tease him more cruelly still, thumbing my nose at him and crying halloo insultingly close to his ears, to bewilder him even more, if possible. Then I retraced my steps, leaving him there to realize how close to him I had been. But he wasn’t quite giving up; he was still struggling with the roots, inured to pain as he toiled to clear them away, getting scratched till the blood came and hurting his face, then raising himself on tiptoe to scream at me. Yes, can you imagine, he stood bolt upright on tiptoe staring at me and screaming! His face was dripping with perspiration, distorted by terrible suffering because he couldn’t get hold of me. Wanting to goad him even further, I went closer still, snapping my fingers under his nose and calling ‘tee-hee-hee-hee-hee’ with the most awful mockery. I flung a tree root at him, hitting him in the mouth, and almost succeeded in knocking him down; but he simply spat out the blood, put his hand to his mouth and continued to struggle with the roots. Then, thinking I could risk it, I stretched out my hand to touch him; I wanted to put my finger on his forehead and withdraw again. But at that moment he caught me. Good Lord, what a fright it gave me to be caught like that! He made a furious grab at me and clutched my hand. I screamed, but he simply held my hand and followed me. We walked out of the marsh—the tree roots no longer hampered him once he’d gotten hold of my hand—and came to the rock where I had at first been hiding. When we got there, the man prostrated himself before me and kissed the ground I had walked on; bloody and bruised, he kneeled before me, thanking me for having been kind to him. Then he blessed me, and prayed to God to bless me as well. His eyes were candid and filled with good prayers to God for me, and he didn’t kiss my hand, or even my shoes, but the ground where my shoes had trod. ‘Why do you kiss the ground exactly where I’ve walked?’ I asked.—‘Because,’ he said, ‘because my mouth is bleeding and I don’t want to dirty your shoes.’—He didn’t want to dirty my shoes! Again I said, ‘But why do you thank me when I’ve done you harm and caused you pain?’—‘I thank you,’ he replied, ’‘because you didn’t cause me more pain, because you were kind enough not to torture me still more.’—‘All right,’ I said, ‘but why did you scream at me and open your mouth to bite me?’—‘I wasn’t going to bite you,’ he replied, ‘I opened my mouth to ask you for help; but I couldn’t utter a word and you didn’t understand. And then I screamed because I suffered so terribly.’—‘So that’s why you screamed?’ I asked.—‘Yes, that’s why!’ ... I looked at the lunatic—he was still spitting blood but prayed to God for me all the same. I realized I had seen him before and that I knew him; he was a middle-aged man with gray hair and a miserable little beard—it was Miniman.”
Nagel fell silent. His listeners were stunned. Mr. Reinert lowered his eyes and looked at the ground for a long while.
“Miniman? So it was him?” asked Mrs. Stenersen.
“Yes, that’s who it was,” Nagel replied.
“Ooh, you almost give me the creeps.”
“I knew it!” Dagny Kielland said of a sudden. “I recognized him the moment you said he kneeled down and kissed the ground. I assure you I recognized him. Have you talked to him at any length?”
“No, I’ve met him only a couple of times.... But come, I seem to have spoiled your good mood; Mrs. Stenersen, you’ve turned quite pale! What on earth—it was only a dream, you know!”
“Yes, this won’t do!” the doctor chimed in. “How the hell does it concern us that Miniman—. Let him kiss every tree root in Norway, for that matter. Look at Miss Andresen, though, she’s downright crying. Ha-ha-ha.”
“I’m not crying at all,” she retorted, “it wouldn’t occur to me. But I do admit that this dream made an impression on me. And I dare say it made an impression on you, too.”
“On me?” cried the doctor. “Of course not, not a bit! Ha-ha-ha, have you all gone mad? Now, let’s take a little walk. Up, all of you! It’s getting chilly. Are you cold, Jetta?”
“No, I’m not, let’s stay here,” his wife replied.
But the doctor