They had taken the same boat they had left waterlogged here in September and had come to the same islet and Arne had even pitched the tent on the selfsame spot it had been pitched at the time of that autumn storm–in the hollow between the junipers and the big birch. It was a good, well-hidden place, the tent couldn't be seen from any point you looked, however, you could see everything from here. It seemed as if even here, on the lonely islet, their actions were governed by caution and inbred necessity to hide, developed during winter and spring.

Near the tent Arne built a turf stove.

"We're going to live here for a donkey's age, two immeasurably long days," he said.

"And one outrageously short white night," added Inger.

This was an island of their own, the same quiet, lonely place they had always dreamed of, a place where they could exist only for each other, have a sample of common everyday life and still keep their Sunday mood, in togetherness, all alone in the bosom of nature, beneath the blue skies, with their own thoughts and myths, add to them newly-created ones, explain themselves, be in the way they were and in the way it was possible to be in their situation.

They swam and floated in the warm shimmering sea and lay in the sun on an open spot between juniper's until their backs became sore.

"Look! What interesting berries this juniper is bearing," said Inger.

Close to them there was a small, trim juniper covered with pastel-coloured berries: greens, bluish, blackish-blues.

"Odd berries," Inger said again.

"Yes, and beautiful."

"Like some hazy water-colour."

"Sometimes the sea looks this way."

"When?"

"In a dream," Arne gave a slight smile. He let the juniper-berries Inger had plucked roll in the palm of his hand not knowing what he should do with them. "A short while ago I was hauled over the coals. Why I want to resign my job. I couldn't give them chapter and verse as to why I do. My home is here, my work coincides with the courses I'm taking, a small pleasant town ... She should be told, I'll make a clean breast of it."

Inger bristled. Once more she felt a prick of jealousy.

So that's what he had had on his mind, was it? Of course the situation he had on his hands was unaccustomed and alien and he tried to cast the burden off.

"Lately I've been much worried over you," said Inger, chewing berries and not looking the man's way. "You have no idea how this everlasting waiting can use one up. You can't begin to understand, you don't have a clue ... It is like poison. It poisons everything."

"Doesn't it ever," the man sighed and put some berries into his mouth; their taste was insipidly bitterish.

"What do I rate in your book?"

The man on the grass shifted himself on to his side and repeated absently,

"What do you rate? ... What? You know, girl, I still have to go to sea. There's that class distinction between us. Discrepancy in education."

"Do you find it very hard to hear this thought?"

"Hard? Don't know. But it never leaves me."

Arne. don't I give you anything then. Inger would have liked to ask, but kept silent.

"A stupid person can never be happy," the man said. "Neither can a too smart one."

I've tried to be smart. I've tried to foresee every possibility, forethink it, to be answerable for every feasible variant, but am I then happy?

The conclusion filled her with fear.

But am I unhappy, then? she asked and replied, I'm as happy as I conceivably can be–in our situation. My heart aches, I know and yet don't know why. And I can't figure it out even here, on this beautiful islet, in summertime.

For defying all efforts something in their love still remained vague, elusive. It was like sunshine filtering through the clouds, sultry but dim.

"Why did you come at that time to bring me flowers?"

"Don't you know then?" was Arne astonished, lying face down in the grass. "I simply wanted to see you. You attracted me."

The same here. And nonetheless it is illogical, impossible, preposterous and inconceivable.

Let it be. I'm blossoming like a dog-rose on the islet and Arne is beside me, here, within reach.

"Let's go into the water!"

In the evening, when the sun was low, Arne sat down in front of the tent and began to scrape new potatoes he had brought along. He had a small head of cabbage and a piece of meat in his bag as well. Inger rinsed the meat over and put it in a saucepan to cook.

"What do you think, can the two of us eat up this panful of soup?"

"No fear, we've still one whole day to go."

The fire was already crackling in their tiny stove, branches brought from the wood and cut into pieces were heaped at its side, the tangy smell of the burning wood spicing the air and tickling their nostrils.

This here was their hearth, roofed by the sky, shielded by the tent, in the golden sunset.

Arne wiped his knife clean and tucked it away in his pocket, rinsed his hands and got to his feet.

"You'll cook the soup, girl, I'm going to put the nets in."

"You're going away?" Inger voiced her surprise.

"Away is the word. Off to the sea," Arne chuckled.

"No, I don't want it. I don't want you to go away."

"I'll be back before the cat can lick its ear."

"I don't want to be alone."

"There's nothing to be afraid of here. There's neither beast nor man here now, last year they had bullocks here, now there aren't even them."

"I am not afraid, but I don't want to be alone. It's such a little time we can ever spend together. Must you needs go fishing then?"

"It's fishing come here for. Otherwise, what shall I use for fish to show at home tomorrow?"

Again! In a huff Inger fell silent.

She crammed the stove with wood, her eyes following the man going down to the shore. Arne pushed the boat off, jumped in and took up the oars, the water glowed sunset-red, the sky even more than the sea–until Arne became a black spot on the surface of the sea.

The meat was simmering in the pan. Inger skimmed the foam off with a spoon. She had sensed a barrier in Arne, the very same strange, stiff, unyielding core she had sensed for some time now.

She prodded the meat with a fork, it was time to put the cabbage and the potatoes in. While the soup was cooking, she rigged the tent for the night and felt her huff subside. When she left the tent she was wearing a sheath, colourful like a butterfly's wing, with a plunging neckline, the best and most beautiful she had.

Arne returned from the sea in the light June dusk as unexpectedly as last September, shoulders shaking slightly in the cool of the night, drawing audibly in the appetizing fragrance of the soup on the stove.

They were sitting by their lonely, burning hearth, eating, their eyes never wavering from the other's face. Inger served the man, ladling soup out of the pan.

"You're so festive," the man remarked.

"For you," Inger smiled. "All for you."

Abed in the tent Arne kissed the girl's hands, fingers, cheeks. He almost didn't dare to touch her, was shy and gentle. It was the way it had been at the beginning when they didn't know each other, were shy and shamefaced, were afraid to scare the other away, to spoil something gentle and sincere.

Arne was his old strong and gentle self. In him there were earth, blood and sun, vitality.

"Come what may, I love you." he whispered passionately. They fell asleep cheek to cheek.

Inger woke to a bright morning, the sun already high up over the sea.

"Did you have any dreams?"

"No. There was nothing to dream of. You were beside me I woke up, touched: you were there."

"You're in such bubbling spirits today!"

"Aren't I?" Inger yawned. "I'm such a pretty girl."

Arne laughed out loud. "Aren't you just!"

And when she went into the sea in the raw, Arne ran his eyes from her head down her figure. Why did he do that? Inger felt so strange. What was he thinking about, there on the beach while Inger was away, swimming?

Once again hope raised its head: there could be a third way. A way bringing them together yet not inflicting any pain on anybody, not breaking up anything, not hurting anybody.

She came out of the water, her long hair hanging limply, she tossed her hair out of her eyes and studied her body, her hips, the swell of her breasts. Arne had gone to fetch water from the spring. She was alone on the shore.

She felt strong and vigorous, the feeling supporting her suddenly kindled hope, coaxing it back into life. Nothing was lost yet. What if there were difficulties, the family, and even differences in their mental level. They will fight, between them they will have strength enough, their love will not die, they will not stagnate, their minds will not congeal, they shall find a way out. And through them life will go on.

In the tent she again put on her pretty colourful dress and went out to the stove where Arne had already built up a fire and taken out his coffee-tin. Well, how about that, he hadn't even forgotten to bring coffee!

Continued in Part XXXIV...

Christopher Marquet

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