Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [143]
With that he stuck the letter into Miniman’s hand and ran over to the window to avoid taking it back. But Miniman didn’t give in; he put the letter on the table and shook his head.
Then he left.
XXI
OH, EVERYTHING TURNED OUT so badly. Whether he stayed indoors or wandered about the streets, he couldn’t calm down; he had a thousand things on his mind and each caused him its own dull pain. Why was everything going wrong for him? He couldn’t figure it out; he was getting more and more caught up in a tightening web. Things had reached a point where he hadn’t even been able to persuade Miniman to accept a letter he’d wanted to give him.
Everything was gloomy and hopeless. Moreover, he began to be racked with nervous anxiety about something, as if a secret danger were lying in ambush for him somewhere. He would often start up in a vague terror merely from hearing the fluttering of the window curtains. What were these fresh torments that were cropping up? His rather hard features, which had never been handsome, had now become even less attractive due to the dark stubble on his chin and cheeks. It also seemed to him that his hair had grayed some more at the temples.
Well, so what? Wasn’t the sun shining and wasn’t he glad to be still alive and free to go wherever he liked? Was any felicity off limits for him? The sun lay upon the square and the sea, and the birds were singing in the lovely little gardens in front of every home, darting continually from branch to branch. Everything was awash with a golden glow; the gravel in the streets was bathed in it, and the silver ball on top of the church spire trembled against the sky like a huge diamond.
He feels a wild joy, a rapture so strong and uncontrollable that on the spur of the moment he leans out of the window and drops some silver coins to a couple of children who are playing on the hotel steps.
“Now be good, children!” he says, barely able to utter the words for emotion. What did he have to be anxious about? His looks were no worse than usual; besides, who could prevent him from shaving and sprucing himself up? That was up to him. And he went to the barber’s.
He also remembers some purchases he should have made; and he mustn’t forget the bracelet he had promised Sara. Humming jubilantly, he runs his errands in a mood of carefree contentment with the world, like a child. The idea that he had anything to fear was a mere fancy.
His good mood persists and he is lost in cheerful thoughts. The harsh showdown he had had with Miniman recently was already half erased from his memory; it seemed like something from a dream. Miniman had refused to accept his letter. But hadn’t he also a letter for Martha? In his desire to share his exuberant joy with others, he now decided to find a way of getting the letter sent. How should he go about it? He checked his wallet and found the letter. He didn’t dare send it secretly to Dagny, did he? No, he didn’t dare send it to Dagny. After a moment’s thought, he was determined to get the letter off at once; it contained a couple of bank notes, no message, not a word. Maybe he could ask Dr. Stenersen to take care of it? And happy at this thought, he goes to see Dr. Stenersen.
It was six o’clock.
He knocks on the door to the doctor’s office; it was locked. Deciding to inquire in the kitchen, he tries the back entrance; at that moment Mrs. Stenersen calls to him from the garden.
There the family sits drinking coffee at a large stone table. Several people were present, a few ladies, a few gentlemen; Dagny Kielland was also there, in a pure-white hat trimmed all around with little bright flowers.
Trying to get