The Power of a Lie. Johan Bojer
Norby stood there utterly helpless, gazing after him.
“It’s no use now my making a fool of myself either to the smith or the men,” he said to himself; “for the devil himself’s gone off with the report, and I’m in a pretty fix!”
“You were calling to me, weren’t you?” said the smith. “Was there anything you wanted?”
“Yes, there was!” cried the old man, turning upon him angrily. “Confound you! You’ve promised for months past to come and fix up my sledges; but you’re a rascal, that’s what you are! You owe me money and you won’t pay. I’ll set the bailiff upon you this very day!” And Norby set off homewards, leaving the smith standing with his sack on his back, staring after him.
“This forgery must have made him daft!” he thought, as he turned and went slowly on his way.
CHAPTER III
AS Knut plodded homewards, he felt like a man whose hat has been blown off his head, and who cannot find out which way it has gone. He could not conceive how this rumour about Wangen’s forgery had arisen, but at the same time he felt that in reality he himself was responsible for it. It was of course the women-folk who had misunderstood him yesterday evening when he was tired and wanted to be quiet. And then it had gone by way of the kitchen to the farm-hands. And by the evening the whole parish would be full of the story, for it would be quite a tit-bit to carry about. And Wangen? Of course he would take the opportunity to bring an action against Norby. He almost wished he had had a rifle in his hand, so that he could have shot the man on ski, who was flying along with that confounded story. If he had not existed, Norby would have had the hard task of going to his men and saying: “This is a misunderstanding about Wangen. I am actually surety for him; he has not forged my signature.” But now there would be the whole parish to go to, and the thought of it made him furious.
He first turned his steps towards the kitchen entrance, to give the maid-servants a scolding, but stopped half-way across the yard. “If there’s going to be any unpleasantness over this,” he thought, “I shall have to bear the brunt of it after all, and I suppose I’m master in my house.”
Nothing came of his projected forest excursion that day. He went instead to the stables, and threatened to discharge the stableman because a young horse was badly curried. Then he suddenly made his appearance in the barn, just when the men were taking a rest, and gave them a talking to. Finally he went into his office, and began to write dunning letters to a number of his debtors.
“I shall be fined, of course, and shall perhaps have to make a retractation in the newspaper,” was his thought all the time he was writing. “This is all one gets for helping such good-for-nothings—domestic scenes, loss of money, and in addition to that you make a fool of yourself, and lose your good name!”
The door opened, and to his great astonishment Marit entered. If she was going to break the silence already, something unusual must be at the bottom of it. She had better not come too and worry him about this!
She stood erect, with both hands hanging down and her chin thrust forward, and began in a vibrating voice:
“I can see you intend to keep this from me, but I just want to ask you whether you are going to report him to the bailiff.”
Knut sprang up, and stood with legs apart and his hands behind his back.
“To the bailiff?” he asked, eyeing her over the spectacles he used for writing. “No, indeed; I’m not quite crazy!”
But Marit was already incensed at his having failed her in the matter of the sacrament, and she now suspected that something else was being kept from her. She came a step nearer.
“You won’t?” she cried, her voice trembling still more.
The old man began to breathe hard. Now that he was angry, her self-importance seemed both ridiculous and irritating. He would never think of confessing his misdeeds to this impertinent creature!
“What are you doing here?” he cried, throwing back his head, and glaring at her through his spectacles.
“I want you to go to the bailiff.”
“Leave the room! I will be left in peace!”
But she laughed scornfully.
“Oh, I see you would rather pay, and pay even if your children hadn’t a rag to their backs! And after this any rogue can make use of your name, and you’ll pay! Or”—and she laughed again, and looked sharply at him—“perhaps you have backed his bill? Yes, I shouldn’t wonder if you’re guilty.”
The word “guilty” sounded as if she suspected him of murder or theft. He became purple with anger, but could find no words to express his indignation. Then he caught his breath, raised his arm as if to strike, and pushed her out of the room.
Some time had elapsed when he heard sledge-bells in the yard, and looking out, he saw that it was Marit driving off. Oh, indeed! They were beginning to take the horses out of the stable without asking his leave, were they? “The next thing she’ll take will be my breeches,” he said to himself, beginning to pace the floor, as his habit was when angry.
A little later he heard the bells returning. He did not look out, but lay down upon the leather sofa and closed his eyes. Soon after he heard the well-known steps in the passage, the door opened, and Marit entered; but the old man lay still with his eyes closed.
She began at once, while she untied the strings of her bonnet.
“I know quite well you’re man enough to order me to leave the room once more; but as you’re not man enough to look after your own affairs, I shall have to do it for you; and as sure as I’m mistress in this house, this shall not pass. So now I’ve been to the bailiff.”
Knut rose slowly, pushing the rug aside. He gazed at her, opened his mouth and gazed. At last he passed his hand through his beard, and then over his bald head, and said in an uncomfortably ordinary tone of voice:
“Oh, have you been to the bailiff, Marit?”
“Yes! When there are no men on the farm, the women have to go out to work,” she said. “I didn’t come quite empty-handed when I became mistress at Norby, and I didn’t mean to let you give my share to tramps and beggars.”
Knut turned pale, but once more passed his hand over his bald crown and through his beard, and tried to laugh. She could hardly have wounded the capable Knut Norby more deeply, for he had about doubled their fortune.
Marit now deemed it wisest to withdraw, but she closed the door slowly behind her, and walked with slow firm step. Knut remained sitting, and again passed his hand over his head two or three times. For the first time in his life Norby thought of going after his wife and thrashing her, for domestic peace was at an end anyhow.
He rose and began to wander about with his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Now and again he stood still as if to make quite certain whether this was not a dream from which he might awake. But there stood the outhouses right enough, painted red, and a magpie let itself slip down the sloping roof, and left a furrow in the snow; and there hung Johan Sverdrup over the writing-table, and he himself stood here and still had his forest clothes on. No, it must be true after all that his wife had been to the bailiff—with this——
The floor seemed to become insecure beneath his feet, the office became too small, and he had to go into the large corner room, where he began to walk about with his hands in his pockets. Here there was mahogany furniture and there were large gilt-framed mirrors and other splendours, but now it seemed to Norby as if they were his no longer. He stood still again and again to wonder: “Is it you, Norby, or is it not?”
He stood at the window in the white light reflected from the snow, and looked out at the half-buried garden. But it was not the trees he saw. He saw himself being driven down the hill by the bailiff on his way to prison for having brought a false accusation.
He turned suddenly round, and went resolutely