The Greenlanders - Jane Smiley [124]
Now Sira Jon smiled and nodded, and took Margret off away from the steading and bid her to kneel down and make her confession. And after she was finished he asked her, “Have you more to say to me, or any other sins to confess, or even any news for me, or questions, or any wish to confide in me?” He pressed her so with these inquiries that Margret began to look toward the steading for Sira Jon’s servant and Asta, but they were lost in conversation, and afforded her no aid. Finally, Sira Jon declared, “It is said, my child, that you are afflicted with dreams and melancholia.”
Margret said nothing.
“It may be that you wish to speak to me about these dreams.”
But Margret did not reply to this, either.
Now Sira Jon became somewhat agitated, and said, “You come from a prideful lineage, and wayward. Your brother has killed men and been driven from his patrimony and only narrowly escaped outlawry. You choose to live apart from folk, and disdain their aid. The Lord looks with little kindness upon such doings, and his punishment is swift and sure. It is truly said that pride is the greatest sin.”
Now Margret spoke softly, and said, “My dreams are as those of others, and my melancholy is such as comes and goes, which seems to me not unusual. The snares of pride are many and much tangled together. You may truly say that I fail to avoid them.”
Now Sira Jon grew gentler and leaned toward Margret. “My child, do you not grow desperate with loneliness in this place, so that it seems to you that voices speak or faces appear where you know there can be none?”
“It may be—”
“Or perhaps you hear a kind of screaming above the wind, as of souls in torment, as if, perhaps, the mouth of Hell were yawning open and men were given to hear the crying of the Damned?”
“This has not—”
Now Sira Jon’s voice fell to a whisper, “Or it could be that the Devil himself speaks into your ear as you are thinking of other things and tempts you, toward what you could not say, for his words can hardly be distinguished, and yet they fill you with longing? Is this not something that happens to you?”
“Nay. My father’s brother sometimes walks among the birches, back in the mountains where I take the sheep, but it seems to me that he was so foolishly fond of these wild places that he cannot forsake them even in death.”
Sira Jon looked up the slope as if seeking traces of Hauk Gunnarsson, then looked into Margret’s face so sharply that she was forced to drop her eyes. She declared in a low voice, “Ingrid our nurse used to tell many tales of folk who stalked their own steadings out of inordinate love for them, and my father’s brother was as fond of these wild places as other men are of their steadings—”
“What does he look like? What do you see?”
“I know not what to say. Shadows among the birches, a bit of color afar, white or the purplish color of Gunnars Stead wadmal. These are not things I have pondered much.”
Sira Jon leaned so close to Margret that his face was nearly touching hers and spoke in a whisper. “It is said that those who cannot lie in their graves are horrible of aspect, covered with blood, perhaps, or mutilated.”
“This is not for me to say—”
“It is said that you are mad. I would help you if you would let me.” Great drops of perspiration burst out upon the priest’s forehead and a bright red spot appeared in each of his cheeks.
“Perhaps folk do say that. It is true that I was once greatly tried, but—” Here Margret stopped speaking, for Sira Jon had slumped forward in a faint.
Now Margret ran to the servant, and brought him to Sira Jon, hoping that he would give her some explanation for this, but he only looked down at the priest where he lay upon the turf, and said nothing. After a bit Sira Jon revived, and sat up, and looked about, and it seemed to Margret that he was much surprised to find himself where he was. But indeed, he was an odd man, for he only thanked her for her hospitality and gave her his ring to kiss, and went off without a word about his fit. Margret was much perplexed, and