Growth of the Soil Knut Hamsun (summer books .txt) 📖

goes on. Now and again a traveller comes by, on his way up to the hills, and asks: “And how’s all with ye here?”

And Isak answers: “Ay, thank ye kindly.”

Isak works and works, consulting the almanac for all that he does, notes the changes of the moon, pays heed to the signs of the weather, and works on. He has beaten out so much of a track down to the village that he can drive in now with horse and cart, but for the most part, he carries his load himself; carries loads of cheese or hides, and bark and resin, and butter and eggs; all things he can sell, to bring back other wares instead. No, in the summer he does not often drive down⁠—for one thing, because the road down from Breidablik, the last part of the way, is so badly kept. He has asked Brede Olsen to help with the upkeep of the road, and do his share. Brede Olsen promises, but does not hold to his word. And Isak will not ask him again. Rather carry a load on his back himself. And Inger says: “I can’t understand how you ever manage it all.” Oh, but he could manage anything. He had a pair of boots, so unimaginably heavy and thick, with great slabs of iron on the soles, even the straps were fastened with copper nails⁠—it was a marvel that one man could walk in such boots at all.

On one of his journeys down, he came upon several gangs of men at work on the moors; putting down stone sockets and fixing telegraph poles. Some of them are from the village, Brede Olsen is there too, for all that he has taken up land of his own and ought to be working on that. Isak wonders that Brede can find time.

The foreman asks if Isak can sell them telegraph poles. Isak says no. Not if he’s well paid for them?⁠—No.⁠—Oh, Isak was grown a thought quicker in his dealings now, he could say no. If he sold them a few poles, to be sure it would be money in his pockets, so many Daler more; but he had no timber to spare, there was nothing gained by that. The engineer in charge comes up himself to ask, but Isak refuses.

“We’ve poles enough,” says the engineer, “but it would be easier to take them from your ground up there, and save transport.”

“I’ve no timber to spare myself,” says Isak. “I want to get up a bit of a saw and do some cutting; there’s some more buildings I’ll need to have ready soon.”

Here Brede Olsen put in a word, and says: “If I was you, Isak, I’d sell them poles.”

For all his patience, Isak gave Brede a look and said: “Ay, I dare say you would.”

“Well⁠—what?” asks Brede.

“Only that I’m not you,” said Isak.

Some of the workmen chuckled a little at this.

Ay, Isak had reason enough just then to put his neighbour down; that very day he had seen three sheep in the fields at Breidablik, and one of them he knew⁠—the one with the flat ears that Oline had bartered away. He may keep it, thought Isak, as he went on his way; Brede and his woman may get all the sheep they want, for me!

That business of the saw was always in his thoughts; it was as he had said. Last winter, when the roads were hard, he had carted up the big circular blade and the fittings, ordered from Trondhjem through the village store. The parts were lying in one of the sheds now, well smeared with oil to keep off the rust. He had brought up some of the beams too, for the framework; he could begin building when he pleased, but he put it off. What could it be? was he beginning to grow slack, was he wearing out? He could not understand it himself. It would have been no surprise to others, perhaps, but Isak could not believe it. Was his head going? He had never been afraid of taking up a piece of work before; he must have changed somehow, since the time when he had built his mill across a river just as big. He could get in help from the village, but he would try again alone; he would start in a day or so⁠—and Inger could lend him a hand.

He spoke to Inger about it.

“Hm. I don’t know if you could find time one of these days to lend a hand with that sawmill?”

Inger thought for a moment. “Ye⁠—s, if I can manage it. So you’re going to set up a sawmill?”

“Ay, ’tis my intention so. I’ve worked it all out in my head.”

“Will that be harder than the mill was?”

“Much harder, ten times as hard. Why, it’s all got to be as close and exact⁠—down to the tiniest line, and the saw itself exactly midways.”

“If only you can manage it,” said Inger thoughtlessly.

Isak was offended, and answered, “As to that, we shall see.”

“Couldn’t you get a man to help you, someone that knows the work?”

“No.”

“Well, then, you won’t be able to manage it,” said she again.

Isak put up his hand to his hair⁠—it was like a bear lifting his paw.

“ ’Twas just that I’ve been fearing,” said he. “That I might not manage it. And that’s why I wanted you that’s learned so much to help me.”

That was one to the bear. But nothing gained after all. Inger tossed her head and turned aside unkindly, and would have nothing to do with his saw.

“Well, then⁠—” said Isak.

“Why, do you want me to stand getting drenched in the river and have me laid up? And who’s to do all the sewing, and look to the animals and keep house, and all the rest?”

“No, that’s true,” said Isak.

Oh, but it was only the four corner posts and the middle ones for the two long sides he wanted help with, that was all. Inger⁠—was she really grown so different