Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [15]
Then, just as Nagel came out of his room the third morning, he was accosted by the hotel keeper, who greeted him and said a few amiable words. They went out on the veranda and sat down. The hotel keeper took it into his head to ask him about the shipment of a crate of fresh fish: “How should I send that crate you see there, can you tell me?”
Nagel looked at the crate, smiled, and shook his head. “Oh, I haven’t the least idea about that sort of thing,” he replied.
“You haven’t, eh? I thought perhaps you had traveled a bit and seen things here and there, how they do it in other places.”
“Oh no, I haven’t traveled much.”
Pause.
“Hm, maybe it’s rather with—well, with other things that you have occupied yourself. You’re a businessman perhaps?”
“No, I’m not a businessman.”
“So you’re not here on business then?”
No answer. Nagel lighted a cigar and puffed slowly, looking into vacancy. The hotel keeper observed him from the side. “Won’t you play for us some day? I see you have brought your violin,” he tried again.
Nagel replied nonchalantly, “Oh no, I’m through with that.”
He soon got up without further ado and left. A moment later he came back and said, “Oh, about the bill, I just had an idea; you can give it to me whenever you like. It doesn’t matter to me when I pay up.”
“Thanks,” the hotel keeper replied, “there’s no hurry. If you stay for any length of time, we’ll have to charge you somewhat less, of course. I don’t know, but do you plan to be with us for some time?”
Nagel suddenly became animated and replied at once; for no apparent reason, his face even showed a faint blush.
“Yes, I may very well decide to stay for some time,” he said. “It all depends. By the way, perhaps I haven’t told you: I’m an agronomist, a farmer. I’ve just returned from a trip, and I may settle down here for a while. But perhaps I even forgot to ... My name is Nagel, Johan Nilsen Nagel.”
With that he shook the hotel keeper’s hand very heartily, apologizing for not having introduced himself sooner. His face didn’t betray the least trace of irony.
“It just occurred to me that we might be able to offer you a better, quieter room,” the hotel keeper said. “You’re next to the stairs now, and that’s not always pleasant.”
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary, the room is excellent, I’m quite satisfied with it. Besides, I can see all of Market Square from my windows, and that’s very interesting, of course.”2
After a moment the hotel keeper went on, “So you’re taking a holiday now for a while? Then you’ll be around until well into the summer, at any rate?”
“Two or three months, perhaps even longer, I can’t say exactly,” Nagel answered. “It all depends. I’ll have to wait and see.”
At that moment a man walked by, bowing to the hotel keeper in passing. He was an insignificant-looking man, small of stature and very poorly dressed; he had such difficulty walking that you couldn’t help noticing, and yet he managed to move along pretty fast. Though he made a very deep bow, the hotel keeper didn’t tip his hat. Nagel, on the other hand, doffed his velvet cap.
The hotel keeper turned to him and said, “That’s someone we call Miniman. He’s a bit daft, but I feel sorry for him; he’s a very kindhearted fellow.”
Nothing further was said about Miniman.
“I read something,” Nagel suddenly says, “I read something in the papers a few days ago about a man who was found dead in the woods someplace around here. What sort of a man was he? A certain Karlsen, I believe. Was he someone from this town?”