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

artificial air⁠—and she had butted into a man who stood firmly on his feet. Never for a moment had he left his natural place on the earth, on the soil. Nothing could move him.

Many sorts of times. Next year came the drought again, killing the growth off slowly, and wearing down human courage. The corn stood there and shrivelled up; the potatoes⁠—the wonderful potatoes⁠—they did not shrivel up, but flowered and flowered. The meadows turned grey, but the potatoes flowered. The powers above guided all things, no doubt, but the meadows were turning grey.

Then one day came Geissler⁠—ex-Lensmand Geissler came again at last. It was good to find that he was not dead, but had turned up again. And what had he come for now?

Geissler had no grand surprises with him this time, by the look of it; no purchases of mining rights and documents and suchlike. Geissler was poorly dressed, his hair and beard turned greyer, and his eyes redder at the edges than before. He had no man, either, to carry his things, but had his papers in a pocket, and not even a bag.

“Goddag,” said Geissler.

“Goddag,” answered Isak and Inger. “Here’s the like of visitors to see this way!”

Geissler nodded.

“And thanks for all you did that time⁠—in Trondhjem,” said Inger all by herself.

And Isak nodded at that, and said: “Ay, ’tis two of us owe you thanks for that.”

But Geissler⁠—it was not his way to be all feelings and sentiments; he said: “Yes, I’m just going across to Sweden.”

For all their trouble of mind over the drought, Sellanraa’s folk were glad to see Geissler again; they gave him the best they had, and were heartily glad to do what they could for him after all he had done.

Geissler himself had no troubles that could be seen; he grew talkative at once, looked out over the fields and nodded. He carried himself upright as ever, and looked as if he had several hundreds of Daler in his pockets. It livened them up and brightened everything to have him there; not that he made any boisterous fun, but a lively talker, that he was.

“Fine place, Sellanraa, splendid place,” he said. “And now there’s others coming up one after another, since you’ve started, Isak. I counted five myself. Are there any more?”

“Seven in all. There’s two that can’t be seen from the road.”

“Seven holdings; say fifty souls. Why, it’ll be a densely populated neighbourhood before long. And you’ve a school already, so I hear?”

“Ay, we have.”

“There⁠—what did I say? A school all to yourselves, down by Brede’s place, being more in the middle. Fancy Brede as a farmer in the wilds!” and Geissler laughed at the thought. “Ay, I’ve heard all about you, Isak; you’re the best man here. And I’m glad of it. Sawmill, too, you’ve got?”

“Ay, such as it is. But it serves me well enough. And I’ve sawed a bit now and again for them down below.”

“Bravo! That’s the way!”

“I’d be glad to hear what you think of it, Lensmand, if so be you’d care to look at that sawmill for yourself.”

Geissler nodded, with the air of an expert; yes, he would look at it, examine it thoroughly. Then he asked: “You had two boys, hadn’t you⁠—what’s become of the other? In town? Clerk in an office? H’m,” said Geissler. “But this one here looks a sturdy sort⁠—what was your name, now?”

“Sivert.”

“And the other one?”

“Eleseus.”

“And he’s in an engineer’s office⁠—what’s he reckon to learn there? A starvation-business. Much better have come to me,” said Geissler.

“Ay,” said Isak, for politeness’ sake. He felt a sort of pity for Geissler at the moment. Oh, that good man did not look as if he could afford to keep clerks; had to work hard enough by himself, belike. That jacket⁠—it was worn to fringes at the wrists.

“Won’t you have some dry hose to put on?” said Inger, and brought out a pair of her own. They were from her best days; fine and thin, with a border.

“No, thanks,” said Geissler shortly, though he must have been wet through.⁠—“Much better have come to me,” he said again, speaking of Eleseus. “I want him badly.” He took a small silver tobacco box from his pocket and sat playing with it in his fingers. It was perhaps the only thing of value left him now.

But Geissler was restless, changing from one thing to another. He slipped the thing back into his pocket again and started a new theme. “But⁠—what’s that? Why, the meadow that’s all grey. I thought it was the shadow. The ground is simply parched. Come along with me, Sivert.”

He rose from the table suddenly, thinking no more of food, turned in the doorway to say “Thank you” to Inger for the meal, and disappeared, Sivert following.

They went across to the river, Geissler peering keenly about all the time. “Here!” he cried, and stopped. And then he explained: “Where’s the sense of letting your land dry up to nothing when you’ve a river there big enough to drown it in a minute? We’ll have that meadow green by tomorrow!”

Sivert, all astonishment, said “Yes.”

“Dig down obliquely from here, see?⁠—on a slope. The ground’s level; have to make some sort of a channel. You’ve a sawmill there⁠—I suppose you can find some long planks from somewhere? Good! Run and fetch a pick and spade, and start here; I’ll go back and mark out a proper line.”

He ran up to the house again, his boots squelching, for they were wet through. He set Isak to work making pipes, a whole lot of them, to be laid down where the ground could not well be cut with ditches. Isak tried to object that the water might not get so far; the dry ground would soak it up before it reached the parched fields. Geissler explained that it would take some time; the earth must drink a little first, but then gradually the water would go on⁠—“field and meadow green by this time