We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [40]
After New Year's Day, Isager returned, and everything was back to normal.
His skin was as white as the snow outside, and even his nose had lost its color. But he wore his black tailcoat and his spectacles were high on the bridge of his nose, and the thrashing rope swung in his right hand like a viper roused from its winter hibernation, ready to attack. We stared at him as though he'd risen from the dead—not least because we'd already pictured him in his grave.
We sang "The Dark Night Has Ended" as usual, but the words on our lips belied the feeling in our hearts. The dark night had begun anew, and a ghost walked among us.
After the hymn, Isager strode over to Little Anders and grabbed him by the ear. That was all it took for Anders to position himself obediently on his knees between the schoolteacher's legs. Isager raised the thrashing rope, ready to strike.
"Sinning is a disease of the soul. That's why it causes the soul to experience anxiety." The calmness of his voice spooked us. Normally, even at this early stage of a punishment, he'd be in the grip of a mad rage. "This anxiety we call conscience." He looked up. "Do you understand?"
The schoolroom fell silent. The only sound was the crackling of the flames in the stove. We nodded. When Isager finished with Anders, he moved on to the next boy. Albert too knelt obediently, and Isager gripped him by the lining of his trousers.
"The purpose of conscience is to judge and to punish." Isager's lash made Albert jump: the stroke was unexpectedly painful on a backside that had toughened during the autumn but regained its normal sensitivity during the long break. "Lie still," Isager ordered him in the same calm voice as before, renewing his grip on the lining of Albert's trousers. "But how does your conscience punish you? Through the inner unrest you experience when you have committed a misdeed. Does your conscience trouble you? Do you feel the punishment?"
He laid off Albert and looked around the schoolroom. Again we nodded. "You're lying," he said, without raising his voice, then moved on to his next victim, Hans Jørgen. We anticipated that one of their regular confrontations might erupt—but Hans Jørgen too knelt to await his punishment. Oblivious to this unexpected triumph, Isager continued his lecture while raining down more blows. "You know nothing of remorse. And do you know why? Because you have no purpose. Do you know what purpose is? Probably not. Purpose is God's plan for us. But God has no plan for you. You have no reason and you have no conscience. You don't know the difference between right and wrong."
He straightened up and paced about the schoolroom. He made Niels Peter his next choice—but instead of thrashing him right away, he paused next to the boy's bowed back and brandished the rope.
"Take a good look at this," he said, before laying into him. "This is your conscience, and it's the only one you'll ever have. Only the rope can teach you about right and wrong."
When school was over, we walked across the snow-covered fields beyond town. None of us said anything. We were looking for some farmers' boys to start a fight with. Every now and then we'd steal a glance at Hans Jørgen. Had he let us down? We'd all presented our backs to Isager. But we hadn't expected him to.
Today the snow had none of the glittering surfaces and bluish shadows it took on when the sun shone. The dull weather cast everything in a uniform gray, and only the bare poplars provided any perspective. There wasn't a soul about.
"There's no one here," Niels Peter grumbled.
We stole another glance at Hans Jørgen. He was walking slightly ahead of us, but suddenly he stopped and turned to face us.
"I don't want you to think that I'm afraid of Isager," he said. "Because I'm not."
He sounded angry. We didn't