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

Barbro from Breidablik was not the sort of girl Isak approved of; she was shallow and unsettled like her father⁠—maybe like her mother too⁠—a careless creature, no steady character at all. She had not stayed long at the Lensmand’s; only a year. After her confirmation, she went to help at the storekeeper’s, and was there another year. Here she turned pious and got religion, and when the Salvation Army came to the village she joined it, and went about with a red band on her sleeve and carried a guitar. She went to Bergen in that costume, on the storekeeper’s boat⁠—that was last year. And she had just sent home a photograph of herself to her people at Breidablik. Isak had seen it; a strange young lady with her hair curled up and a long watch-chain hanging down over her breast. Her parents were proud of little Barbro, and showed the photograph about to all who came; ’twas grand to see how she had learned town ways and got on in the world. As for the red band and the guitar, she had given them up, it seemed.

“I took the picture along and showed it to the Lensmand’s lady,” said Brede. “She didn’t know her again.”

“Is she going to stay in Bergen?” said Isak suspiciously.

“Why, unless she goes on to Christiania, perhaps,” said Brede. “What’s there for her to do here? She’s got a new place now, as housekeeper, for two young clerks. They’ve no wives nor womenfolk of their own, and they pay her well.”

“How much?” said Isak.

“She doesn’t say exactly in the letter. But it must be something altogether different from what folk pay down here, that’s plain. Why, she gets Christmas presents, and presents other times as well, and not counted off her wages at all.”

“Ho!” said Isak.

“You wouldn’t like to have her up at your place?” asked Brede.

“I?” said Isak, all taken aback.

“No, of course, he he! It was only a way of speaking. Barbro’s well enough where she is. What was I going to say? You didn’t notice anything wrong with the line coming down⁠—the telegraph, what?”

“With the telegraph? No.”

“No, no⁠ ⁠… There’s not much wrong with it now since I took over. And then I’ve my own machine here on the wall to give a warning if anything happens. I’ll have to take a walk up along the line one of these days and see how things are. I’ve too much to manage and look after, ’tis more than one man’s work. But as long as I’m Inspector here, and hold an official position, of course I can’t neglect my duties. If I hadn’t the telegraph, of course⁠ ⁠… and it may not be for long.⁠ ⁠…”

“Why?” said Isak. “You thinking of giving it up, maybe?”

“Well, I can’t say exactly,” said Brede. “I haven’t quite decided. They want me to move down into the village again.”

“Who is it wants you?” asked Isak.

“Oh, all of them. The Lensmand wants me to go and be assistant there again, and the doctor wants me to drive for him, and the parson’s wife said more than once she misses me to lend a hand, if it wasn’t such a long way to go. How was it with that strip of hill, Isak⁠—the bit you sold? Did you get as much for it as they say?”

“Ay, ’tis no lie,” answered Isak.

“But what did Geissler want with it, anyway? It lies there still⁠—curious thing! Year after year and nothing done.”

It was a curious thing; Isak had often wondered about it himself; he had spoken to the Lensmand about it, and asked for Geissler’s address, thinking to write to him⁠ ⁠… Ay, it was a mystery.

“ ’Tis more than I can say,” said Isak.

Brede made no secret of his interest in this matter of the sale. “They say there’s more of the same sort up there,” he said, “besides yours. Maybe there’s more in it than we know. ’Tis a pity that we should sit here like dumb beasts and know nothing of it all. I’ve thought of going up one day myself to have a look.”

“But do you know anything about metals and suchlike?” asked Isak.

“Why, I know a bit. And I’ve asked one or two others. Anyhow, I’ll have to find something; I can’t live and keep us all here on this bit of a farm. It’s sheer impossible. ’Twas another matter with you that’s got all that timber and good soil below. ’Tis naught but moorland here.”

“Moorland’s good soil enough,” said Isak shortly. “I’ve the same myself.”

“But there’s no draining it,” said Brede.⁠ ⁠… “It can’t be done.”

But it could be done. Coming down the road that day Isak noticed other clearings; two of them were lower down, nearer the village, but there was one far up above, between Breidablik and Sellanraa⁠—ay, men were beginning to work on the land now; in the old days when Isak first came up, it had lain waste all of it. And these three new settlers were folks from another district; men with some sense in their heads, by the look of things. They didn’t begin by borrowing money to build a house; no, they came up one year and did their spade work and went away again; vanished as if they were dead. That was the proper way; ditching first, then plough and sow. Axel Ström was nearest to Isak’s land now, his next-door neighbour. A clever fellow, unmarried, he came from Helgeland. He had borrowed Isak’s new harrow to break up his soil, and not till the second year had he set up a hayshed and a turf hut for himself and a couple of animals. He had called his place Maaneland, because it looked nice in the moonlight. He had no womenfolk himself, and found it difficult to get help in the summer, lying so far out, but he managed things the right way, no doubt about that. Not as Brede Olsen did, building a house first, and then coming up with a big