Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [31]
“So who is the greatest of these, in your opinion?” she cuts in.
“In my opinion, madam, it’s not the one who has been best at creating exchange value who is the greatest, though he is the one who always produces most commotion in the world. No, the voice of my blood says that he is the greatest who has contributed most fundamental value, most positive profit, to human existence. The greatest one is the great terrorist, a towering magnitude, an unheard-of universal jack that balances planets.”
“But, of the three who were mentioned, it must be Christ who—?”15
“It’s Christ, sure,” I hasten to say. “You’re quite right, madam, and I’m pleased that we agree on this point, at least—. No, on the whole I have a low opinion of the ability to do business, to preach, that purely formal gift of always having a word ready on your tongue. What is a preacher, a professional preacher? Someone who serves the negative purpose of the middleman, an agent for merchandise. The more money he makes by his merchandising, the more world-wide his fame becomes! Heh-heh, that’s the way it is: the more he can ballyhoo, the more he can expand his business. But what is the point of preaching Faust’s opinions of human existence to my good neighbor, Ola Upnorth? Will that change the thought of the next century?”
“But what will become of Ola Upnorth if nobody—?”
“Let Ola Upnorth go to hell!” I cut in. “Ola Upnorth has nothing else to do in this world but to walk around waiting to die for all he’s worth, that is, to get out of the way, the sooner the better. Ola Upnorth exists to fertilize the soil, he’s the soldier that Napoleon rides down roughshod, that’s Ola Upnorth—now you know! Ola Upnorth, damn it, isn’t even a beginning, let alone a result of anything; he isn’t even a comma in the Great Book, but a mere blot on the paper. That’s Ola Upnorth—”
“Sh-sh! For God’s sake!” says the lady, terror-stricken, looking at the chairman to see if he’s going to show me the door.
“All right!” I reply, “heh-heh-heh, all right, I won’t say any more.” But at that very moment I notice her lovely mouth and I say, “I’m sorry, madam, for having taken up so much of your time with stuff and nonsense. But thank you so much for your kindness. Your lips are divinely beautiful when you smile. Goodbye.”
But now her face turns crimson and she invites me home. Simply home to her house, to where she lives. Heh-heh-heh. She lives on such and such a street, number so and so. She would like to talk to me a little more about this matter, she doesn’t agree with me and might have a great many objections. If I came tomorrow night, she would be all alone. So could I come tomorrow night? “Thanks. See you then.”
And yet, as it turned out, the only reason she wanted to see me was to show me a new soft rug, a national design, Hallingdal weave.16
Sing heigh-ho, the sun’s on the meadow! ...
He jumped out of bed, raised the blinds and looked out. The sun was shining on Market Square, and the weather was calm. He rang the bell for service.17 He was going to use Sara’s negligence in the matter of his shoes to get on a slightly more familiar footing with her this morning. Let’s see what she’s made of, this wench from Trøndelag with eyes brimful of sex. It’s probably nothing but humbug.
In short, he put his arms around her waist.
“Ick, get lost!” she said angrily, pushing him away.
Then he asked coldly, “Why didn’t you bring me my shoes earlier?”
“Oh, I’m real sorry about the shoes,” Sara answers. “Today is wash day, there’s so much to do.”
He stayed in his room till noon, whereupon he went to the cemetery to attend Karlsen’s funeral. He was wearing his yellow suit as usual.
V
WHEN NAGEL GOT TO THE CEMETERY, no one was yet to be seen. He went over to the grave and peeked into it; there were two white flowers on the bottom. Who had tossed them there, and with what purpose? I’ve seen those white flowers before, he thought. Suddenly it occurred to him that he needed a shave. He looked at his watch and considered a moment before quickly walking downtown again. In the middle