1

At Bufast farm a little boy awoke at the sound of a door. It was Per, the eldest child. He woke up at once when anything creaked or made a noise in the early morning. But it was not morning yet, for it was dark, and the spring had come, when the mornings are light.

Per could hear the clock on the wall; otherwise everything was quiet again. At his side he could feel his younger brother, Botolv. Botolv was put to sleep in Per's little bed now that Mother had an even smaller child sleeping with her. Botolv was sleeping just as soundly as before, his knee sticking into Per's stomach. Per pinched it, and it was gone.

Through the open door to the bedroom came the whimpering of something very new and weak, the voice of the baby---and then immediately afterwards another sound, a deep voice muttering something, half asleep. That was Father's voice, for it sounded as if it came up out of the earth in which he dug so constantly.

So it was probably Mother who had gone out. And Per knew where she had gone; she had gone to the barn to look at the cow whose calf they were expecting.

The room was made gray and chilly by the light coming in through the windowpanes. It was completely quiet. Per listened, straining his ears. Now he could hear Mother's footsteps, a staccato tapping on the frozen spring mud between the house and the barn. What was the matter? Mother didn't come in, but hurried up the outside staircase, jerked open the door on the landing as if to wake someone, and called in to her sister who slept up there: "Are you awake, Anne? Come down. The calf will soon be here."

"Oh---" said Auntie's voice, heavy with sleep. Auntie was only a girl, young and plump, and she slept well.

"Put on the water and then come along!" called Mother,   [p. 6]   and went away again at once, hurrying down the stairs and out.

Per tingled with excitement. The calf would soon be here. . . .

The first thing to come into his mind was pancakes. . . . And then beestings pudding.^[1*]

When a cow calved, Mother always made pancakes for breakfast out of the first milk. Perhaps she would make them this very morning, even though it was only now, in the small hours, that the strange first milk was to be had. And the following day she always made beestings pudding.

Then he thought about the calf, whether it would be a bull or a heifer. If it was a bull-calf it would be slaughtered, but if it was a heifer it would be fattened up and grow into a cow who would have calves herself.

Auntie had dressed now and come downstairs and indoors. She lighted the lamp and began building up the fire in the stove. She worked fast, without even glancing over at the corner where Per and Botolv were lying. They slept in the living room, an old-fashioned living room which was the kitchen as well. Auntie was vigorous and got things done in a jiffy. She had not had time to put anything on her feet; only when the fire was going and the kettle on did she put on her stockings.

Per watched her round, strong legs enviously, thinking of his own small, stumpy ones.

"What are you doing?" he asked, although he had heard everything and knew she was going to the barn to help.

"The calf's coming," she answered gravely, and put her shoes on and hurried out.

The earthy voice mumbled again out there in the bedroom. Father was still half asleep and thought he was talking sense.

But Per was wide awake now. He gazed at the room, at cupboards and tables and benches, at the hearth and the   [p. 7]   cooking-stove. The windowpanes were black and gaping again. A moment before, when no lamp was burning, they had been the lightest thing in the room. Botolv was sleeping with his mouth open. Per quickly looked him up and down: Botolv had dark, soft hair, and his body felt feverish. Botolv was three years old now but very small; he never grew and was never cross. And he had eyes which sometimes made Per feel he was the smaller and younger one. Botolv had eyes like the grown-ups. Per disliked them.

Per was six years old.

He gave Botolv a shove. Only the tiniest shove. But Botolv woke up just the same and began to cry. At once the earthy voice in the bedroom woke up as well and asked sharply what Per was up to.

"I only gave Botolv a little push."

"Yes, yes," said his father, dozing off. "Be quiet, can't you?" Botolv fell silent.

Then Per remembered the calf.

"Father! The calf will be here soon."

"Yes, yes," said his father, already asleep.

Per remembered that Father was tired yesterday evening when he came home from work. He had been working on the cleared land. He always did; he had done so ever since the world began, and every year there was a different place called the cleared land. It moved. This year he was working on it already, even before starting on the spring plowing. He was usually silent in the evenings when he came home. He was in any case so silent as to be unlike everyone else, whatever the time of day.

"The calf," babbled Botolv, blinking those over-shrewd eyes of his.

The stove was roaring; the water began to steam. But Auntie did not come back for it.

Per suddenly jumped out of bed and reached for his trousers. He would go to the barn and see if it was a bull-calf or a heifer! Fumbling, he got his trousers on and slipped barefoot   [p. 8]   into his shoes. Botolv did nothing; he did not even ask to come too. Botolv rarely spoke.

Father was asleep. Nobody stopped Per.

He went outdoors. It was a bitter spring night, with crackling mud and patches of snow-free earth dotted over the fields. A small murmur was alive up on the hillside, and a stronger murmur rose up from the river Tvinna below. Per was not properly dressed, and he hurried across to the warm barn.

A lamp was burning there, and the fumes met him as he opened the door. Mother and Aunt Anne were standing beside the cow, waiting.

"There, there," said Mother to the cow. The cow was lowing painfully, shifting constantly from one foot to the other.

"What in the world are you doing here?" said Auntie to Per.

"Nothing," said Per.

"Go indoors at once. What in the world are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

It was not said very severely---nor did Per think of obeying her. He stood still between the two women. The cow that was about to calve was making painful lowing sounds, and Mother and Aunt Anne were so strangely a part of it. There were several more cows there and a big bull over in one corner. He was the father of all the calves. Two of the cows had got to their feet and were moving about restlessly in their stalls. The others lay placidly as if nothing was happening. The cow that was about to calve went on lowing and lowing.

"There, there," said Mother to her.

Per had seen calves being born before. He knew all about it. Mother was not so plump as Aunt Anne and not so red-cheeked either. But they were the same height. Auntie was quicker to smile, but Mother smiled more beautifully when she finally did so.

"There, there," said Mother.

The cow lay down.

  [p. 9]  

Then the calf came, head and forelegs first as it should. It lay there wet and dark, sniffing and blowing down its nose.

"Is it a bull-calf?" asked Per watchfully.

"Yes, it is," said Auntie.

"Yes, no more cows this time either," said Mother, and sounded disappointed.

"But this one can live just the same, can't he?" asked Per anxiously. This ugly, wet little creature was already an individual. "Can't he?"

"No," said Auntie curtly.

Per stared at her angrily.

Mother was silent.

"Mother?"

"No, he's not worth keeping," she said.

There he lay, fated to die. It was decided the minute he was born. He would have fine red flanks, they said, but--- They carried him away into an empty stall and scrubbed him with a handful of straw to dry him a bit.

The cow watched in surprise as they carried the calf away. But then she turned to the wall and did not bother to look again. It was like this each time. She just stood facing the wall.

Auntie went in to fetch the hot water. Mother began milking. The cow's udder was full to bursting, and the teats bristled. Mother sat close to the cow with her bucket and milked. The jets of milk sang at the bottom of the bucket, different sounds according to whether Mother squeezed hard or not. The cow stood hanging her head with exhaustion.

When Auntie came back, she had made some warm wet mash out of meal. The cow drank it greedily. Afterwards she was given some good hay. The other cows stood tugging crossly at the rope that bound them fast to the wall. Each of them was given a bite of hay to keep the peace.

Mother went on milking. Now there was no song from the bucket: the milk streamed down into a frosting of yellow foam and disappeared into it with a dull sound. Mother was wearing a dress with elbow-length sleeves, and her arms   [p. 10]   handled the cow's teats rapidly and skillfully. Aunt Anne's sleeves were short too, and suddenly she put her plump arm around Per's neck as he stood waiting for Mother to finish milking. The arm was comforting; it would have been best to let it stay there, and Per pressed close to her skin---but he was too big to stand like that, he thought, and pinched the arm with his nails.

"You lemming!" she said, and removed the comforting arm, leaving his neck naked and cold.

It was quiet now. Only a slow sound of contented munching and then the yellow stream of milk falling into the bucket. It sounded weaker; the bucket would soon be full. Mother squeezed the teats abruptly a few times. Then she had finished. The cow stood still, no longer surprised, merely tired, and went on munching.

And everything here seemed safe. Per felt it strongly. Mother, Auntie, and the cows---it was safe. The big bull stood in heavy iron bands and was never let loose. He bellowed sometimes during the day and was noisy when cows from the neighboring farm were brought to him. But now he was sleeping over there in the corner, breathing deeply and groaning. It was safe here.

Some of the first milk was for the calf, and they struggled to get a little of it into him. He sucked at their fingers and tried to stagger to his feet, thinking he could stand already on those long shanks. But he just fell back in a heap. Then he drank more of the first milk and got it up his nose and let it run out of the corners of his mouth and had big round marbles for eyes. It was a shame he was a bull and had only two weeks to live.

There was still a good deal of milk left after they had poured some of it into the calf's bucket, and Per was so glad that he forgot to be sorry for the calf. He did not need to ask what the beestings would be used for.

Outside it had become much lighter by the time they went back to the house. But the gray dawn came early. Mother   [p. 11]   sniffed the air and said that it was milder. Per could not tell the difference. On the other hand he smelled something that had not been there during the day. He flared his nostrils towards it.

"What's that smell, do you think?"

Mother said it was the wet earth. It smelled like that early in the morning when people were asleep.

Why?

He did not say it out loud. He had asked why so constantly and received so few replies that he had almost given up.

Why does the wet earth smell like that when people are asleep?

He walked between the two grown-ups without asking them. If he looked around him, he would see only the things he knew from the daytime.

Bufast lay on the slope above the river Tvinna. There was plenty of space around the farm. On the other side of the river were the woods. Through the woods a narrow swath had been cut: the telephone posts followed it. You could see a farm or two some distance away, but behind the hills there were plenty of farms. There they were busy with their own affairs, and at Bufast they were busy with theirs. That was what Mother had replied once. Strangers did not come often; those who did were mainly people who came bringing cows to the big bull. The big bull was the finest one for miles around.

On the slope above the farm was the main road; you could see it from the Bufast yard. A great many carts and carriages rolled past with strangers in them and people on their way to the storekeeper. Up there in the gravel pits beside the road worked a man called Jens. Per knew Jens all right. But now everything was silent and dead except for the river. Not a cheep from the woods, even though the thrush had arrived. They went indoors.

Botolv had fallen asleep. Father slept, and so did the baby. Per too felt very tired when he came in to all this sleeping.   [p. 12]   He snuggled down and was asleep before Mother and Aunt Anne had washed themselves and gone to bed.

. . . He awoke into a marvellous spluttering and a marvellous smell. You could not mistake it; you could doze off and still know it was pancakes frying.

Mother and Aunt Anne were already up, for now it really was morning, and they were preparing breakfast as it should be today. Mother was standing at the cooking-stove, and Auntie had a pan on a trivet on the hearth and was frying over the open fire. Both of them were flushed. When they put a fresh spoonful of the batter into the pan, it spat and spluttered. There was a little pile of finished pancakes on the dish already.

Per felt very peaceful, and hungry. It was wonderful to have beestings in the house. Botolv was awake and lay blinking straight up at the ceiling. Father's voice came from the bedroom: "Come and take the baby, Ingjerd. I must get up."

He had probably heard the tempting spluttering too. And he had to go out to his digging. Now he was lying out there in the bedroom with the baby.

Mother went out quickly.

Per watched the glow from the hearth shining on Auntie's face. It was strange that she, who was so attractive to look at, was so stubborn that she couldn't let a little bull-calf live.

"Give me a pancake!" he whispered from the bed in the corner.

"Yes, when you're up and properly dressed. Only lazybones eat in bed."

She was stubborn. But he had no desire to quarrel with her when she was frying pancakes, so he began slipping into his clothes.

Mother came back, carrying the baby. The baby was cross, flailing his arms and whimpering. Mother knew what to do about that. She sat down in front of the stove and the frying pan, emptied fresh, spluttering pancake batter into the pan, and then opened her bodice and gave the baby the breast.

  [p. 13]  

Per had come over to the stove now to find his stockings, but he paused to watch the baby sucking. Mother is full of milk too, he thought. She was leaning forward, manipulating the frying pan with her right hand and holding the baby to her with her left. The baby had stopped whimpering; he lay with eyes round as saucers, and drank and drank. The corners of his mouth were running with milk, like the calf last night. Mother was smiling. With her right hand she swung the pan, and the pancake turned a somersault in the air and slapped down into the frying pan again. Per watched his mother proudly and happily. The baby sucked. Mother was full of milk.

"What are you standing like that for, Per?" she asked, teasing him good-humoredly.

He blushed around the eyes and began putting on his stockings. Auntie looked at him and laughed.

Father had come in. He was tall and strongly built and had his earthy clothes on. When he went past and out, there was a smell of earth and gravel. He took long, slow steps. He did not say a word. Eilev was his name. He must have been pleased about the calf and the beestings and the pancakes, but there was no sign of it.

Botolv lay blinking. Of course he couldn't dress himself; he had to wait until the pancakes were ready. He was incredibly good and almost never complained. But he was not left out of things; Mother looked after Botolv and the baby most of the time. Per was very much aware of it. She had so much to do for them that she seemed to forget about him. You're big, she said; you must look after yourself. And that was how he had gone over to Auntie, in a way.

The baby had fallen asleep with the nipple in his mouth; he was eased away from it and put to bed. Put to bed again. He drank and slept, in turns; that was his life.

Per was dressed and ready and about to help himself to the pancakes on the dish. But no! Mother was watching him.

"Per, have you washed?"

He went sleepily over to the corner and washed. And then,   [p. 14]   at last! And they were good! Calves ought to be born every day, he thought. Auntie was red in the face now from the open fire. She sat down and ate, hurrying in order to go out to the barn. Today too there would be the first milk from the cow for pancakes and beestings pudding.

Father came in, the earth smell about him, sat down next to Per, and ate his pancakes.

"Did you go to see the calf?" asked Per between mouthfuls.

"Yes."

"Can't he stay alive?"

"No."

Father was like that. He said little besides yes and no. They fell silent and ate in competition. Mother dressed Botolv before coming to the table herself. Botolv was put beside her and given a small piece of pancake to play with. He sat eating the pancake, looking as if he were in church, thought Per. He would never understand Botolv. Sitting there playing with such marvellous food.

"Are you going to make beestings pudding today?"

"Oh, yes, Per," answered Mother, a little tired.

"Per thinks of nothing but food," Auntie told them. He let her say so. She would be surprised if she knew about all the things he did think about. She got up and fetched the milk pails.

Father had finished his pancakes too. Before he got up he rested his hands on the table for a moment: big, big hands. He went, and the earth smell left the room. He would go to the cleared land and dig: dig until there was a rim of sweat and dust on his lips. It was no work for a sissy.

Mother remained sitting with Botolv. Botolv had fine hair and sat silently, bolt upright. Suddenly Mother smiled a wonderful smile at him. At Botolv. Per went out.

He hurried into the barn, hurried as fast as his stomach would allow. He was full, but it didn't hurt. He just had to walk a little carefully.

Auntie had begun milking. Her arms moved rapidly. And there was the calf, standing in the stall, and staggering towards   [p. 15]   the rail when Per paused there. It stretched out its muzzle and opened its mouth and nuzzled Per's fingers helplessly. Auntie brought it some of the milk, and the calf blew bubbles and drank.

Per stood beside Auntie. "Couldn't this calf stay alive?"

"Do you think he's worth it, when he can't have any calves himself?"

"N-no---?" said Per uncertainly.

The calf stared at them. They stood watching it for a while. The bull over in the corner began to bellow. Then Auntie had to go; she had a lot to do. Per was left alone. The calf sucked at his fingers, looking for milk. The farm seemed to be overflowing with milk. But now the last cow had calved, and it would be a long time before there were any more newborn calves and beestings.