Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [122]
“Forgive me for bringing up Miniman again, it’ll be the last time,” he said. “Now, take it easy, I have good reasons for saying this. I’m not going to badmouth the man; on the contrary, you will recall I spoke to you about him in the most favorable way. I thought he might possibly stand in my way with you, and so I spoke to you about him; I maintained, among other things, that he could support a family like anyone else, and I still believe he can, if he gets some help to start with. But you flatly refused to listen, you had nothing to do with Miniman! You even begged me never to mention him again. Fine! But I’m still a bit suspicious, you haven’t convinced me, and I ask you again if there’s something going on between you and Miniman. If so, I withdraw at once. Ah, you shake your head; but then I don’t understand why you refuse to think the matter over till tomorrow and let me know then. That’s only fair. And you who are so kind!”
Then she relented; what’s more, she rose to her feet and, her emotion running away with her, stroked his hair as she had done once before, smiling through her tears. She would meet him tomorrow, she would be glad to; he just had to come a little earlier, at four or five, while it was still light, then nobody could say anything. But now he had to go, he had better leave at once. Yes, and come back tomorrow, she would be home and keep a lookout....
What a queer child of an old maid! At one word, half a remark, her heart was ablaze, making her tender and smiling. She held his hand till the moment he left, she was still holding it as she walked him to the door. On the steps she said a very loud good night, as if there might be someone around whom she wanted to defy.3
It had stopped raining—finally, it had almost stopped; here and there one could already see a patch of blue sky between the turbid clouds, and only an occasional raindrop fell on the damp ground.
Nagel again breathed more freely. Sure, he would regain her trust, what was to stop him? He didn’t return to the hotel but strolled by the docks, along the shore, passed the last houses in town and entered Parsonage Road. There was no one to be seen.
After he had walked another few steps, someone jumps up from the edge of the road and begins to walk in front of him. It was Dagny; the blond braid hung down her back over her raincoat.
A tremor shot through him from top to toe, and he almost came to a standstill for a moment; he was astounded. So she hadn’t gone to the bazaar this evening? Or was she simply taking a short walk before the tableaux began? She walked at an infinitely slow pace, even stopping once or twice to look up at the birds that were beginning to dart among the trees again. Had she seen him? Did she want to test him? Had she gotten up when he came to find out once more whether he dared accost her?
She could feel at ease about that, he would never again intrude upon her! And suddenly anger stirs within him, a dull, blind anger at this woman who might still want to tempt him to forget himself, simply to have the satisfaction of humiliating him afterward. She was quite capable of telling the people at the bazaar that he had had another rendezvous with her. Hadn’t she just been to see Martha and spoiled his chances there as well? Why couldn’t she simply stop putting mischief in his way? She had wanted to pay him back what he deserved, fair enough, but her payback was more extreme than was necessary.
They both walk equally slow, one behind the other, always about fifty steps apart. This goes on for several minutes. Suddenly her handkerchief falls to the ground. He can see it slip from her side, flutter along her raincoat and hit the road. Was she aware that she dropped it?
He tells himself that she wanted to test him; her rage had not yet abated, she wanted to make him pick up