Barbara (2 page)

He took her shopping book and made a note in it. Katrine left. The men spat.

Gabriel was easy-going by nature, but somewhat selfimportant on account of his position. He had a big, full mouth that actually bubbled with kindly impudence. Idleness had made him fat, and during the hours he spent every day behind the counter in the store, he had grown accustomed to gossip. He was a king to his customers and he supplied corn and sugar, snuff and sarcasms to the small fry on the other side of the counter.

And now all this talk about the ship started to weary him.

“Oh,” he said suddenly, addressing Beach Flea: “I suppose you didn’t see any pilot whales today?”

Beach Flea spat. He had got the message. Now it was his turn to be teased. He turned his head left and right, quickly and spasmodically, and his eyes wandered cautiously over the scene. Were they laughing at him?

“Pilot whales? Who sees pilot whales in November, if I may ask?”

“I thought perhaps
you
did. You see pilot whales when no one else does.”

That story was never going to be forgotten. Beach Flea had once mistaken a flock of eider ducks out on the water for pilot whales. In his excitement he had sounded the alarm and caused a good deal of bother. Others had been guilty of similar mistakes. Was it worth bringing up so many years later? He was furious every time anyone referred to it.

The men laughed. Beach Flea stared them out, giving each of them a bad-tempered, hurt look as he tried to think of what to say. He stopped at Samuel the Hoist: “Well, you are not the one to talk, Samuel. At least I’ve not been found asleep on my job in the Redoubt while a pod of pilot whales was swimming right in front of my nose! That was you!”

“Me?”

Samuel’s mouth was quite rigid with hurt and amazement.

“Me?”

The entire gathering chuckled. That story was just as well known. Samuel was the only one who refused to accept it. There were hints of fury in his eyes and he was ready to erupt. He studied the miserable Beach Flea. What was this he was daring to accuse him of?

They gently banged on the counter. Gabriel was in his element. He had set things going now. He made the odd serious, extremely factual remark that greatly stimulated the fighting spirit. A turning point in the struggle came when Beach Flea suddenly – as though on some sudden inspiration – got hold of the expression
bamboozler
and flung it out. He didn’t know what it really meant. The result was silence. Samuel the Hoist straightened his back and stared at Beach Flea:

“Me, a bamboozler?”

Nor did he know what a bamboozler was. But that did not make the accusation any less offensive. Something had to be done.

“No!” he exclaimed with composure and much dignity. And then he set off. Everyone watched in amazement. He went behind the counter! In between barrels and sacks, right over to Gabriel’s desk. And there he stood.

“No,
you
are a bamboozler,” he roared banging his fist down on the account books with a resounding thump. He gave Beach Flea a look that was enough to unnerve him. Then he returned to his place, all that long way, like a man who has done his job well.

Beach Flea’s eyes fluttered wildly. He had been hurt.

“I? I? Am I a bamboozler?”

Could that possibly be true? He stood open-mouthed.

“No,” he said decisively at last, full of regained conviction: “It’s you, you, yes
you
!”

He threw off his clogs and went behind the counter, went right over to the desk and banged on it, saying in a tearful voice: “
You
are a bamboozler.”

Then he went carefully back to his place again and put on his clogs.

If Samuel the Hoist had been amazed the first time the accusation was flung out, he was no less surprised when it was repeated. He had in general a rare ability to feel amazed at the evil in the world – and to encounter it with fortitude. But in this case a protest
must
be made.

Then he went calmly to the desk again, took up a position there, aimed and fired like the soldier he was. The desk groaned: – “No!
You
are a bamboozler!”

Beach Flea ducked a little. Again this worrying flank attack. His head jerked warily, to the right and to the left, and he squinted watchfully through irate eyes. No, this was more than he could countenance. Clogs off. Off to the desk. He, too, was a soldier and knew how to make a direct hit. He would show them. He put all his tousled and hectored spiritual force in his wounded glance and all his physical strength into his angry fist: – “No!
You
– are – a – bamboozler.”

He screamed this last word and accompanied it with three small extra shots, a salvo on the desk. Then he went back again. Victorious, he put on his clogs. Now, Samuel had got what he deserved.

Samuel was upset by this brutal attack. But he gradually more or less regained his composure. He got going again, still a little bowed, but with a new tragic grandeur. And so they went on. The other men shrugged their shoulders in enjoyable neutrality. They kept their hands in front of their mouths, but their eyes were alive, attentive and amused. Thank heaven it was not they who were in the firing line.

At first Gabriel did not like the natural forces that had been unleashed on his desk at all. But he gradually came to sacrifice his dignity on the altar of amusement. At least he had got them going pretty damned well now. He was itching to see the outcome, and his stomach quietly moved out and in. And the men of
Havn
dutifully went on with the comedy to the satisfaction of his lordship. Finally, he took up a position at the counter and organised them a little by virtue of his official capacity. No one was allowed to go in and bang on it until the other had come out.

Gabriel was that sort of a man. A virtuoso at playing on people’s weaknesses, working them up against each other and getting them to reveal the most secret and most foolish aspirations of their hearts. What did these poor folk want out there in his store? No, life at home with the womenfolk in the smoke from the peat fires and the wailing of infants was probably no more fun. Out here there was at least a scent of cardamom and other spices, indeed there was also the view of a barrel of brandy. And then there was the news. Reflections of the world.

And something could happen, of course.

The door had once more been opened to the storm and the din. No one had noticed it during the confrontation – it was probably some woman or other. Now they all saw that the new arrival was Barbara, the judge’s daughter.

Everything was different all of a sudden. Even Gabriel was different. Beach Flea had stopped in the middle of the word bamboozler; his fist fell like some idiotic accidental shot on the royal desk. There he stood, in his stocking feet, Oh Jesus, putting on an act!

It was not that Barbara enjoyed any particular respect. She spoke kindly to the ordinary men and was never haughty. But when, on an evening of storm and wind, the sun suddenly shines on the circle of men…

“Have you any silk ribbons that I could buy?” came the sound of her voice.

“Silk ribbons.” Gabriel pulled himself together. “Oh, silk ribbons.”

Barbara, the sun, suddenly developed a knowledgeable wrinkle between her eyes, pouted and started to choose and reject. Beach Flea very cautiously tiptoed out to his place, but – Barbara’s skirt was hiding his clogs.

“But we shall be having some more silk ribbons tomorrow,” said Gabriel. A gleam came into his eyes.

“Tomorrow?”

Her voice suggested amazement.

“Yes, or the day after.”

“What do you mean?” Barbara’s voice suggested still more amazement but at the same time bordered on laughter.

“Oh, do stop it, Barbara,” said Gabriel affectionately: “Don’t try to kid me that you are the only person in the whole of Tórshavn not to know that the
Fortuna
is off Nolsoy.”

“God knows…”

Barbara became obstinate, and indignation started competing with the slight laugh that rose in her throat.

“Aye,” Beach Flea intervened now, standing with his legs apart and making explaining movements with his hands, “we saw it, Tommassa Ole and Marcus the Cellar and Samuel the Hoist and me, while we were out fishing this morning.”

Barbara suddenly let the sun shine on Beach Flea.

“Did you? Then why is she not coming in?”

Beach Flea was bathed in light and felt honoured and he eagerly shook his head. “No, there’s no getting into the harbour here in this weather.”

“Oh no, of course.”

“And haven’t you heard of the new Vágar parson, who’s on it either, Barbara?” asked Gabriel.

“Of course I know that a new parson’s coming for Vágar.”

She sounded a little irritated and abandoned the silk ribbons.

“Aye, as I say,” Gabriel went on, “when the ship arrives tomorrow or the day after, you can have all the silk ribbons you want. But I suppose that’ll be too late?”

“What do you mean?” Barbara was again somewhere between being insulted and smiling.

“Nothing. I simply mean that’ll be too late to bedeck yourself for the parson. Because then he’ll already
be
here.”

The men looked at Gabriel in amazement. He was certainly Barbara’s cousin. But to taunt her in just the same way as he taunted anyone else…! They gave her a furtive look. There she stood in the golden candle light with a smile on her lips. Not at all angry. It was almost as though she felt some subtle delight in the revelation.

Then she turned towards Niels the Punt, with her voice full of delight: “Is your little daughter better, Niels? I will come round with something for her tomorrow.”

She went towards the door and started to push it open. Beach Flea, who had got his clogs on meanwhile, sprang across to help her. There was just a trace of a smile in his angry face after she had gone. They were probably all smiling a little. Something in her laughter as it rose in her throat seemed to float there like some melodic sound in the scent of cardamom. A vision had come and gone. The shabby men had become reverential.

But then Gabriel broke the silence: “This is a bit bloody thick! I’ll swear that she’ll be going down tomorrow to entice the new parson when he comes ashore just as she did with Pastor Niels and Pastor Anders when
they
arrived.”

There was outrage in Gabriel’s voice.

Oh of course. They all knew that story. Barbara was already the widow of two parsons, Pastor Jonas on the Northern Islands and Pastor Niels on Vágar. Pastor Niels had died only a year ago. A third, Pastor Anders of Næs, with whom she had been betrothed in between, had had second thoughts in time.
He
had not suffered a tragic fate. It was said that Barbara had brought about the deaths of both the men to whom she had been married. There had been a lot of talk about this in various places in the islands, and some people had called her
evil Barbara
. But that was probably mainly in the outlying villages. Those who knew Barbara said that she was not
evil
by any means. And as for the people of Tórshavn, her fellow-townspeople, she had never been at cross purposes with them. On the contrary. But Gabriel simply had to find something scornful to say.

Ole the stocking buyer and Rebekka’s Poul came in from the warehouse with their lamp. They had finished. And it was time now to go home for supper. All the men broke up and tramped out among the pack houses, over Reyn, past the church and home to their huts.

Gabriel was suddenly alone in his shop. He was a big man, a king to his customers, and now everyone had heard that he could even go as far as to taunt Barbara. But it hurt Gabriel a little somewhere or other deep down inside. He was only human. And in his merchant soul, too, there resided a hidden touch of folly. It was nothing. Perhaps it was simply a little dog howling at the moon when no one could hear it. He was all right; he had his wages and he earned a little extra. And he would probably be made manager one day. Or perhaps even bailiff, for he had good contacts. And as for his lonely state, there was always Angelika, who came to him in his lodgings when he wanted her to. Everything was well organised; he managed well. But now there was this cousin Barbara, who had been married to two clergymen. She had celebrated weddings with far more men; he was well aware of that; he was bright, and nothing went unnoticed. It was a disgrace to the family and a source of scandal in general. But if things came to that pass, why had she never celebrated a little wedding with
him
? It was such an obvious thing. It could surely be arranged quite easily.

But now this new parson was coming.

The little dog inside Gabriel started howling pitifully with its snout right up in the air. Then he suddenly had an idea. He exploded in a little whistle: Of course!

When, shortly afterwards he was in the manager’s office with the keys, his plan had been laid.

“Where have you been, Barbara Christina?” asked Magdalene, the judge’s widow, somewhat coldly and testily. She had been sitting by the bureau in the best room going through some old things.

Barbara was cold and more or less wet through after being caught in a shower. “You are always at that bureau, mother. Why don’t you stay out here in the hearth room, where it’s warm?”

“Good heavens, I have put some peat in the stove.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t give off any heat, as you well know.”

They ate their supper in silence. Then the mother returned to her fine room with the bureau and the two poor miniatures hanging on the whitewashed walls. “Don’t you think your father might have kept some money hidden in a secret compartment in the bureau?” she asked in the doorway.

“You ask that question every day. I don’t believe that story any longer. If there were any, we would have found that compartment long ago.”

When Gabriel knocked on the door and entered an hour later, he found Barbara dressed in a woollen petticoat and sitting close to the fire. A pair of stockings had carelessly been thrown down just as she had pulled them off. She was sleepy and tired, and the arrival of her cousin awoke no feelings of femininity in her.

Magdalene came in from the sitting room and asked her nephew what news he had. “Don’t sit like that,” she said, turning to her daughter. “You could put some more clothes on.”