Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [59]
“‘It was.’
“She gave me her hand and said, ‘Come now, I’ll walk you part of the way.’
“And so we walked out of the tower and into the forest, hand in hand. The sun shone on her golden hair, and her black eyes were ravishing. I took her in my arms and kissed her twice on the forehead, and then I fell on my knees before her. With trembling hands she undid a black ribbon she was wearing and tied it around my wrist; but she cried as she did so, overcome by emotion. ‘Why are you crying?’ I asked. ‘Forgive me if I’ve done something to hurt you!’
“But she merely replied, ‘Can you see the town?’
“‘No,’ I replied, ‘I can’t. Can you?’
“‘Stand up and let’s go on,’ she said. She again led me onward. Stopping once more, I pressed her to my breast and said, ‘How dearly you make me love you, how you fill me with happiness!’
“I could feel her trembling in my arms, but still she said, ‘I must turn back now. You can see the town, can’t you?’
“‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘You can, too, I suppose?’
“‘No,’ she replied.
“‘Why not?’ I asked.
“Withdrawing from me, she gazed at me with her large eyes, and before she left she made a deep bow to me for goodbye. When she had walked a few steps away, she turned to look at me once more.
“Then I saw that her eyes, too, were blind....
“At this point there comes a period of twelve hours which I can’t give any account of, they are beyond recall. I have no idea what happened to them. I’ve pounded my head and said, ‘It’s a matter of twelve hours, they have to be in here somewhere, they’re simply hiding and I must find them.’ But I haven’t found them....
“Again it’s evening, a dark, mild fall evening. I’m sitting in my room with a book in my hand. I look down at my legs, they’re still a little wet; I look at my wrist, and it has a bit of black ribbon tied around it. It’s all quite true.
“I ring for the maid and ask her if there is a tower in the vicinity, someplace over in the forest, a black octagonal tower. The maid nods and says, ‘Yes, there is a tower.’—‘And does anyone live there?’—‘Yes, a man is living there, but he’s sick, he’s possessed; they call him Jack-o’-Lantern. And Jack-o‘-Lantern has a daughter, who also lives in the tower; there’s no one else living there.’—‘Very well; good night.’
“And so I go to bed.
“Early the next morning I make my way into the woods. I follow the same path and see the same trees, and I also find the tower. Approaching the gate, I see a sight that takes my breath away: on the ground lies the blind girl, crushed in a fall, dead, all smashed up. There she lies, her mouth wide open, the sun shining on her reddish hair. On the edge of the roof, a shred of her dress is still fluttering, having been caught there; and on the gravel path below walks the little man, her father, his eyes on the body. His breast is shaken by spasms and he howls aloud; he can’t think of anything to do but hover around the body, staring at it and howling. When he caught sight of me, I trembled before those uncanny eyes and fled back to town, terrified. I never saw him again....
“That was my fairy-tale adventure.”
A long silence followed. Dagny walked exceedingly slow, looking down at the road. Finally she said, “God, what a strange adventure!”
Then there was another silence, which Nagel tried to break a couple of times with a remark about the profound peace in the forest.9 “Can you smell the fragrance of the forest right here? Please, let’s sit down a moment!”
She sat down, still quiet, still pensive, and he sat down facing her.10
He felt duty bound to cheer her up with his chatter again. It wasn’t really a sad fairy tale, but rather a merry one. Pooh! Whereas in India—in India the fairy tales were something altogether different; they took your breath away and chilled you to the bone with horror. There were two kinds of Indian fairy tales: the preternaturally glorious ones about diamond caves, princes from the mountains, alluring beauties from the sea, spirits of the earth and air, pearl palaces, castles west of the moon,11 flying horses, forests of gold and silver.