Hunger (20 page)

“Oh, please give me a bone for my dog!” I said. “A bone, nothing more; there doesn't have to be anything on it. Just so he can have something to carry in his mouth.”

I got a bone, a gorgeous little bone with still a bit of meat left on it, and stuck it under my coat. I thanked the man so heartily that he looked at me in surprise.

“Forget it,” he said.

“Oh, don't say that,” I mumbled, “it's very sweet of you.”

I went back up. My heart was pounding.

I sneaked into the Smiths' Passage, as far back as I could get, and stopped in front of a tumbledown gate in a rear court. There wasn't a light to be seen anywhere, it was delightfully dark around me; I started gnawing my bone.

It had no taste at all; a sickening smell of dried blood rose from the bone and I had to vomit immediately. I tried again—if I could just keep it down, it would be sure to do some good, the important thing was to make it stay down. But I vomited again. I got angry, ground my teeth into the meat, ripped off a small piece and forced myself to swallow it. It was no use: as soon as the tiny bits of meat grew warm in my stomach, up they came again. Frantic, I clenched my fists, burst into tears from helplessness and gnawed like mad; I cried so hard that the bone got wet and dirty from my tears—I threw up, cursed and gnawed again, crying as if my heart would break, then threw up once more. I swore at the top of my voice, damning all the powers of this world to eternal torment.

Quiet. Not a soul around, no light, no noise. I find myself in a most violent frenzy, breathing heavily and loudly and sobbing bitterly each time I have to give up these bits of meat which might alleviate my hunger. Since it avails me nothing however hard I try, I fling the bone at the gate, bursting with impotent hatred and carried away with rage, and shout fierce threats up at the heavens, screaming God's name hoarsely and savagely and crooking my fingers like claws . . . : “I say to you, you holy Baal of heaven, you do not exist, but if you did exist I would curse you until your heaven trembled with the fires of hell. I say to you, I have offered you my service and you turned it down, you pushed me away, and now I turn my back on you forever, because you did not know the time of your visitation. I say to you, I know I shall die and yet I mock you, Our Heavenly Apis, with death before my eyes.
⁹
You have used force against me, and you do not know
¹⁰
that I never bend in adversity. Ought you not to know that? Did you frame my heart in your sleep?
¹¹
I say to you, my whole body and every drop of blood in me rejoice in mocking you and spitting on your grace.
¹²
From this moment on I shall renounce all your works and all your ways, I shall curse my thoughts if they ever think of you again and tear off my lips if they speak your name. I say to you, if you exist, the last word in life and in death, I say goodbye.
¹³
And now I shall be silent, turn my back on you and go my way. . . .”

Quiet.

Quivering with rage and exhaustion, I keep on standing in the same place, still whispering oaths and insults, catching my breath after my fit of crying, broken and limp after my insane explosion of anger. Alas, it was nothing but rhetoric and literature, which I tried to get right even in the midst of my misery—it turned into a speech.
¹⁴
I stood there maybe for half an hour, gasping and whispering while holding on to the gate. Then I hear voices, a conversation between two men who are coming toward me down the Smiths' Passage. I stagger away from the gate, drag myself along the walls of the buildings and come out onto the bright streets again. As I shuffle down Youngsbakken Lane, my brain suddenly begins to act in an extremely strange manner. It occurs to me that those wretched hovels at the edge of the marketplace, the storage shacks and the old stalls with second-hand clothing, were a real disgrace to the place. They spoiled the entire appearance of the marketplace and were a blot on the city —ugh, away with the junk! As I walked along, I turned over in my mind what it would cost to move the Geodetic Survey down there, that handsome building which had always appealed to me so much each time I passed it. It might not be possible to undertake a move of that kind for less than seventy to seventy-two thousand kroner—a tidy sum, one had to admit, quite a neat piece of change, heh-heh, to start with anyway. And I nodded my empty head and admitted that it was quite a nice bit of change to start with. My whole body was still shaking, and I gave deep gasps every now and then after my bout of tears.

I had a feeling there wasn't much life left in me, that I was in fact nearing my journey's end. It mattered very little to me one way or another, I didn't trouble my head about it in the least. Rather, I bent my steps downtown, toward the docks, farther and farther away from my room. For that matter, I could just as well have lain right down in the street to die. My sufferings were making me more and more insensitive: my sore foot was throbbing badly, indeed I had the impression that the pain was spreading up the entire leg, but even that didn't hurt very much. I had endured worse sensations.

I reached the Jærnbane Pier. There was no traffic, no noise, only a lone soul to be seen here and there, a stevedore or a sailor loafing about with his hands in his pockets. I noticed a lame man who squinted hard at me as we passed each other. I stopped him instinctively, touched my hat and asked if he knew whether
The Nun
had sailed yet. Afterward I couldn't help snapping my fingers right to his face and saying, “Yes, damn it,
The Nun
!”
The Nun
, which I had completely forgotten! The thought of it must have slumbered unconsciously within me anyhow, I had borne it with me unbeknownst to myself.

Lord, yes,
The Nun
had sailed.

He couldn't tell me where it had sailed to, could he?

The man thinks a moment, standing on his longer leg and holding the shorter one in the air; the shorter one swings a little.

“No,” he says. “You wouldn't know what cargo it's been taking in?”

“No,” I reply.

But by now I had already forgotten
The Nun
, and I asked the man how far it might be to Holmestrand, in terms of good old geographic miles.

“To Holmestrand? I would guess—”

“Or to Veblungsnæs?”

“What I meant to say, I guess that to Holmestrand—”

“Hey, come to think of it,” I interrupted him again, “you wouldn't be so kind as to give me a quid of tobacco, would you, just a tiny wee bit?”

I got the tobacco, thanked the man very warmly and walked off. I didn't make any use of the tobacco, I just stuck it in my pocket right away. The man was still keeping an eye on me, maybe I had somehow aroused his suspicion; standing or walking, I felt his suspicious glance following me, and I didn't like being persecuted by this individual. I turn around and drag myself over to him again, look at him and say, “Welter.”

Only this one word: Welter. No more. I looked very hard at him as I said it, I felt I was glaring at him; it was as though I were looking at him from another world. I stood there for a moment after uttering this word. Then I shuffled up to Jærnbanetorvet Square again. The man didn't let out a sound, he just kept an eye on me.

Welter? All at once I stopped in my tracks. Sure. Wasn't it just what I had sensed from the very beginning: I had met this cripple before. Up in Grænsen Street one bright morning; I had pawned my vest. It seemed like an eternity since that day.

As I am thinking about this—I'm leaning against a building at the corner of the marketplace and Havn Street—I give a sudden start and try to scramble off. Failing in this, I stare in dismay straight ahead and swallow my shame, it couldn't be helped—I stand face to face with the “Com mander.”

With casual audacity, I even move a step away from the wall to make him aware of me. I don't do it to awaken his compassion but to mock myself, make myself an object of derision. I could have thrown myself in the gutter and asked the “Commander” to walk over me, to trample on my face. I don't even say good evening to him.

The “Commander” may have sensed there was something wrong with me; he slowed down a little, and to make him stop I said, “I should have brought you something, but I haven't gotten around to it yet.”

“Yes?” he answers, inquiringly. “So you haven't finished it?”

“No, I haven't managed to finish it.”

But now, with the “Commander's” friendliness, my eyes are suddenly watering, and I hawk and cough furiously to toughen myself. The “Commander” gives a snort; he stands looking at me.

“And do you have anything to live on in the meantime?” he says.

“No,” I answer, “I guess I don't. I haven't had anything to eat yet today, but—”

“God help us, man, that won't do; you just can't let yourself starve to death!” And he reaches for his pocket right away.

At this, my sense of shame awakens, I stagger up to the wall again and hold on to it. I watch the “Commander” rummaging in his purse but don't say anything. He hands me a ten-krone bill. He doesn't make a big fuss about it, he simply gives me ten kroner. At the same time he repeats that it wouldn't do for me to starve to death.

I stammered an objection and didn't accept the bill right away: I ought to feel ashamed . . . besides, it was far too much. . . .

“Hurry up,” he says, looking at his watch. “I've been waiting for the train and now I hear it coming.”

I took the money. Paralyzed with joy, I didn't say another word, even forgetting to thank him.

“There's no need to feel embarrassed about it,” the “Commander” says at last. “You can always write for it, you know.”

Then he left.

When he had gone a few steps I suddenly remembered that I hadn't thanked the “Commander” for his help. I tried to overtake him but couldn't move fast enough, my legs gave way and I was constantly on the point of falling on my face. He got farther and farther away. Giving up the attempt, I thought of shouting after him but didn't dare, and when I finally took heart all the same and called once or twice, he was already too far away—my voice had grown too weak.

I stood there on the sidewalk and followed him with my eyes, crying quietly. Did you ever see anything like it! I said to myself; he gave me ten kroner! I walked back and placed myself where he had stood and imitated all his movements. Then I held the bill up to my moist eyes, inspected it on both sides and began to swear, hurling a wild oath into the blue inane: there was no mistake about it, I was holding a ten-krone bill in my hand.

A while afterward—perhaps a very long while, for it had grown fairly quiet everywhere by this time—I stood, strangely enough, in front of 11 Tomte Street. It was here I had swindled a coachman who had driven me once, and it was here I had walked straight through the house without being seen by anybody.
¹⁵
After collecting myself for a moment and wondering, I went through the door for the second time, straight into “Refreshments and Lodging for Travelers.” Here I asked to be put up for the night and was given a bed right away.
¹⁶

 

Tuesday.

Sunshine and calm weather, a wonderfully clear day. The snow was gone; gaiety and good cheer everywhere, happy faces, smiles and laughter. The jets of water rising from the fountains formed arcs that turned golden from the sun, bluish from the blue sky.

Around noon I left my lodging on Tomte Street, where I was still staying and doing fine on the “Commander's” ten-krone bill, and went out. I was in exuberant spirits and loafed about all afternoon in the most crowded streets, observing the people. It wasn't yet seven o'clock when I took a stroll to St. Olaf Place and peeped on the sly up at the windows of number two. In an hour I would see her! I was caught up in a mild, delicious fear the whole time. What would happen? What should I say when she came down the stairs? Good evening, miss? Or just smile? I decided to settle for the smile. Of course I would make a deep bow to her.

I slunk away, a little ashamed at being so early, and wandered about on Karl Johan Street awhile, keeping an eye on the University clock. When it turned eight I started up University Street again. On the way it occurred to me that I might be a few minutes late, and I pressed on as best I could. My foot was very sore, otherwise there was nothing the matter with me.

I posted myself near the fountain and caught my breath. I stood there for quite a while, looking up at the windows of number two, but she didn't come. Well, I would wait, I wasn't in a hurry; perhaps she had been detained. I waited some more. I couldn't have dreamed the whole thing, could I? Fantasized that first meeting with her the night I was laid up with a fever? Perplexed, I began to think back and wasn't at all sure.

“Hmm!” came from behind me.

I heard this sound, and I also heard light footsteps nearby; but I didn't turn around, only stared up at the tall flight of steps before me.

Then came, “Good evening!”

I forget to smile, don't even tip my hat right away, being greatly surprised to see her coming from that direction.

“Have you been waiting long?” she says, breathing rapidly after her walk.

“No, not at all, I only came a short while ago,” I answered. “Besides, what would it matter if I had waited long? By the way, I thought you would be coming from another direction.”

“I took Mama to see some friends—Mama will be away this evening.”

“Is that so!” I said.

We had started walking now. A policeman stands on the corner looking at us.

“Where are we actually going?” she says, stopping.