Ida Brandt (35 page)

But Kate told Mrs Lindholm about the bedrooms, all of which were to face north, for you had to be able to sleep in a cool room.

Ida was not aware that Julius had offered her ice cream and that she had some on her plate.

But the two young people were speaking ever more eagerly because Kate’s father was teasing her, and Colonel Falkenberg started to criticise the stalls in the stables. Somewhat excited by the heat and the wine, they both spoke at the same time, each in a different direction, Kate down to her father and Karl up to the colonel concerning bedrooms and horses and central heating and stalls, so much so that it sounded like a duet. Even Mrs Feddersen became caught by the conversation and leaned forward, and some brief, quick glints came into her grey eyes at the mention of all that comfort and the marble bathtubs.

And suddenly Mrs Mourier nodded to Mrs von Eichbaum with tears in her kind eyes.

But Mourier took off his napkin and said:

“Aye, the young ones must have their fling.”

When things had quietened down a little, Miss Rosenfeld said in a low voice:

“But, you know, there were so many lovely memories from the old house.”

Karl heard the words and suddenly he stopped his explanations and made no reply to Lindholm.

Mrs Falkenberg sat trying to catch Falkenberg’s eye, but the lieutenant colonel was enjoying a biscuit and talking to the admiral about remounts.

Mrs von Eichbaum said that she thought it was time to leave the table now.

Ida had not heard this, and she did not rise until the research student offered her his arm. As though only half awake she sat for a moment and surveyed the table with the remains of the meal and the slightly smoking candelabra and then her own plate at the table. The blood red ice cream had melted and turned into some coloured, dirty water in her bowl.

The admiral made to hand Mrs Aline Feddersen her stick. But Madame Aline thought she could manage without it. And, supported by the admiral, whose enamel cross shone in the light from the Eichbaum candelabra, she walked, with some difficulty but nevertheless upright among the other couples, past the screens over to Mrs von Eichbaum’s apartment, where Mr Christensen started to offer them coffee.

Ladies and gentlemen were speaking in loud voices in groups here and there. Mrs Mourier was standing with Mrs von Eichbaum and holding her dry hands in her own.

“That was delightful,” she said: “I don’t know anyone who understands the art as you do.”

Mrs Mourier omitted to explain what she really meant by the art, or perhaps she was not even aware of it herself.

But Mrs von Eichbaum replied:

“My dear Vilhelmine, it all takes care of itself.”

“Yes, when you understand these things,” said Mrs Mourier.

Ida had quite mechanically – or perhaps as a kind of unconscious defence – taken sugar and cream and was gliding around offering them to the guests. Now she reached Mrs Mourier.

“Ah, Miss Brandt, you are going around as though you were the daughter in the house.”

“Yes,” said Ida, and glided on.

“I think she is rather nice, you know,” said Mrs Mourier, who had an indeterminate feeling of sympathy, perhaps on account of the strangely old-maidish quality that had come over Ida’s personality. It was as though the yellow dress was too big for her so that there was no real living body in it, and her waved hair over her small forehead looked strangely like a wig or as though it had been glued on.

“Good Lord, my dear, wonderful,” said Mrs von Eichbaum: “And one of those rare people who always know their place.”

The gentlemen had gone into Karl’s room to smoke, all except the admiral, who was taking care of his health by going for his usual walk up the road. Lindholm said something to the effect that Copenhagen was a damned fine capital city, a city in which it was impossible to get a decent shirt in the entire place.

But Mourier had met Karl in the entrance hall.

“I have really been going to write to you for some time but, you see, well, I know what it costs for a young man to accompany young ladies throughout the winter. But now (Mr. Mourier was quite embarrassed) we are going to make a deposit in the local branch and that is all settled, so you need only go across and draw it.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” he concluded brusquely. Karl had turned blood red, and Mr Mourier turned away, much relieved.

“Should we not rather move into the dining room?” he said: “The air’s a damned sight better in there, and it’s nice to be away from the ladies while we have coffee. ”

Before long, the gentlemen broke up and went into the general’s wife’s dining room, where Mr Christensen and Julius were clearing the table.

Mr Christensen had acquired something of a twitch in his nose on reaching Mrs Feddersen’s place, where her perfume could still be detected.

“I must say she is still an imposing lady,” he had said to Julius.

A certain silence had come over the ladies after the coffee and now the gentlemen had gone. The admiral’s wife was half asleep on the sofa after the morning’s exertions (and in addition she always ate a great deal when she was out), but in the corner beneath the gas light there was a group talking about books and reading. Mrs Falkenberg, who was nervously rubbing one cheek with her clenched fist while looking up in the air, said:

“But reading so often makes one restless.”

At which, Mrs Eichbaum, over by the étagère, speaking to Mrs Lindholm about Mary, said:

“My dear Emmy, one reads in order to rest.”

But Mrs Falkenberg, still rubbing her cheek, said quietly:

“But surely also to get to know life?”

“I do not think that is often what one finds in books,” said Miss Rosenfeld.

The general’s wife, who had persuaded Ida to sit on the edge of a sofa, seemed to interrupt and said:

“Dear Miss Brandt, you have a task to fulfil.” And she gently raised Ida’s arm. It was so strangely lifeless as it fell back on the marble table, or perhaps it was as though it had been crushed or was out of joint, that the general’s wife suddenly looked at her.

“But of course, it makes demands on you,” she said in a different voice.

The admiral’s wife, who had awaken and heard they were talking about reading, said from over in the sofa:

“But, my dears, you have to go through the lot to keep up. Fanny and I read ourselves to sleep every evening.”

In the small drawing room, Mrs Feddersen had settled down for a moment. Perhaps she was rather tired, for she had closed her eyes and was supporting her head against the wall. She was directly in the light, and the red links of pearls falling down on her bosom almost looked like blood flowing down into her lap. She had not noticed Mrs Mourier coming and sitting down beside her.

“I have been thinking such a lot about you,” said Mrs Mourier, quietly taking hold of Madame Aline’s hand.

Mrs von Eichbaum had the windows in the dining room opened as they already were over in the general’s wife’s apartment. The gentlemen’s laughter and Mr Mourier’s voice could be heard over in Mrs von Eichbaum’s rooms, as though the entire house was one single source of festivity harmonising with the brightly lit courtyard. The front-door bell rang and Julius went to open it. It was the younger members of the family who were starting to arrive, girls in bright dresses and young gentlemen in freshly starched shirts, bowing in turn to the older guests.

A small pianist, beardless and slightly flustered and asking for a cushion for his chair, finally sat down at the piano, and a couple of young people started to dance on the dining room floor, while the gentlemen’s laughter mingled with the music.

Mrs von Eichbaum went to and fro. Now she came from over in the gentlemen’s room into her own kitchen:

“Julius.”

Julius came, followed by Mr Christensen, who was in his shirt sleeves with stiff cuffs.

“Julius, would you please put the screens in place,” said Mrs von Eichbaum as she passed by.

Mr Mourier had overturned one of them on his way through the kitchen.

Just at the door to her own dining room Mrs von Eichbaum met Ida.

“My dear Miss Brandt,” she said, rather flustered: “I am so worried about cups, whether there are sufficient, because the young people need to have some tea. Would you be so kind as to make sure…”

Ida’s words were lost in the happy music, and Mrs von Eichbaum only saw that she bowed her head and went.

Out in the kitchen, she took an apron (there are drunken people who do nothing but sensible things in this way, quite quietly, and afterwards are unable to remember what they have done) and she tied it on. In the gaslight, she washed cup after cup.

Mrs Mourier was standing in the doorway to the living room, watching the young people dancing. Now Karl, who had actually been drinking rather heavily, had come over into these rooms and was dancing with Kate.

“Oh it is lovely to see so much happiness,” said Mrs Mourier, putting her arm in under Mrs von Eichbaum’s. And standing side by side, they watched their children.

There came sounds of laughter and noise from the gentlemen’s room when the music stopped. The admiral had come home, and a couple of the young people had also gone over there unnoticed.

At the middle of the table, the colonel was talking about a sense of morality and the defence forces.

Lindholm had asked the research student who the little lady really was that he had sat next to at table, and the student had explained and said:

“Actually, I think she is a very cultured young lady. But – ” and the student made some strange movements with his hands – “one sits there, sir, and says to oneself that such a person could be a source of infection.”

The lieutenant colonel remained standing at the middle of the table, speaking ever more loudly about His Excellency the Minister of War as the central figure in the entire patriotic movement when the admiral, who along with Mr Mourier had sat looking as though he were listening, and who perhaps was a little tired of his colleague, said to Mourier:

“But why did you refuse the opportunity of going into parliament?”

“Well,” said Mourier, wriggling slightly: “I don’t really know, damn it. I’m a natural conservative of course,” he repeated. “But you see, admiral, I lack the ability to be outraged, confound it, and that ability is necessary in public life in this country.”

“Ah,” said the admiral: “Thank God there is not so much outrage at sea.”

And laughing merrily as they drank a glass of liqueur, the two gentlemen started walking up and down the floor, talking about Madame Aline.

“Aye,” said Mourier,” I agree with my wife that that kind of thing doesn’t happen provided the husband remains strong and healthy.”

But the admiral scratched his head and said:

“We-ell, but I remember up at Sølyst when I used to give them a swing as little girls, she had a way of getting up in the swing and gasping for breath.”

“No,” and the admiral looked almost satisfied, “she’s one of the restless kind.”

Over in Mrs von Eichbaum’s apartment the piano could be heard again, and Lindholm, standing by the window looking at the dancers, said to Karl von Eichbaum, who had come across for a fresh glass of liqueur:

“I say, Eichbaum, shouldn’t we go for a stroll?”

But the lieutenant colonel suddenly said to Mr Mourier:

“But, my dear Mourier, how is it you have never been given a decoration?”

“Because my wife refuses,” said Mourier.

Ida had returned and was sitting beside Miss Rosenfeld when Karl came over to her. He was flushed and his voice was rather unsteady.

“Miss Brandt,” he said, “we must have a dance.”

Ida made no reply, and she rose with difficulty. Karl thought she felt quite thin in his arms.

They only danced round the room a single time. “Thank you,” said Ida, and her lifeless hands failed to sense the almost desperate pressure with which he held them.

“She ought to go in and smooth her hair down,” said young Falkenberg when Karl took Ida back inside.

Miss Rosenfeld had risen and Ida stood beside her.

Then Miss Rosenfeld took her hand:

“My dear Ida, what on earth do you want here?”

Perhaps Ida did not understand these words, but nevertheless she said:

“I am going home now.”

She saw no one as she went through the rooms, where the music had ceased, and she did not know that she suddenly curtsied to Mrs von Eichbaum almost as though she were a child, and she managed to say:

“I have to get up early.”

There was no one in the corridor, and she took her own coat. Nothing hurt her except the light. That hurt her eyes. She took a couple of steps until she was standing on the threshold of Karl’s room.

Then she turned and left.

It was blowing and raining, but she did not notice. She quickly made her way against the wind. She had not heard a voice addressing her.

It was Knuth, who came along with another officer in uniform.

“Hello, is it you, Miss Brandt,” he said. “Are you walking home in this weather?”

And when he suddenly saw her pale face, he said:

“Are you not well? I’ll get a carriage for you.”

Ida made no reply, but Knuth simply ran while Ida remained standing there. There was something in his voice that softened the blood around her congealed heart.

The carriage came and Knuth helped her in.

“Thank you,” she said, and they exchanged no further words.

∞∞∞

Karl had reached the general’s wife’s dining room. He took another glass of liqueur, while Lindholm preferred a mineral water.

Karl sat staring into the almost finished candles in a candelabrum.

“Living’s damned expensive,” he said suddenly.

Lindholm laughed and said:

“Well, but you’ll be able to afford it, Eichbaum.”

But Karl probably did not hear this, for he went on staring into the candles until he clicked his tongue and said:

“But I suppose one is of benefit to society.”

The admiral and Mr Mourier broke up and went down through the corridor and the kitchen, where the admiral chanced to knock over a screen.

“What rubbish to have in the kitchen,” he said.