The Greenlanders (34 page)

Margret and Asta were in the habit of arising with the sun to milk the ewes, then eating a bit of dried sealmeat together before Margret drove the animals to their pasture, and on one such morning it came to Asta that she should speak of her distress to the other woman, for she had come far from the days of kicking apart the skraelings’ stone cooking spot, and although she had seen the young woman and the two children only that once, she remembered their faces clearly, but not with the fear or hatred that she remembered feeling at the time. At morning meat she held in her hand a little trinket, a man carved in the skraeling fashion from a bit of ivory, with a few incised lines to depict his parka and his fur boots and his eye slits. This trinket she had been unable to make herself cast away, and yet it weighed heavily upon her soul. In addition to this, she knew that the skraeling was hiding in wait for Margret’s departure, as he had for each of the last few mornings, and that he would appear, smiling, as soon as the little flock disappeared over the brow of the hill. Were she to put the charm upon the tiny table she had made for them, Margret, she knew, would lift her eyes from it to Asta’s own face, and she would be preserved, and yet she kept it tight and warm in the palm of her hand.

For her part, Margret Asgeirsdottir was still in the grip of her dreams, as she was every morning, and looked upon the face of Asta Thorbergsdottir with the same sense of distance as she always did. She longed to be off.

Now it happened that shortly after Margret went away, Asta stepped out of the steading with the intention of going to the privy, and the skraeling leapt out from behind the corner of the house and grabbed Asta by the arm. Then he took her wrist and squeezed it, so that her hand opened and disclosed the ivory figure. At once the skraeling gave a great shout and began to grin in a diabolical fashion, and then, greatly to Asta’s surprise, he grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck and began jerking her about him, attempting to throw her down upon the ground. With his other hand, he slapped her bottom, not hard, but like Thorkel Gellison slapping the flanks of a favorite mare. Asta readily saw that she was a good deal taller than the demon, and probably heavier as well, though like all skraelings, he was clothed in furs summer and winter. Now she turned toward him and grabbed him around the chest as folk do in wrestling contests, and squeezed him as hard as she could, all the while listening with her head jerked back by his hand gripping her hair for the crack of his ribs. This never came, but she did manage to drive the wind out of him and overpower him so that he fell to his knees and his face grew red and swollen. She, in turn, was nearly overpowered by the rank odor of seal blubber on his hands and face, but she pushed him away and turned and ran up the hillside. Sometime later, she looked out and saw that his skin boat was gone, and this was a good example indeed of the wages of walking with the devil, for some of her hair had come out in a large patch and the back of her head throbbed painfully. In the evening, she spoke of this misadventure to Margret, and wept mightily in remorse at her weakness. But when they awakened on the second day, it was to discover not just the one skraeling, but a whole group of them standing about outside the steading, all men.

Margret stood inside the doorway and Asta behind her with a weighty soapstone lamp concealed in each of her hands. One of the men, who had graying hair and a little beard upon his chin, stepped forward and addressed Margret as follows, “Old woman, where are your men?” His Norse tongue was almost unintelligible, and Margret stepped forward two paces so that she could make it out. The men stepped back.

She said, “We have no men here.” Now Asta stepped in front of her and lifted the pieces of stone above her head as if to throw them. The group of men conferred among themselves, and the leader spoke once again. He said, “It is a shame to all men when they have to do business with women.”

Margret shrugged and turned to go inside the house.

“Even so,” he went on, “a certain young man finds his heart set upon this young woman here, for she is a fine fat girl, and he can hardly keep his eyes off her, and so he wishes to take her for his first wife.”

“I think,” said Margret, “that I don’t understand your words.” And indeed, much of what he had said had escaped her, but it appeared that he was asking to have Asta Thorbergsdottir marry the young skraeling who had pulled her hair out.

The demon spoke more slowly, gesturing at the young skraeling, who stepped forward. “This fellow, Quimiak, wishes to have your girl for his wife.”

Margret and Asta looked at each other.

“He is a good hunter and a prosperous man. Soon he will have another wife to help her, and her life will be an easy one, although it is true that he is young to marry.”

Margret turned to Asta and said, “I think he is marrying someone else, too.”

“This courtship has gone on for many days, and Quimiak is most anxious to bring it to a conclusion.”

Now Margret spoke loudly to the older skraeling. “My friend and I must consult together about this.” She waved her hand toward the bottom of the slope, and the leader said a few words. Soon the skraelings were out of sight of the house, although the breeze carried sounds of their talking to the two women. Margret and Asta sat down upon a stone that lay against the south wall of the steading, and a little time passed before they began to converse. At last Margret said, “It seems to me that things have passed that I have known nothing of.”

Now Asta smiled and said, “And it seems to me that things have passed that I have known nothing of, as well.” And they sat silently for another short time.

Margret said, “This is the smallest of steadings, and will never support both of us in both summer and winter, and in addition to that, Marta Thordardottir is growing old, and I doubt that Isleif or Ragnleif will greet us with such pleasure as Marta does every autumn.”

“And though it may not be able to support two, yet one would not be able to live in such a lonely spot.”

“That may be or may not be.”

“No one knows how the skraelings live. And this one smelled like an old sealskin that hasn’t been cleaned properly, and yet—” But she fell silent.

“And yet?”

“And yet, like as not one such as I will get few enough offers from others.”

“But skraelings aren’t men. They are demons, and do the work of Satan.”

“Many men marry skraeling women and father children. Their wives’ mothers come to live with them on their steadings.”

“And all are baptized, and they live as Norsemen, and change their names, and worship in church as others do.”

“I was greatly fond of Jonas Skulason, that is a fact.”

“My father’s brother, Hauk Gunnarsson, used to go to the Northsetur as a young man, and he had much to do with skraelings, and he used to say that these folk, for he considered them folk and not demons, were used to traveling great distances in the darkest part of winter, and in fact in the places where they go, the sun never shines after the winter nights.”

“Why is it that they make these journeys?”

“They have no sheep, and spend all of their time hunting walrus and whale and seal and bears.”

“It may be that they are never hungry.”

“It may be. My father’s brother was not a little impressed with their skills.”

“Hauk Gunnarsson was himself well known as a hunter.”

“It may be that they are never hungry.” Now Margret looked steadily at Asta and said, “Sira Pall Hallvardsson would say one thing, and that is, what availeth a man to gain the world if he loseth his soul? And it may be that the children of God are meant to go hungry in this world. It is not for us to walk with demons in order to have full bellies.”

“It is true that as few priests as we have among us here, there are fewer than that in the wastelands. And we know nothing of these folk. And yet, I think often of little Jonas. More often now than I did.”

Margret looked at Asta, then out toward the fjord. Finally she said, “The pain of such thoughts always turns to pleasure, and the pleasure of them always turns to pain, it seems to me.” Now they stood up and walked down the slope, and the skraelings turned to them at the sound of their steps, and Margret declared to the older man that Asta would speak for herself, then Asta said, “It is true that a daughter leaves her folk and takes up the ways of a husband’s folk, as skraeling women have come to live among the Greenlanders. But a daughter of God must not turn away from Him, and embrace unholy ways.”

Now the older skraeling spoke to Quimiak, and then said to Margret, “This girl is oddly unwilling, since she received Quimiak’s gift, and kept it with her in her hand. When a girl does this, that means she has accepted a man for her husband, and is willing to go away with him. Does this woman demand more gifts?”

Most of this talk was intelligible to Margret and she answered as follows, “It is true that we are not familiar with your ways, and the girl may have done one thing and meant another. For this you should blame our ignorance and forgive us. But it was not her intention to encourage this Quimiak, and she has no desire to marry him.” Now she looked at Asta, and the two women were a little afraid, for the skraelings numbered half a dozen at least, and all carried such skraeling weapons as bows and arrows and harpoons.

The bearded man took Quimiak aside and began to parley with him, and Quimiak looked often and admiringly at Asta. He was not tall, but he was straight-limbed and clothed in fine furs, finer than those of some of the other men, although they were older than he was. Margret saw Asta looking at him, and stepped back into the house with Asta by the hand. Asta declared that it might happen this time as she had heard it had happened with others, that the demons would try to steal her away by force, and Margret did not know how to respond to this observation. But the skraelings did not try to steal her away, rather the older man came away from his talk with Quimiak and addressed Margret with thanks for listening to their plea, and then all of the skraelings slipped silently down the slope, and in an eye blink they were in their skin boats in the middle of the fjord. On this day, Margret kept the sheep folded, and did not take them to their pasture, and Asta went about her business in somewhat low spirits.

It happened that some days after this Margret and Asta were looking out for Sira Isleif, who was to come to them on the feast of Mary Magdalen and confess them and administer communion. Because of the priest’s dim sight, the two women always looked for him rather than suffering him to thread his way up the slope from the strand, for the scrub willow was thick and treacherous, and few paths had been worn in it. And so one morning they were looking out and spied a small boat in the fjord with two rowers in it, and when it came to shore, Sira Isleif was not one of these men, but Sira Jon from Gardar was. Margret was much put out by this chance, for she and Asta had been gathering dried sheep’s dung from the fold to spread on a bit of flat ground near the steading that Margret thought to use as a homefield. In addition to this, there was nothing prepared to give the priest to refresh himself. Sira Isleif liked to sit inside the steading and gossip with the women as they prepared him something, but someone such as Sira Jon, Margret knew, expected to be led to the high seat and have various meats placed before him for him to pick and choose among.

Now the priest and his servant began to climb the slope, and Margret wiped her hands upon her gown and stepped forward to greet them and show them the faint path. But when she came to the priest and inclined her head courteously, he only stopped and stared at her so that she was discountenanced and forgot to say the proper words of greeting. The servant declared in a loud voice that Sira Jon had come to visit the unfortunate Margret Asgeirsdottir and her servant Asta Thorbergsdottir. And they began to climb again and soon they came to the tiny steading, where, once again, Sira Jon stared about himself, first at Margret and then at her dwelling place and then at her sheep, who were scattered about the slope, foraging among the scrub. Now Margret offered such food as she had on hand—some dried sealmeat and dried reindeer meat with new butter and that day’s ewe’s milk, humble fare indeed. But the two men ate greedily. As a last dish, she placed before them sweet dried bilberries, and they ate these, too, always turning to look at Margret as she moved about the tiny room.

After the meal, Margret said to the priest, “Sira Jon, it is our hope that you have come to confess us and give us communion, for we are in a state of sin here, as men are everywhere, and we have been looking eagerly for Sira Isleif.”

Now Sira Jon smiled and nodded, and took Margret off away from the steading and bid her to kneel down and make her confession. And after she was finished he asked her, “Have you more to say to me, or any other sins to confess, or even any news for me, or questions, or any wish to confide in me?” He pressed her so with these inquiries that Margret began to look toward the steading for Sira Jon’s servant and Asta, but they were lost in conversation, and afforded her no aid. Finally, Sira Jon declared, “It is said, my child, that you are afflicted with dreams and melancholia.”

Margret said nothing.

“It may be that you wish to speak to me about these dreams.”

But Margret did not reply to this, either.

Now Sira Jon became somewhat agitated, and said, “You come from a prideful lineage, and wayward. Your brother has killed men and been driven from his patrimony and only narrowly escaped outlawry. You choose to live apart from folk, and disdain their aid. The Lord looks with little kindness upon such doings, and his punishment is swift and sure. It is truly said that pride is the greatest sin.”

Now Margret spoke softly, and said, “My dreams are as those of others, and my melancholy is such as comes and goes, which seems to me not unusual. The snares of pride are many and much tangled together. You may truly say that I fail to avoid them.”

Now Sira Jon grew gentler and leaned toward Margret. “My child, do you not grow desperate with loneliness in this place, so that it seems to you that voices speak or faces appear where you know there can be none?”