and opened the lid so that the man could have something to eat. He was middle-aged, square-built with sharp eyes and dressed as a peasant. But he might be slightly more than an ordinary peasant because his homespun coat had a modern cut, and he wore knitted stockings.

“I need food for two people,” he said and ate with a hearty appetite.

“Is anybody with you?” asked Benedikt.

“Yes. Young Heming is up there, languishing.

“Languishing?” said Silje surprised, hating her irritating blush.

The man laughed. “He hasn’t had a woman for three weeks so he’s not in a happy frame of mind. You just go up to him – with food, of course.”

“No, don’t send Silje up to that lout,” said Benedikt. “She’s fallen in love with him.”

“Oh, I’ll manage,” Silje said hurriedly. She so very badly wanted to see her hero again although she didn’t like to hear about his women. But of course she didn’t believe it. A young man like him, who was so handsome and with such regular features could be nothing but noble and polite with women. Those who spoke negatively about Heming were simply jealous of young Heming.

She hadn’t seen him since that night when she’d saved him from death. She hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind. Her big dream was to see him again. She’d often worried how he was getting along. And now … now he was here!

She took the lunch box in her hand and began to walk up the old ladder. Finally, she arrived at a ledge in the tower. Daylight entered through some hatches. She heard violent movements as if somebody was trying to hide.

“It’s me, Silje. I’ve brought some food for you.”

“Silje?” It seemed as if he was thinking. Her expectance withered. Perhaps he’d forgotten her?

“Oh, the little rescuer of human life,” she heard him say as he stretched out his hand, pulling her up the last few steps. Silje was full of anticipation.

My goodness, what a sight! His clothes were dirty and in tatters; his yellow-blonde hair was dark and greasy. It was obvious that he needed a good bath.

This didn’t seem to bother him. “Silje, my sweet angel. You come as sent from heaven. Have you made yourself my permanent life saver?”

Her delighted face looked down but didn’t like that he teased her. “Please eat as much as you possibly can.”

“What have you brought?” he said, looking in the lunch box. He wrinkled his nose. “What? Salmon once more? Aren’t the peasants able to think about nothing else but salmon all the time?”

Nevertheless he ate it with a hearty appetite.

Silje felt slightly ill at ease. The nice foreman would catch salmon in the river every day, and he was proud of his catch. Of course, it could be rather monotonous now and then, but one ought to be really grateful to have something to eat. Not everybody got a solid square meal.

Actually, she hadn’t had something to eat herself, and her mouth began to water as she saw the last sandwich disappear. But he needed it more than she did.

Heming eventually looked up when he had finished eating –
really
looking at Silje. She could read the admiration in his eyes, and she felt a nice, warm feeling inside. Heming immediately understood that he wouldn’t get anywhere with superficial charm. He would’ve eaten his hat that Silje was a serious, innocent girl. If he’d had a hat, that is …

When he’d the time, he would soon take her virginity, but right now he had more important things to think about, such as not losing his life.

He cast another glance at her. Turning this young bud into a woman would be quite a pleasant thing. She was so lovely in every sense. She radiated purity – with a tiny drop of paint – and she also seemed passionate with her warm, brown hair, violet eyes and shining, white teeth.

“Come and sit next to me for a while, Silje,” he said with an exhausted voice. I’m so tired and need to talk to a wise person.”

She did so hesitantly, placing herself up against the wall at some distance from him, drawing up her dress over her bent legs.

Although she didn’t think about it consciously, she instinctively realized that the situation was problematic. It was hardly good for his masculinity that she’d saved him from a miserable death, seen him be hit in the face and called a damn idiot – and now she came to his rescue once more, with food for a miserable soul. Her intuition told her that she would have to strengthen his self-confidence.

“I … I suppose you’re a member of the insurgency movement?” she asked with shy admiration.

He drank the rest of the beer she’d given him.

“Er … yes,” he said in a feigned and casual tone of voice. “I happen to be one of the leaders.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, her eyes big with admiration.

This encouraged Heming. He looked indifferently at his pretty dirty nails. “You see … I’m given the most demanding tasks, which was why I was taken prisoner at the time, risking my life for others.”

This wasn’t exactly what Silje’s enigmatic protector had said. He’d hinted at a thoughtless visit with a woman but this was something Silje couldn’t be bothered about.

“Your master is a very important person,” she said dreamingly. “He came and helped me once more, which was when the little girl caught the plague. I don’t know what he did but he cured her – and also my foot, which had frostbite. His hands felt so burning warm.”

Heming stared at her. “Who? Oh,
him
! You’re mistaken,” he exclaimed in a stern tone of voice, “he’s not my master. I don’t know him and I’ve never met him …”

Silje understood that she’d gone too far. Nobody was supposed to talk about Dyre Alvsson, the insurgency leader. One single, thoughtless remark would send him straight into one of the bailiff’s traps. He didn’t exist somehow, which she’d forgotten. No wonder Heming was cross!

“Was he at your place?” he whispered inconsistently because he’d just denied that the man existed.

“Yes, he was.”

Heming made some swift, vague gestures that were supposed to be the sign of the cross. “You’re not right in the head. Did you have salt and bread ready for him?”

“Pardon?”

“Sprinkle with salt! That helps. Salt and bread. And the little girl … you’re mad! How could you? Did you do the sign of the cross over her? Or do you have a silver coin with a cross on it?”

Silje’s face was expressionless. “Marie, one of the women on the farm, had placed a coin under one of Sol’s bedposts.”

He drew a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. Then things will work out. And the infant, how’s it doing?”

How kind of him to show an interest in the little ones! Silje couldn’t take her eyes from the well-shaped face. She was elated at the sight of something so handsome, so perfect.

“Little Dag’s doing well. Far too well because Grete spoils him and fills him with food so that I almost never see him.”

“I hope you’ve taken good care of the things he was wrapped in?”

“Yes, because I was told by …” No, she wasn’t allowed to mention Dyre Alvsson.