Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [34]
“Is there really nothing else? Isn’t there a clock on the wall, an old picture or something?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“That chair which can’t stand on its legs, I mean the one with the red plush, what does it look like? Is it very old? And why does it stand there by the bed? One can’t sit on it, right? Is it a high-backed chair?”
“Yes, high-backed, I think, I don’t remember exactly.”
They started singing over by the grave. The ceremony was over. When the singing was over too, there was a moment of complete silence; then people began to disperse in all directions. Most of them walked down the churchyard to the main gate, others stopped to talk in low voices. A group of men and women headed toward Miniman and Nagel, all young people, the women looking bright-eyed and surprised as they scrutinized the two of them. Dagny Kielland’s face turned a deep red, but she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead and looked neither right nor left. Nor did the deputy judge look up as he talked quietly with one of the ladies.
Just as they were passing, Dr. Stenersen, who was also among them, paused. He beckoned to Miniman, who stood up. Nagel was left sitting there by himself.
“Please ask that gentleman ... ,” he heard the doctor say; that was all he heard. But a moment later his name was mentioned quite loudly, and he too stood up. He doffed his cap and made a deep bow.
The doctor apologized: he had been entrusted by a lady, one of the ladies who were with him at the moment, Miss Meek, with the disagreeable task of asking the gentlemen to be a bit careful with that stone, that burial slab, and not sit on it. The slab was new, it had just been put in place; the bed was still fresh, the sod quite soft, so the whole thing might give way before you knew it. The request was made by the sister of the deceased.
Nagel begged pardon more than once. It was sheer thoughtlessness on his part, a piece of carelessness, and he perfectly understood the young lady’s uneasiness about the stone. He also thanked the doctor.
Meanwhile they had started idling along. When they reached the gate Miniman said goodbye, and the doctor and Nagel were left alone. Only now did they introduce themselves to one another.
“You will settle down here for a while, perhaps?” the doctor asked.
“Yes,” Nagel replied. “One has to follow custom, you know, take one’s summer holiday in the country, gather strength for the winter, and then return to work.... You’ve got a pleasant little town here.”
“Where do you come from? I’ve been trying to figure out what dialect you’re speaking.”
“I hail from Finnmark originally, I’m of Finnish descent. But I’ve lived on and off in various places.”
“Have you just returned from abroad?”3
“Only from Helsingfors.”
At first they talked about a number of indifferent things, but soon the conversation drifted to other topics: the election, the crop failure in Russia, literature, and Karlsen’s death.
“What’s your opinion—did you bury a suicide today?” Nagel asked.
The doctor couldn’t say, refused to say. It didn’t concern him, and so he refused to get involved. People were saying all sorts of things. For that matter, why shouldn’t it have been a suicide? All theologians ought to do away with themselves.
But why?
Why? Because their role had been played out, because our century had made them superfluous. People had begun to think for themselves, and their religious feelings were fading away more and more.
A Liberal! Nagel thought. He couldn’t understand what human beings would gain by having life stripped of all symbols, all poetry. Besides, it was open to question whether the century had made theologians superfluous, as long as religious feelings were simply not on the decline....
Not among the lower social strata, to be sure, though more and more even