As Trains Pass By Page 9

  Five ladies were singing at the door to greet them. They were waving tassels and placed two fingers on their hearts:

  “Here come we,

  Jolly good company,

  Fighting as you see,

  All male tyranny…”

  “There’s a cosy corner here,” said Bai. “We can see the ladies from here.”

  They sat down. It was almost impossible to see faces around them for smoke and fumes. The five ladies were singing about bayonets and bravery. When they had finished, they drank some punch and flirted with their onlookers by putting rose petals in their bodices and giggling behind their grubby fans.

  “Nice girls,” said Bai.

  Katinka scarcely heard him; Huus sat with his head in his hands, staring down at the dirty floor.

  A little pianist looking like a grasshopper threw himself at a piano as though he was going to play it with his thin nose.

  The ladies argued as to whose turn it was.

  “It’s you, Julie,” came an irate whisper from behind the fans. “God knows. It’s Julie.”

  “The Chimney Sweep,” Julie addressed the crowd in a loud voice.

  “That’s not allowed,” shouted a couple of ladies behind their fans down to the pianist. “She’s singing a song that’s not allowed, Sørensen.”

  Down in the hall people started tapping their glasses.

  “Ugh, just because Josefine can’t sing it.”

  Miss Julie sang, “The Chimney Sweep”:

  “Our August, the chimney sweep

  A splendid coat of arms did keep…”

  Bai thumped the table so hard he almost broke the toddy glasses:

  “How’s that, Tik?” he said.

  Katinka started. She had not been listening at all.

  “All right,” she said.

  “Brilliant,” said Bai, “brilliant.” He clapped again.

  “The popular ballad singer, Miss Mathilde Nielsen,” shouted Miss Julie.

  The popular ballad singer Miss Mathilde Nielsen wore a long dress and was solemn in appearance. The other ladies said, “Mathilde’s got some voice.” Mathilde had fallen and split her nose as a child.

  While the piano introduction was being played, she placed her hand on her heart.

  It was the song about Sorrento.

  “There the tall and darkling pines

  Give their shade to farmers’ vines

  There orange grove and luscious lime

  Their perfumes give to this sweet clime;

  There boats rock gently by the shore

  As happy lovers by the score

  So loud Madonna’s praises sing

  And then to her their prayers do bring.”

  Miss Mathilde Nielsen’s singing was sentimental with long, tremulous notes.

  When the song was at an end, the ‘ladies’ applauded by striking their fans against their outstretched hands.

  The singer of popular ballads, ‘Miss’ Nielsen, bowed to express her thanks.

  “I do believe that song’s got Tik blubbering,” said Bai. Katinka really had tears in her eyes as she sat there.

  They went outside. “Let’s go back through the churchyard,” said Bai.

  “Through the churchyard?” said Katinka.

  “Aye, it’s the shortest way and it’s rather nice.”

  Katinka took Huus’ arm and they followed Bai. They emerged from the woods and walked down an avenue. Noise and music died away behind them.

  “Aye,” said Bai, “quite a day, a day put to good use.” He went on about the dance: “They do go at it, those village kids. And the ‘ladies’. ‘Miss Julie’, some girl in those boots, bright lass. And Marie, well now we’ll see what’s been going on. I know her.”

  The other two said nothing. Nor was either of them listening. It was so quiet that they could hear their own steps on the ground. At the end of the avenue, the iron gate leading into the churchyard towered up with its great cross above.

  “Oh, but Bai,” said Katinka.

  “Do you think there are ghosts in here?” said Bai. He opened the side gate.

  They went in. Katinka took Huus’ arm as they entered through the gate. The churchyard looked like a great garden in the dusk. Roses and box hedges and jasmines and limes filled the air with a heavy scent, and grey and white stones rose among the hedges.

  Katinka held tight onto Huus’ arm as they walked along.

  Bai led the way. He tramped past the shrubbery and swung his arms about as though he was trying to frighten a flock of poultry.

  Katinka stopped: “Just look at that.”

  An open space had been made through the trees, opening up the view down across the fields to the fjord. The dusk floated like a veil over the dark, shiny surface of the water, silent and dreamy.

  All was silent, as though life itself had died beneath the perfumed air. They stood close to each other, quite still.

  They moved on slowly. Katinka stopped now and then and quietly read the inscriptions on the stones which stood out white in the dusk. She read them, names and years, in a quiet, tremulous voice.

  “Loved and missed.”

  “Loved beyond the grave.”

  “He that loveth another hath fulfilled the law.”

  She went closer and raised the branches of the weeping willow; she was going to read the name on the stone.

  Then there was a rustling noise from behind the willow.

  “Huus,” she said and grabbed his arm.

  Something started off and fled over the fence.

  “It was a couple,” said Huus.

  “Oh, I was so frightened,” said Katinka, holding her hands to her breast.

  She continued to walk close to him; her heart was beating fiercely.

  They no longer spoke. There was a rustling in the shrubbery now and then and Katinka started.

  “There, there, dear, it’s all right,” whispered Huus as though to a child. Katinka’s hand was trembling beneath his.

  Bai was standing at the end of the pathway.

  “Are you there?” he said.

  He opened the gate. It clicked shut on its iron hinges after them.

  Out in the avenue, Bai took Huus aside:

  “It’s a flaming scandal,” he said, “that people can behave like that. It’s a desecration of sacred ground. Kjær had told me about it, of course. The things those wretches get up to. But I didn’t think it was possible, damn it. Not even to have respect for the dead in a cemetery, the garden of the dead. Bloody disgrace. You can’t even be left in peace on the damned benches.”

  Huus could have hit him.

  They went down through the streets. The tents were closed and deserted. Here and there a tradesman would be gathering his wares with the help of a solitary torch.

  The noise from the inn could be heard in the street. Sleepy, wilting people were drifting home in pairs.

  Marie emerged at the entrance to the hotel. She was tired and worn.

  Katinka waited by the carriage. People round about were hitching their horses and driving off. The ‘nightingales’ were singing at the tops of their voices out in the courtyard.

  They took their seats. Bai wanted to drive and sat with Marie.

  “Oh my darling, oh my darling,

  Oh my darling Clementine…”

  “They do keep at it,” said Bai.

  They drove through the night, past the forest and on over the flat fields.

  Marie sat there, bent over the basket on her lap. Huus and Katinka sat in silence, staring out across the countryside. Bai spoke now and then.

  “Whoa.”

  “Come on, easy now.”

  And then all was silent as before.

  Bai wanted “something to keep him going” and pestered Marie until she found a bottle of port wine.

  “Do you want some?” he said.

  “No, thank you,” said Huus.

  “You’re making a mistake there, damn it.” Bai took the bottle from his mouth. “Your stomach needs someth
ing to stand against the night air.”

  Bai took another gulp. “You learn that in the field,” he said.

  He started to talk about the Prussians and the war.

  “Nice people,” he said, “taken one by one. Eat a lot, eat a dreadful lot, but kind-hearted, really kind-hearted taken on their own. But when they’re in the army, then they’re proper devils.”

  No one replied. Marie was nodding again.

  Katinka merely wished he would be quiet.

  “But my hat, how they can stuff themselves,” said Bai again.

  He started to become all patriotic and spoke about old Denmark and the blood-red Danish flag. Then he lapsed into silent reflections when no one answered.

  The only sound was that made by the horses in their harness. Now and again a cock was heard to crow over the fields.

  “Put your shawl on,” said Huus. “It’s cold.”

  He carefully laid the blue shawl around Katinka’s shoulders.

  Gradually, day dawned over the fields.

  “I suppose you’ll give us a bit of breakfast,” said Bai. They were home and standing on the steps in the grey morning light, not quite knowing what to do.

  “Yes, if you like,” said Katinka.

  But Huus had to go home. It was the busy time of the year.

  “Oh well, as you like,” said Bai. He yawned and went inside. Marie had gone off laden with the baskets.

  Huus and Katinka were left alone. She leant against the doorpost. They did not speak for a moment or two.

  “Well, thank you for a lovely day,” she said. The words came gently and uncertainly.

  “Surely I’m the one who should say thank you.” This came in the form of an exclamation, and in a flash Huus had taken her hand and kissed it twice and three times with burning lips.

  And then he was up in the carriage and away.

  “What the devil took hold of him?” said Bai, coming out. “Has he gone?”

  Katinka remained standing on the same spot. “Yes,” she said, “he left.”

  She leant on the doorpost and then quietly went inside.

  Katinka sat by the open window. Day had come in all its fullness. Larks and all the birds were singing in celebration over the meadow. The summer fields were filled with song and sun and chirping.

  IV

  The guard dog was asleep on its chain in the hot yard and was not to be awakened. A couple of scrubbed tubs had been put out to dry in the sun.

  Katinka opened the parsonage front door; all that could be heard was the buzzing of the flies in the cool light rooms.

  She went in through the summerhouse and out into the garden. There was no one to be seen and all was quite silent. Balls and mallets lay abandoned on the croquet lawn. The rose bushes were drooping in the heat.

  “Is it you, my dear Mrs Bai?” The words issued quietly from the summerhouse. Mrs Linde nodded: “Linde is preparing his sermon.”

  “They are all out in the back garden. The Kiærs came, you know, a whole crowd of them with some of their friends. And that’s not really convenient when Linde is preparing a sermon.”

  “Are the Kiærs here?” said Katinka.

  “Yes, they came for coffee. They are in the back garden along with the new doctor. And what about you? You’ve been to the fair. Huus told me all about it.”

  “Yes, it was a lovely day,” said Katinka. She found it difficult to speak these words, her heart was beating so.

  Old Mr Linde appeared at the garden door. He had a handkerchief on his head. The handkerchiefs came out every Friday evening when Mr Linde started working on his sermon.

  “Is it our dear Mrs Katinka,” he said. “And are you well?”

  The old minister came across to the summerhouse door. He wanted to hear about the fair.

  Katinka scarcely knew what she was saying. While speaking she suddenly felt an indescribable longing for Huus.

  “Yes, he is a really good man,” said Mrs Linde after Katinka had said something or other, and Katinka blushed scarlet.

  “Yes,” said the old minister, “he’s a nice man.”

  He removed the handkerchief and laid it before him on the summerhouse table. He went on asking about the fair: “It was getting on for morning before the people here came home,” he said.

  “They must be allowed to enjoy themselves occasionally.” The old parson continued to make the odd comment, and Katinka replied without having understood a word of what he had said.

  “Linde, my dear – what about your sermon?”

  “Yes, dear. Yes, Mrs Bai,” he said. “It’s Saturday evening already.”

  The old minister shambled away with his handkerchief in his hand.

  “Would you not like to go down to the others, Mrs Bai?” said Mrs Linde.

  “Are you sure I cannot help you with anything?”

  “No, thank you. I’m only going to give them what I have ready, a few peas and some ham.”

  Katinka rose.

  “Go through the courtyard,” said Mrs Linde.

  Katinka had not seen Huus for the three days since the fair, during which time she had both waited and hoped. And feared what she was hoping. Now she was to see him again.

  Laughter and noise from the back garden could be heard far out across the meadow. Katinka opened the gate and went in.

  “There’s our lovely lady,” shouted Agnes. They were playing odd man out on the big lawn.

  Katinka had only seen Huus, standing there in the middle of the group. How pale and sad he looked.

  It struck Katinka that perhaps he had been unable to sleep, just as she had. And she smiled nervously at him, with her head bent like that of a young girl.

  Agnes joined her, and they came to stand in front of Huus.

  “Oh, come on,” said Agnes to Huus, “We know what’s wrong: you’ve had a hangover of course. And so no one has set eyes on you for three days.”

  “And we have missed you.”

  “Mrs Bai wouldn’t let us have our coffee yesterday because we were to wait for you.”

  Katinka turned her eyes down to the ground, but she made no effort to stop Agnes. She felt as though it was she herself who was saying how she had been waiting for him.

  “And what sort of a way is this to behave when one is supposed to be responsible for a couple of chicks?” said Agnes.

  The other two said not a word. But Katinka felt Huus looking at her, and she stood there with her head bowed before him.

  They went on to play postman’s knock. He was all she saw. They only exchanged the words of the game in low voices. Neither of them would have been able to speak aloud in a normal voice.

  Katinka did not realise that in the game her hands were lingering in his and only reluctantly releasing them.

  The table was to be laid for supper in the summerhouse. The old minister and Mr Andersen came with Louise and Little Miss Jensen.

  “Well,” said Agnes, “we were allowed to have a smell of the ham at last.”

  Before going to table, Louise had already been skipping in front of the new doctor and displaying her ‘beauty’.

  When they were all seated in the summerhouse, old Mr Linde called in through the door to ask whether a couple out on the lovers’ bench had not been forgotten. The ‘lovers’ bench’ was an old mouldering bench between two trees down by the pond.

  “It is so lovely and dark there,” said Mrs Linde. “In the old days, when our sons were courting, there was always a couple that emerged from there, that’s to say each on their own side of the summerhouse here. Aye, in those days…”

  The ‘lovers’ bench’ was Mrs Linde’s favourite subject.

  “Aye, Linde, some people have been very happy.”

  She started to count up all the people who had become engaged in the parsonage. So-and-so and so-and-so… It turned into a happy conversation across the entire table about all that courting and all those engagements.

  “Yes, there was that summer when both Rikard and Hans Beck got engaged.
”

  “Agnes knew of course; she had always rattled the catches before opening the doors.”

  “And then the path through the hazels.”

  “Of course, there was always the risk of disturbing someone.”

  “You could always hear the rustling through the branches as someone ran off.”

  “Miss Horten had a horrid yellow skirt. It simply shone.”

  “Yes,” said the old minister, “you have to be careful of gaudy colours.”

  “Oh, but it’s so lovely in the hazel walk,” exclaimed one girl.

  At this, people laughed so loudly they leant over the table.

  “Linde, Linde,” shouts Mrs Linde. “Remember it’s Saturday.” The old parson is laughing so much he starts coughing.

  “But it really was as though you could always hear kissing in all the corners.

  “Yes,” says Mrs Linde, adopting a practical attitude, “they have all done very well.”

  “Your health, dear Mrs Katinka, let us drink to each other,” says the old parson.

  Katinka started: “Thank you…”

  The conversation turned on one couple, the last one on the lovers’ bench. They had a little boy already.

  “Was it a boy they got?”

  “Yes, a lovely boy.”

  “He weighed eight pounds,” said Mrs Linde.

  “And they have their own home.”

  “All in no time.”

  “And all this billing and cooing. You would think they were still on their honeymoon.”

  They had finished eating, and Mrs Linde made a sign to the minister.

  “Aye, aye,” said the old parson. “Shall we drink to mother, then?”

  “That was a lovely meal. Thank you so much.”

  Everyone rose, and there was the buzz of voices out in the garden. Katinka leant against the wall. It was as though all noise and talk out there was so far away and she saw nothing but Huus’ pale, expressive face, that beloved face of his.

  A couple of maids came to clear the table, and Katinka went out into the garden. They were going to play hide and seek. Agnes had already started counting.

  The old parson wished them all good night. It was Saturday, he said. He met Bai up by the gate: “Good evening, stationmaster. I’m afraid I must think about my sermon.”