Hunger (21 page)

“Wherever you want, just where you want.”

“Oh dear. But it's such a bore to decide that yourself.”

Pause.

Then I say, just to say something, “Your windows are dark, I see.”

“Yes!” she answers vivaciously. “The maid is off this evening, too. So I'm home all alone.”

We are both looking up at the windows of number two, as if neither of us had ever seen them before.

“Can we go up to your place then?” I say. “I'll sit by the door the whole time if you want me to. . . .”

But the next moment I was trembling with emotion, full of remorse for having been too brash. What if she became offended and walked away? What if I never got to see her again? Oh, that wretched suit I was wearing! I waited desperately for her answer.

“You certainly won't sit by the door,” she says.

We went up.

In the hallway, where it was dark, she took my hand and led me on. I didn't have to be so quiet, she said, I could very well talk. We came in. As she made a light—she didn't light a lamp but a candle—as she lighted this candle, she said with a little laugh, “But now you mustn't look at me. Oo, I'm so ashamed! But I'll never do it again.”

“What won't you ever do again?”

“I'll never . . . oh, dear, God forbid . . . I'll never kiss you again.”

“You won't?” I said, and we both laughed. I stretched out my arms for her but she slid aside, slipping away on the other side of the table. We stood looking at each other a little while, with the candle between us.
¹⁷

Then she began to undo her veil and take off her hat, while her sparkling eyes were glued to me, watching my movements to keep me from catching her. I made another lunge forward, tripped on the carpet and fell; my sore foot refused to hold me up any longer. I got up, extremely embarrassed.

“My goodness, how red you became!” she said. “Was it as clumsy as all that?”

“Yes, it was.”

We began running around afresh.

“You seem to be limping.”

“I may be limping a little—just a little, though.”

“The last time you had a sore finger, now you have a sore foot. You certainly have lots of troubles.”

“I was run over a bit the other day.”

“Run over? Drunk again, then? Good heavens, what a life you're leading, young man!” She threatened me with her forefinger and put up a serious face. “Let's sit down!” she said. “No, not there by the door. You're too shy. Over here—you there and I here, that's it. . . . Oh, shy people are such a bore! One has to say and do everything oneself, they don't help out with anything. For example, I wouldn't mind if you put your hand on the back of my chair right now, you could easily have dreamed up that much by yourself, couldn't you? Because if I say something like that, your eyes pop as if you don't quite believe me. Yes, it's really true, I've seen it several times, you're doing it now too. But don't try to tell me you are that modest when you dare come on. You were fresh enough that day when you were tipsy and followed me straight home, pestering me with your wit ticisms: ‘You're losing your book, miss! You're definitely losing your book, miss!' Ha-ha-ha! Phew, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

I sat looking at her with rapt attention. My heart was thumping, the blood coursing warmly through my veins. What a wonderful pleasure
¹⁸
to be sitting in a human dwelling again, hear a clock ticking, and talk with a lively young girl instead of with myself!

“Why don't you say something?”

“Ah, how sweet you are!” I said. “I'm sitting here getting fascinated by you, at this moment I'm thoroughly fascinated. I can't help it. You are the strangest person that . . . Sometimes your eyes are so radiant, I've never seen anything like it, they look like flowers. Eh? No, no, maybe not like flowers but . . . I'm madly in love with you, and it won't do me a bit of good. What's your name? Really, you must tell me what your name is. . . .”

“No, what's
your
name? Goodness, I almost forgot again! I was thinking all day yesterday that I must ask you. Well, that is, not
all
day yesterday, I certainly didn't think about you all day yesterday.”

“Do you know what I've called you? I have called you Ylajali. How do you like it? Such a gliding sound—”

“Ylajali?”

“Yes.”

“Is it a foreign language?”

“Hmm. No, it's not.”

“Well, it isn't ugly.”

After long negotiations we told each other our names. She sat down right beside me on the sofa and pushed the chair away with her foot. We began chatting anew.

“You have shaved, too, this evening,” she said. “You look on the whole a little better than last time, but actually only a wee bit better; just don't you imagine . . . No, the last time you were really mean. On top of it all, you had a horrible rag around your finger. And in that condition you were dead set on going in somewhere to have a glass of wine with me. No, thank you.”

“So it was because of my wretched appearance that you refused to go with me, wasn't it?” I said.

“No,” she answered, dropping her eyes. “Oh no, God knows it wasn't! I didn't even think of that.”

“Look,” I said. “You imagine I can dress and live exactly as I please, don't you? But, you see, I can't do that. I'm very, very poor.”

She looked at me.

“You are?” she said.

“Yes, I am.”

Pause.

“Oh dear me, so am I,” she said with a brisk movement of her head.

Every one of her words intoxicated me, fell on my heart like drops of wine,
¹⁹
though she was probably a perfectly average Kristiania girl, with her jargon, her bold little sallies, and her chatter. She delighted me with the way she had of tilting her head slightly sideways as she listened to me talk. And I could feel her breath full upon my face.

“Do you know,” I said, “that . . . But promise you won't get angry. . . . When I went to bed last night I put my arm out for you . . . like this . . . as if you were lying on it. And then I went to sleep.”

“Really? That was pretty!” Pause. “But you'd really have to be far away from me to do something like that, for otherwise—”

“You don't think I could do it otherwise?”

“No, I don't.”

“Oh yes, from me you can expect everything,” I said, puffing myself up. And I put my arm around her waist.

“I can?” she said, nothing more.

It annoyed and hurt me that she considered me too good. I threw out my chest, plucked up courage and grabbed her hand. But she pulled it quietly back and moved a little away from me. That was enough to kill my courage, I felt ashamed and looked out the window. Anyhow, I cut an all too sorry figure sitting there, I'd better not get any ideas. It would have been a different matter if I had met her while I still looked like a human being, in my palmy days, when I had what it took to keep afloat. I felt very depressed.

“There, see!” she said. “There you can see! All it takes to knock you over is a tiny frown, you look sheepish as soon as one moves a little away from you. . . .” She laughed impishly, her eyes completely closed, as if she herself couldn't stand being looked at.

“Well, I never!” I blurted out. “Just you wait and see!” And I flung my arms lustily around her shoulders. Was the girl out of her mind? Did she take me for a complete green-horn? Haw-haw, wouldn't I, though, by the living . . . No one should say about me that I was backward on that score. What a little devil! If it was just a matter of pushing on, then . . .

As though I was good for much of anything!
²⁰

She sat quite still, her eyes closed as before; neither of us spoke. I pressed her hard to me, squeezing her body against my breast, and she didn't say a word. I could hear our heartbeats, both hers and mine; they sounded like hoofbeats.

I kissed her.

I didn't know what I was doing anymore, said some nonsense that she laughed at, whispered endearments against her mouth, stroked her cheek and kissed her again and again. I opened a button or two in her bodice and glimpsed her breasts underneath, white, round breasts that peeked out like two sweet miracles behind her underlinen.

“May I see?” I say, trying some more buttons, eager to enlarge the opening. But I can't get anywhere with the lower buttons, my emotion is too strong and, besides, her bodice is tighter there. “May I see just a little . . . a little . . . ?”

She winds her arm around my neck, quite slowly, tenderly; her breath blows directly on my face from her red, quivering nostrils. With the other hand she begins to undo the buttons herself, one by one. She laughs bashfully, a short laugh, and glances up at me several times to see whether I notice she's afraid. She unties the bands and unhooks her corset, rapt and apprehensive. And my coarse hands fiddle with these buttons and bands.

To distract my attention from what she is doing, she runs her left hand over my shoulder and says, “What a lot of loose hair you've got here!”

“Yes,” I reply, trying to press my mouth onto her bosom. At this moment she lies with her clothes completely open. Suddenly she seems to change her mind, as though she feels she has gone too far. She covers herself again and sits up a little. To hide her embarrassment over her unbuttoned clothes, she starts talking once more about all the dead hair on my shoulders.

“How come you're losing so much hair?”

“Don't know.”

“You drink too much, of course, and perhaps . . . Phew, I won't even say it! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! I wouldn't have believed it of you, no, never! To think that you, who are so young, should already be losing your hair! . . . Now, you'd better tell me straight out what sort of life you're leading. I'm sure it's awful! But only the truth, mind you, no quibbles! Anyway, I'll know from your face if you try to hide something. So, go on and tell me!” Oh, how tired I was! How much I'd rather sit still looking at her than putting on an act and taking a lot of trouble over all these moves. I was good for nothing, I'd turned into a wet sock.

“Come on, will you!” she said.
²¹

I seized the opportunity and told her everything, and I told nothing but the truth. I didn't make anything worse than it was, it wasn't my intention to arouse her compassion. I even said that I had walked off with five kroner one evening.

She was listening agape, pale, frightened, her shining eyes quite troubled. I wanted to put it right again, to dispel the sad impression I had made, and so I pulled myself together. “Anyway, it's over now, there's no question of such doings anymore; I'm saved now. . . .”

But she was very crestfallen. “Lord help me!” she said, just that, and was silent. She said this at short intervals and then was silent again, each time. “Lord help me!”

I began joking, poked her in the side to tickle her and lifted her up to my breast. She had buttoned her dress again, and that annoyed me. Why should she button her dress? Was I less worthy now, in her eyes, than if I had only myself to blame for my hair falling out, because of unbridled living? Would she have thought better of me if I had turned myself into a roué? . . . No nonsense now! It was only a matter of pushing on! And if it was only a matter of pushing on, then I was the right man.

I had to try once more.

I laid her down, simply laid her down on the sofa. She struggled, not much though, and looked astonished.

“No! . . . What do you want?” she said.

“What I want?”
²²

“No! . . . Why, no . . . !”

“Oh yes, oh yes . . . !”

“
No
, d'you hear!” she cried. And she added these cutting words, “Why, I believe you're crazy!”

Startled into leaving off for a moment, I said, “You don't mean that!”

“Oh yes, you look so queer! And that morning when you were following me—so you weren't really drunk that time?”

“No. But I wasn't hungry either then, you know; I had just eaten.”

“So much the worse.”

“Would you rather I had been drunk?”

“Yes . . . Oh, I'm so scared of you! Good God, can't you let go of me!”

I thought it over. No, I couldn't let go, I would lose too much that way.
²³
No damn fiddle-faddle on a sofa at this time of night!
²⁴
Ha, the sort of excuses they dreamed up at such a moment! As if I didn't know it was all nothing but bashfulness! How green could I be? So, quiet now! No nonsense!
²⁵

She fought me off vigorously, oddly enough, far too vigorously simply to arise from bashfulness. I knocked the candle over by mistake, so it went out. She fought back desperately, even gave out a little whimper.

“No, not that, not that! If you want to, I'd let you kiss my bosom instead. Please, please!”

I stopped immediately. Her words sounded so frightened, so helpless that I was touched to the quick. She meant to offer me compensation by allowing me to kiss her bosom! How beautiful, beautiful and naive! I could have fallen on my knees before her.

“But my dear!” I said, quite confused. “I don't understand . . . I really can't understand what sort of game you're playing. . . .”

She got up and lighted the candle again with trembling hands. I was left on the sofa doing nothing. What would happen now? I felt extremely ill at ease.

She glanced at the wall, at the clock, and gave a start.