Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [98]
This question came so unexpectedly that he looked at her in bewilderment for a moment. He replied softly, his heart going pitapat: “Miss Kielland, the last time we were together I promised that, if I was allowed to see you once more, I would talk about anything but what I had been forbidden to talk about. I’m trying to keep my promise. So far I have kept it.”
“Yes,” she said, “one must keep one’s promises, one mustn’t break a promise.” She seemingly said this more to herself than to him.
“I made up my mind to try even before you came; I knew I would meet you.”
“How could you know that?”
“I saw your footprints on the road.”
She gave him a quick glance but said nothing.
After a moment she said, “You have a bandage on your hand. Did you injure yourself?”
“Yes,” he replied, “your dog bit me.”
They both stopped in their tracks and looked at each other. He clenched his fists and continued in utter anguish, “I’ve been in these woods every single night, I’ve seen your windows every night before going to bed. Forgive me, it’s not a crime, after all! You told me not to, and yet I did it, that can’t be helped. The dog bit me, he was fighting for his life; I killed him—I gave him poison because he always barked when I came to say good night to your windows.”
“So it was you who killed the dog!” she said.
“Yes,” he replied.
Pause. They still stood motionless, eyeing each other; his breast was heaving strongly.
“And I would be capable of doing far worse things to get a glimpse of you,” he went on. “You have no idea how I suffer, how engrossed I am in you, day and night, no, you have no idea. I talk to people, I laugh, I even arrange merry boozing sessions—last night, in fact, I had company until four in the morning; we ended up smashing all the glasses—but even while I’m drinking and singing, you’re always in my thoughts and I feel distraught. I don’t care about anything anymore, and I have no idea what’s going to happen to me. Anyway, take pity on me for a few minutes, there’s something I must tell you. But don’t be afraid, I’m not going to frighten you or tempt you, I just have to talk to you because I’m racked with pain—”
“Do you flatly refuse to be reasonable?” she said abruptly. “You promised.”
“Yes, I probably did; I don’t know, but maybe I promised to be reasonable. I’m so poor at it, though. All right, I’ll be reasonable, you can trust me. But how shall I go about it, can you tell me that? Teach me how.1 You know, one day I was on the verge of forcing my way into the parsonage, opening the doors and going straight in even if there were other people present! But I’ve also done all I can to stand fast, I assure you; I’ve even slandered you, trying to destroy your power over me by discrediting you in the eyes of others. I didn’t do it out of revenge, oh no; you see, I’m really close to going under. I did it to raise myself up, to learn to clench my teeth so as not to stoop too low in my own eyes. That’s why I did it. But I don’t quite know if it was any use.2 I also tried to leave, I really did; I began to pack my things but didn’t quite finish, nor did I leave. How could I? Instead, I would rather follow you, if you weren’t here. And even if I never found you, I would still go after you and keep searching, hoping to find you at last. And if I realized it was no use, I would lower and lower my hopes, so that in the end I would be sincerely grateful simply to have a chance to meet someone who might have been close to you at one time, a woman friend who had shaken your hand or received a smile from you in the good old days. That’s what I would do. So how could I leave? Besides, it’s summer, this whole forest is my church and the birds know me; they look at me every morning when I come, cock their heads and look at me, and the next moment they start the music. And I’ll never forget how the flags were flying all over town for you the evening I arrived; it made the most powerful impression on me. In fact, I was moved to a mysterious sympathy and, half stunned, I walked about the ship watching the flags before deciding