Part 131 (1/2)
”Let a little suns.h.i.+ne in here to me, then,” said La.s.se peevishly.
”There's a great wall in front of the window, father,” said Pelle, bending down over him.
”Well, well, it'll soon be over, the little time that's still left me!
It's all the same to the night watchman--he wakes all night and yet he doesn't see the sun. That is truly a curious calling! But it is good that some one should watch over us while we sleep.” La.s.se rocked his head restlessly to and fro.
”Yes, otherwise they'd come by night and steal our money,” said Pelle jestingly.
”Yes, that they would!” La.s.se tried to laugh. ”And how are things going with you, lad?”
”The negotiations are proceeding; yesterday we held the first meeting.”
La.s.se laughed until his throat rattled. ”So the fine folks couldn't stomach the smell any longer! Yes, yes, I heard the news of that when I was lying ill down there in the darkness. At night, when the others came creeping in, they told me about it; we laughed properly over that idea of yours. But oughtn't you to be at your meeting?”
”No, I have excused myself--I don't want to sit there squabbling about the ending of a sentence. Now I'm going to be with you, and then we'll both make ourselves comfortable.”
”I am afraid we shan't have much more joy of one another, lad!”
”But you are quite jolly again now. To-morrow you will see--”
”Ah, no! Death doesn't play false. I couldn't stand that cellar.”
”Why did you do it, father? You knew your place at home was waiting for you.”
”Yes, you must forgive my obstinacy, Pelle. But I was too old to be able to help in the fight, and then I thought at least you won't lay a burden on them so long as this lasts! So in that way I have borne my share. And do you really believe that something will come of it?”
”Yes, we are winning--and then the new times will begin for the poor man!”
”Yes, yes; I've no part in such fine things now! It was as though one served the wicked goblin that stands over the door: Work to-day, eat to-morrow! And to-morrow never came. What kindness I've known has been from my own people; a poor bird will pull out its own feathers to cover another. But I can't complain; I have had bad days, but there are folks who have had worse. And the women have always been good to me. Bengta was a grumbler, but she meant it kindly; Karna sacrificed money and health to me--G.o.d be thanked that she didn't live after they took the farm from me. For I've been a landowner too; I had almost forgotten that in all my misery! Yes, and old Lise--Begging Lise, as they called her--she shared bed and board with me! She died of starvation, smart though she was. Would you believe that? 'Eat!' she used to say; 'we have food enough!' And I, old devil, I ate the last crust, and suspected nothing, and in the morning she was lying dead and cold at my side!
There was not a sc.r.a.p of flesh on her whole body; nothing but skin over dry bones. But she was one of G.o.d's angels! We used to sing together, she and I. Ach, poor people take the bread out of one another's mouths!”
La.s.se lay for a time sunk in memories, and began to sing, with the gestures he had employed in the courtyard. Pelle held him down and endeavored to bring him to reason, but the old man thought he was dealing with the street urchins. When he came to the verse which spoke of his son he wept.
”Don't cry, father!” said Pelle, quite beside himself, and he laid his heavy head against that of the old man. ”I am with you again!”
La.s.se lay still for a time, blinking his eyes, with his hand groping to and fro over his son's face.
”Yes, you are really here,” he said faintly, ”and I thought you had gone away again. Do you know what, Pelle? You have been the whole light of my life! When you came into the world I was already past the best of my years; but then you came, and it was as though the sun had been born anew! 'What may he not bring with him?' I used to think, and I held my head high in the air. You were no bigger than a pint bottle! 'Perhaps he'll make his fortune,' I thought, 'and then there'll be a bit of luck for you as well!' So I thought, and so I've always believed--but now I must give it up. But I've lived to see you respected. You haven't become a rich man--well, that need not matter; but the poor speak well of you!
You have fought their battles for them without taking anything to fill your own belly. Now I understand it, and my old heart rejoices that you are my son!”
When La.s.se fell asleep Pelle lay on the sofa for a while. But he did not rest long; the old man slept like a bird, opening his eyes every moment.
If he did not see his son close to his bed he lay tossing from side to side and complaining in a half-slumber. In the middle of the night he raised his head and held it up in a listening att.i.tude. Pelle awoke.
”What do you want, father?” he asked, as he tumbled onto his feet.
”Ach, I can hear something flowing, far out yonder, beyond the sea-line.... It is as though the water were pouring into the abyss.
But oughtn't you to go home to Ellen now? I shall be all right alone overnight, and perhaps she's sitting worrying as to where you are.”
”I've sent to Ellen to tell her that I shouldn't be home overnight,”