As Trains Pass By Page 13

  Katinka heard the night train. It rumbled across the bridge and clattered into the station – and now it was gone.

  Katinka hid her face in the sheets so as not to waken Bai with her coughing.

  Winter came, and Christmas arrived. Agnes was at home and the “post office official” came to the Abels on Christmas Eve.

  Little Miss Jensen and Bel-Ami were at the station just as they were last year. Bel-Ami was now being carried quite officially.

  “He’s gone blind,” said Little Miss Jensen. The animal was so lazy that it could simply not be bothered to open its eyes.

  When the tree was lit, Bai brought a sealed telegram and placed it on Katinka’s table.

  The telegram was from Huus.

  Bai and Wee Bentzen sat dozing in the office. Katinka and Jensen sat in the sitting room, where the candles on the tree burned down.

  Little Miss Jensen nodded as she dozed and bumped her head on the piano.

  Katinka looked at the tree with the dead candles. Her hand gently stroked Huus’ telegram, which lay on her lap.

  VI

  Winter passed, and then spring and summer too, smiling and warming the meadows.

  “It’s a miserable state of affairs, old man,” said Bai to Kiær. “I moved up into the attic yesterday. A man must have his night’s sleep when he’s got to see to his business during the day.”

  Katinka’s coughing could be heard throughout the house.

  Marie brought her wine and water and stood waiting by her bed. It was as though the coughing would tear Katinka apart.

  “Thank you, thank you,” she said. “Go back to your room now and get some sleep.” She was breathing heavily.

  “What time is it?”

  “Half past three.”

  “Oh.” Katinka sank back in her bed. “Is that all?”

  Marie tiptoed off on bare feet to her couch, and it was not long before the sound of her deep breathing could be heard. The bright spot from the night light behind the bed could be seen projected on the motionless ceiling. Katinka closed her eyes and lay back on the pillow.

  She was late up in the morning. She sat wrapped in blankets out on the platform bench in the sunshine.

  The slender guard in the tight, revealing trousers was on the midday train. He jumped down and asked how she was.

  “You’ll see,” he said, “the fresh autumn air…”

  “Perhaps,” said Katinka, reaching out a damp, lifeless hand to him.

  Bai and the guard walked along the platform together.

  “Both lungs,” said Bai. He had developed a habit of wiping his eyes with his fingers.

  “God’s will,” he said and sighed.

  The train started to move. The guard jumped on board. He continued to look back at Katinka as she sat there so tiny and pale in the sunshine.

  He really felt damn sorry for her, really sorry.

  Aye, it was a damn shame.

  There had actually been a time last winter when he had had all kinds of thoughts. She would often be sitting out there on the platform bench looking all “wistful”.

  He had drunk the odd toddy at Bai’s on some evenings, but Bai had been going downhill.

  It had just been the start of her illness.

  The train trundled off on its way across the meadows. Sky and landscape were radiant in the bright autumn air.

  The starlings were gathering in flocks and making a din all along the telegraph wires.

  “Now they are going to leave us,” said Katinka. She watched the departing birds beneath the clear sky.

  The doctor came and sat with her. “Well, how do you feel?”

  “I’m sitting here gathering strength,” she said, “for tomorrow.”

  “For tomorrow? Oh, of course, it’s his birthday.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you will remember your promise, Mrs Bai?”

  “Yes. I’ll go to bed as soon as they have had their meal.”

  It was Bai’s birthday. Katinka wanted him to have his Hombre party. She had been talking about it for a long time. She would stay up for the meal, after which they would all be going into Bai’s room to play Hombre, and then they would simply not notice that she was ill.

  “On that day, at least,” she said.

  “You should go indoors now,” said the doctor.

  “Yes.” Katinka rose.

  “Let me help you.”

  “Thank you. It’s the stairs,” she said. “The stairs are always a problem.”

  Her poor heavy feet could not manage the three small steps.

  “Thank you, doctor. But could I have my shawl, please.”

  The doctor takes the blue shawl from the bench. “Your favourite garment,” he says.

  Katinka turns round in the doorway and looks out across the meadows. “It’s so lovely here at this time of the year,” she says.

  During the afternoon, she had everything for the salads placed on the table in the sitting room. She cut up beetroot and potatoes into small pieces on a small chopping board.

  Miss Jensen came in to visit. Katinka nodded.

  “Yes, I can still manage this,” she said. “Is there anything new?”

  She leaned back. Her hands were so tired and it hurt her breast to keep her arms raised.

  “I haven’t seen the Abels for some time.”

  “They are hoping now that Barner will get a job,” said Miss Jensen.

  “Yes, he’s trying, of course.”

  Little Miss Jensen is given a cup of coffee.

  “Would you pass me the oil, Marie,” says Katinka.

  She is handed a battery of bottles and large dishes. “Oh, they are so heavy,” she says. She can scarcely lift the big vinegar bottle. She tastes and stirs the bowls.

  “No,” she says suddenly, pushing them away.

  “No, I can’t taste anything any longer.”

  She sits there, tired and with her eyes closed. Blotches of red have spread across her face.

  “But I could help you,” says little Miss Jensen.

  “Oh, Marie can do it. I must simply get to bed.”

  But throughout that afternoon Marie must bring everything for her to see as she lies there. She sits up in bed, but she has a searing pain in her chest. “Yes,” she says, “Bai is used to having it like this.”

  Marie has to take the best china and glasses, and the fine sets of knives and forks into the bedroom and polish and rub them and set them out on the table.

  Katinka lies there, counting and reckoning, her eyes burning with fever.

  “I wonder whether it’s all there,” she says.

  She lies there, a little feeble, and rubs her dry, hot face down on the pillow.

  “The toddy spoons, Marie,” she says then. “We’ve forgotten the toddy spoons.”

  “I suppose we can put them on Huus’ tray,” says Marie. She comes in with the spoons on the little Japanese tray.

  “No, not on that.” Katinka half rises in bed.

  “Give it to me,” she says. She takes the tray and holds the burning palms of her hands over the cool lacquer. She remains there, lying silently with Huus’ tray in her hands.

  Bai comes in and looks at all the china and glasses, which have now all been polished, made to sparkle and arranged on the table.

  “This is ridiculous, my dear,” he says. “Simply ridiculous. I’ve told you, you know. You just lie there and get worse, Tik.”

  He takes her hand: “Aye, you are dreadfully hot.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” says Katinka, gently freeing her hand from his.

  “As long as there is nothing missing.”

  Bai starts to count.

  “I suppose we’re going to have some stewed fruit,” he says.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, good. But there are no fruit plates.”

  “Then they have been forgotten. Yes, that’s what happens when I can’t be there myself to keep a check, Bai,” says Katinka, sinking back into her pillows.

  T
he company was what Bai called ‘the old soap cellar’.

  “You can be yourself in the soap cellar,” he said. “People of like mind.”

  The people of like mind were three landowners, headed by Kiær, with Bai as the fourth member.

  Svendsen joined them as an extra.

  “He livens things up,” said Bai to Katinka. Katinka had never heard Svendsen being lively. When she was present he was content to manicure his nails or to tug at his moustache.

  “Just bring him along, Kiær,” said Bai. “He makes up the fifth member and sits there lounging nice and quiet.”

  Katinka opened the door to the office herself. “It’s all ready, Bai,” she said.

  The gentlemen came in; Katinka was fully dressed, with a tall ruff round her neck right up to her thin little face.

  She sat next to Kiær at table.

  They talked about her illness. Oh, they would see, winter was the best time of the year. The quiet, clear cold air gave one strength.

  Yes, the quiet, clear cold air.

  “Let’s drink to that,” said Bai. They drank. “Down the hatch,” said Bai.

  The men of like mind ate with their napkins pinned round their necks. They sniffed at every single mayonnaise-covered mouthful before savouring it.

  “Oil,” said Mortensen.

  Katinka sat with some small pieces on her plate. She sat quite upright because of the pains in her chest. Her fork shook in her hand as she tried to eat. “Take it away, Marie,” she said.

  The ducks came in and Kiær drank to Bai. They knew his heart was in the right place and he was a good fourth hand. They drank to Kiær.

  They became livelier and drank deep, toasting each other. They talked about the latest machinery and cattle prices.

  “Here’s to a good year, old boy.”

  Bai drank again.

  Katinka’s cheeks were burning and she saw the faces as though through a grey veil. She pressed herself firmly against the chair back and looked at Bai, who went on eating.

  “It’s so tender. It just lies on your tongue,” Kiær declared, pouring her a glass of old burgundy.

  “Thank you, thank you.”

  Mortensen wanted to take the liberty of making a speech. He rose and loosened the napkin from around his neck. He wanted simply to make a brief speech.

  When Mortensen made a speech he became all religious. On reaching his fifth sentence he spoke unfailingly of “those who had gone before” and were looking down on them from their place in heaven.

  There was always something looking down on Mortensen from his heaven.

  Those of like mind sat drooping and looking down on their plates.

  Katinka scarcely heard anything. She was managing to sit straight by holding onto the seat of her chair, and she turned alternately pale then flushed.

  By the time he had finished, Mortensen was able to enjoy a fresh piece of duck.

  “Oh, these ducks, madam! Now this is what I call roasting.”

  Katinka only heard the voices indistinctly, and she supported herself using the table when she rose.

  The gentlemen went into the office. Katinka fell back on her chair. Bai opened the door and came in again.

  “That was really good, Tik. Splendid. And you managed fine.”

  Katinka sat up and smiled, “Yes,” she said.

  “Now I will see to the toddies.”

  Bai went back into the office. Katinka remained at the deserted table with the bottles and the half-empty glasses.

  In the office they were laughing and talking all at the same time in loud voices, Kiær louder than the rest.

  “Take the lamps in,” said Katinka. The peals of raucous laughter reached her each time Marie opened the door.

  “You ought to be in bed, Mrs Bai,” said Marie.

  “I’m all right.”

  “All for the sake of those greedy-guts.” Marie slammed the kitchen door, making Katinka start.

  All that was left was a lone candle in the middle of the dining table. The big, disorderly table was a dismal sight in the gloom.

  Katinka was so tired, she had to sit there in a corner for a time while she gathered her strength.

  Marie went from the kitchen to the office, banging the doors.

  They were certainly making merry in there. It must be Svendsen singing.

  Katinka listened to the voices from her corner and watched Marie as she went through the lit-up doors with glasses and bottles.

  That was how it would be one day when she was gone and forgotten.

  “Marie,” she said.

  She attempted to get up and walk, but she grabbed at the wall and could manage no more. Marie supported her into the bedroom.

  “That’s what you get for putting on a show,” said Marie.

  Katinka had a long fit of coughing while sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “Shut the doors,” she said.

  She continued to cough: “And Bentzen must have something to eat,” she said.

  “Oh, he’ll get something soon enough,” said Marie. She managed to undress Katinka, swearing the while.

  Svendsen was singing again next door in his thick voice:

  “Oh Charles, my love, do write to me

  The way you used to do…”

  And they chinked their glasses. “Silence,” shouted Kiær. “Quietly, old friends.”

  Katinka had lain dozing for some time, and now she woke up. It was Bai.

  “That’s that ceremony over,” he said. He spoke in a loud voice after all those toddies.

  “Have they gone?” said Katinka. “What time is it?”

  “Half past two, by Jove. Time gets on when you are with a crowd like that.”

  He sat down on the bed and launched into a lengthy account.

  “Hell of a lot of stories that man Svendsen can tell. Damn fine stories as well.” He told a few and slapped his thighs as he laughed.

  Katinka lay there, burning with fever.

  “But they’re all damned lies,” said Bai finally.

  He was overcome with emotion as he said good night, and as he stood in the doorway he told one last story about Mortensen’s dairymaid.

  “Aye, aye, you need to get some sleep,” he said.

  “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  Katinka was worse the following day. The doctor was now calling a couple of times a day.

  “She’s in a damned dreadful state,” said Bai. “And she managed the birthday so well, doctor.”

  “Well, she is not managing so well now, Mr Bai,” said the doctor.

  No one was allowed in to see Katinka. She was to have complete rest.

  Mrs Madsen from the inn knew all about that kind of thing. But surely it was possible to cheer her up a little so she did not just lie there rubbing her eyes in the dark.

  Mrs Madsen came right up to the bed.

  It was dark, and the blinds were drawn. “Who is that?” asked Katinka from the pillows.

  “It’s me. Mrs Madsen from the inn.”

  “Good morning,” said Katinka, reaching out a burning hand.

  “Oh, it’s as bad as that, is it,” said Mrs Madsen.

  “Yes,” said Katinka, turning her head a little on the pillow.

  “I’m not very well.”

  “No, you could hardly say that,” said Mrs Madsen angrily. She sat there and looked at Katinka’s emaciated face in the dark.

  “And it’s all because of that do last night.”

  “It was probably a little too much.”

  “Yes, it was certainly a little too much,” said Mrs Madsen still with the same anger in her voice.

  She felt ever more furious as she sat there in the wretched dark in front of the poor pale face on the pillows.

  “Aye, you could certainly say that,” she said again. “And he had deserved all he got, as well.”

  And in her fury she told her everything about Bai and about the girl he was in the habit of visiting and how long it had been goi
ng on.

  “But Gusta didn’t get away with it scot free either.”

  Katinka had at first not understood any of it, for she was so weary and slow.

  Then, like a flash of lightning, she understood and opened her eyes for a moment and looked straight up at Mrs Madsen.

  “And some people work themselves to death for a man like that,” said Mrs Madsen.

  She fell silent and waited for Katinka to say something.

  But Katinka lay there without moving. A couple of tears could be seen on her cheeks.

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs Madsen, “I’d probably not have been much wiser myself.”

  Mrs Madsen had left.

  “Marie,” said Katinka, “would you draw the curtains back so I can have a little light.”

  Marie drew the curtains back, allowing the daylight to fall on the bed.

  “Why are you crying, ma’am?” she said.

  Katinka lay turned towards the light.

  “Is it your chest?” said Marie.

  “No, no,” said Katinka. “I’m all right.”

  She continued to weep, silently and happily.

  Her weeping ceased, and she lay there in the same position, weary, in inexpressible peace.

  The last sunny days of autumn arrived. During the bright late mornings, Katinka lay with the sun shining directly on her bed. She invented so many happy dreams as her hands gently slid to and fro over the sun-warmed coverlet.

  “You look well,” said Marie.

  “Yes, and I feel well.” She nodded without opening her eyes and lay there again silent in the sun.

  “I’ll get up again tomorrow,” she said.

  “You’ll be able to.”

  Katinka turned over to face the window. “It’s like late summer,” she said. “If I could just get out tomorrow.”

  She continued to talk about it. If only she could get out. Down to the summerhouse by the elder bush.

  Were there still leaves on the elder? And the rose? And the cherry tree?

  “They were all in flower last year, a whole host of flowers.”

  “There were enough for the entire village to bottle them while you were away,” said Marie.

  “All that white blossom.”

  Katinka continued to talk about the garden. Time after time she said, “Do you think he will let me? Do you think I might be allowed?”