4

Brothers. He had never seen anything but brothers.

One day during the haying season Mother was down at the river bank washing clothes. It was so dry by this time that the brook at Bufast was too small. The Tvinna broadened out at   [p. 26]   this point, making a wide, shallow pool with a slight current. Mother had set up the wash kettle here.

She had Per and Botolv and the baby with her. Aunt Anne and Father and Ivar were busy with the mowing.

The air was warm and blue. Thick smoke rose up from the kettle; the driftwood and rubbish from the banks were damp. The baby lay on a big shawl in the shade. Botolv stood watching Mother stuff the clothes down into the kettle.

What was wrong with Botolv? Nothing. He looked like anyone else. He was terribly bowlegged, as if he had been straddling a log for an immense length of time. But there were other people who looked like that too. He had brown stockings which were darned with gray thread at the knees. Both Mother and Aunt Anne had tied his shoes today, but he was trailing the laces behind him again.

But there was something that Botolv did not have, or that he had too much of. Per had lain behind a willow thicket one evening when it was almost dark and had thought about Botolv until it hurt. He was half afraid of him. Now he was standing there looking like an old man, watching the clothes boil.

The baby suddenly let out a howl. He had been grasping at objects lying outside the shawl, got hold of a stone, and then dropped it on his face.

"Help the poor little thing, Per."

Per hurried over. But when the baby saw it was only Per, he screamed twice as hard and kicked in anger.

Mother had to come just the same.

"Someone who screams like that must grow into something horrible," said Per.

"You were exactly the same."

Botolv watched, his eyes wise beyond his years. It's a good thing I'm not like Botolv, at least, thought Per with a shudder.

The baby fell silent and looked straight up at the sky. Why couldn't you remember anything about the time when you were as small as the baby? Was it because you were allowed   [p. 27]   to be as angry and horrible as you liked then, without needing to feel bad about it afterwards? For you were never told that you had done wrong at that time. Perhaps that was what it meant: "Gentle Jesus, meek and mild"---he was supposed to say it as soon as he woke up, but nearly always forgot---did it mean that God loved the little ones so much that they could behave as badly as they liked? "Look upon a little child," continued the verse inside him. He remembered it at last. Still, God couldn't love him as much as he used to, for now he had such a bad conscience when he had been up to mischief.

Mother asked him to find something safe for the baby to hold. Then she went back to the kettle.

The baby was given a big bunch of grass. He liked it too; he put out his tongue and sang a lengthy song about the grass in his hands. The next moment he was asleep. Per pulled his bonnet well down over his face to protect him from the horseflies and gnats.

Per looked at the water in the river. Shallow, lukewarm water. In the spring he would have been punished for coming here and leaning over the green banks, but now it was shallow, and for the most part still. He would bathe.

"Mother, may I bathe?"

"Yes," said Mother.

Just then he noticed the sweat dripping from her forehead. She was standing close to the fire and in the sun. Per felt his own face. It was dry. You sweated more when you were grown-up.

He took off his clothes quickly. A horsefly came at once and settled on his back. It must have known; it found the exact spot between his shoulder blades where it could not be reached. Then it stung him. Per shot up.

"It's a horsefly!"

And Mother was there. She slapped at the horsefly so that it fell into the grass.

"Jump into the water and they won't bother you," she said.

  [p. 28]  

He waded out into it. Mother didn't say take care, not once, for it was so shallow that it reached no further than his knees.

The bottom was yellow sand.

Per lay down in it, and it was cold, but immediately afterwards it was not cold but almost warm. And how strangely the slow-moving water trickled about his body. That was how it flowed night and day along the sides of the fish. There were fish in the river, they said. But they were difficult to catch.

Something nudged him.

What was that?

Yes, there it was again. It was the water. The slow current was holding him as if it wanted to take him with it downstream. Far away, mysteriously downstream.

The water nudged at his shoulders and frothed around them. It lifted him as he lay shining on the surface like a piece of freshly cut, pale pink wood.

Come. . . .

The current willed it.

If only you knew what it was, this thing nobody could see. The water was so clear you could drink it. You could see your shadow down on the sand. But there was power in it. When you shut your eyes, it felt as if everything was floating away. On a journey to something far, far away.

Come. . . .

What are you?

Come. . . .

He opened his eyes; he was still in the same place. Up on the bank Mother was doing the washing, flushed and hot. The flame beneath the kettle was pale in the sunshine. There was Botolv in his brown stockings. Why wasn't Botolv running about barefoot today as all the other children must be doing?

Come, said the current, or thought, for it was so still that it said nothing, only pulled and willed.

The horseflies buzzed around Per.

  [p. 29]  

Just you try, he thought. He could easily dive under.

After a while he stood up and let the sun shine on him and warm him.

"Mother, look at me!"

"Yes, just look at you."

The current rippled round his knees.

Come. . . .

But he didn't want to go that way, for he could see where the river went for quite a distance. Up the other way were headlands, and the river came from behind them. He waded upstream towards the first headland. Mother must have noticed but let him alone; the water was shallow everywhere here, and she knew there were no dangerous pools in the river bed.

He disappeared behind the headland. There was a cove and then another spit of land jutted out.

Per halted. There were people in the cove.

A woman was sitting in the shade of a fir tree sewing something yellow, and in the water just below her and close to Per a little naked figure was wading, even smaller than he was, he thought. They both paused, then moved slowly towards each other. Per was astonished: this child was shaped differently from himself. And he was being stared at just as much. Now they were standing facing each other and looking at each other with expectancy and astonishment. It suddenly occurred to Per that this was a little girl. She had long hair cut straight at shoulder length.

"Are you a girl?" he asked.

"Yes, of course I am!"

"Is that why you're different from me?"

"You're different too," she said, her eyes round.

"Yes. I'm a boy, you see. I'm Per."

"Oh. I'm Åsne Bakken."

Åsne. He almost jumped with surprise. Was this Åsne? Of course it must be since she was a girl. He was tremendously happy. And fond of her. And the minute he felt happy, she too seemed to be happy---for her whole face lit up.

  [p. 30]  

"Is it you?" he said.

"Yes!" she replied.

So it must be.

"It must be odd to be a girl?" he said, very cautiously.

"No!" she said.

"No," he replied, shying away from it. "I've heard about you," he told her, his face radiant. "I've been waiting for you so long. Have you been waiting for me at all, do you think?"

"Are you from Bufast?"

"Yes."

"Oh, then I have been waiting for you, because there's a little boy at Bufast who I can play with when I go to school in the autumn, Mother said."

"I'm going to school in the autumn too. I know where you come from if your name's Åsne."

"Yes, but there aren't any little boys there. The only person who comes is my cousin. She's called Signe Moen. Mother came down here with me today. It's a long way from home."

"Is that your mother sewing over there?"

"Yes."

"But what about your father?"

"I haven't got one."

"Why not? I've had one as long as---"

"He was killed driving the horses when I was small," she said proudly.

"Hm--- Do you want to see my mother?"

"Yes."

"Come on then."

He grasped her hand. It was ready to take his.

He was very happy now. Åsne was here. They slipped behind the headland so quickly that her mother did not even notice and waded downstream to Per's mother so fast that the spray stood upright. Åsne stumbled in the water, for it felt like a band around your feet when you wanted to run in it, but Per pulled her up again quickly. He could not remember having been so happy before.

"She's come!" he cried.

  [p. 31]  

Mother stopped doing the washing.

"Who?" she asked.

"She came because she wanted to!" said Per.

Mother stood waiting as they waded towards her and climbed up on land.

"So it's Åsne," she said calmly. "I've seen you before."

But now that she was with a grown-up, Åsne was shy. Not a sound came from her.

"What are you doing, Åsne?" asked Mother.

Åsne did not answer.

"Her mother's up here too," said Per. "Mother?" he added.

"Yes?"

"Were you an ordinary little girl when you were as small as Åsne?"

"Yes, I suppose so. What---?"

"Auntie too?"

"Yes. What of it?"

He fell silent and simply hid away the knowledge he had acquired. Mother began washing again. Åsne stood waiting for something. She was pink and beautiful. Never before had he seen anything so beautiful.

"That's Botolv," he said, pointing. "He's a little different from other people, but he's all right."

Åsne, surprised, looked at Botolv curiously. "How, different?"

"Nobody knows, but he is."

"Then he must be," said Åsne.

"Would you like to see the baby?" Per hastened to change the subject.

"Yes, please."

He took her hand and led her over to the shade of the aspen where the baby was sleeping.

"Well, that wasn't much," said Åsne rather contemptuously.

Per was offended.

"We'll wake him so you can hear him howl," he said proudly.

"All right," said Åsne without hesitation.

Per knew it was a mean thing to do, but he wanted to surprise   [p. 32]   Åsne. The baby was given a few hard punches, woke up suddenly enough, and began to howl.

"How's that for howling?" said Per, watching Åsne.

"Ye-e-s, but I've heard worse, that's for sure."

"Oh, I guess you have," he said, liking her a shade less. But only for a moment.

Then Mother came running and asked what in the world they were doing to the child. The baby was screaming in anger.

Per drew Åsne away.

"Would you like to see Father and Ivar and Auntie? There's plenty to see."

"Yes. I want to see everything!"

Then someone called from along the shore: "Åsne!" Her mother was standing waving.

Åsne gave a big sigh. "I have to go back."

"Yes, I suppose you have to," he said with a heavy heart. "Is your mother kind?"

"Yes."

"Does she fry pancakes when the calves come?"

"Calves don't come. We live in a house."

"What do you mean?"

"We don't have a cow as far as I know. If we did we wouldn't live in a house. We don't have a farm; we only have a house."

Per's eyes widened.

"Åsne!" called her mother.

"Yes."

Now she was running. She was white, and pink.

Her mother came no nearer but stood and waited. Åsne was running, and she was the most beautiful creature Per had ever seen.

He could have cried. He sat down in the grass and considered. Then he did cry. It made no sound, but began far down inside his breast, moved up to the surface, and broke free. Until the horseflies came and reminded him that he was naked.