[Subsection]

When Sabine awoke the next morning, it was strangely silent in the cottage. Not even the cat could be seen. And   [p. 128]   where had the old uncle gone? She decided to lie still for a while and wait. The nicest part of the whole morning was when Uncle came trudging up to the bed with a glass of tea and a piece of sugar and a roll on a little tray, painted blue with a rose in the middle. He was especially enchanted by the rose, and always placed the glass so that the rose was visible. Then he looked at her with his old eyes and said: "Uncle invites you to eat." She wouldn't miss it for anything in the world. It wasn't a real morning to wake up in, if you didn't get to hear Uncle saying his piece in his funny way. And while she drank her tea, Uncle would stand there and watch, the way he was accustomed to do, for that was what made it taste so good, and what made it so much fun when the hard roll slipped out of her fingers and the tea splashed around. "You don't know how to eat rolls," Uncle would say then. But just the same, the best part of all was what happened after the tea. Then they had their little talk. There was nobody who knew so much about Sabine as the old uncle did. Myran didn't know a tenth---he didn't know a hundredth of what Uncle knew. Sabine had told him everything during these chats of theirs when nobody but the cat was there to listen, and who knows if even the cat was paying any attention as he sat there half asleep, with the one eye closed and the other opened just a little crack. She had also told about Joachim, although she had thought she would never be able to talk with anyone about that. She herself was astonished that she could tell about it, and without feeling at all self-conscious. Uncle didn't say very much about it, but he understood everything. Afterwards, he said that Joachim had to be allowed to live, too, and that's why he did not want to leave Sabine or depart from the house at Lintula. Sabine had thought she would ask Uncle a little more about this matter. When she thought about it, she could very well believe that it was Joachim who had sat   [p. 129]   curled up within her breast, for she felt such a pressure there. But after she had come to Uncle Ungert's, the pressure had vanished, and now she wondered where Joachim had gone. Perhaps he had entered into someone else instead. Of course, he would leave an empty space behind. Actually, there were a great many things she still wanted to ask Uncle about. But where could he be right now? Why, the fire hadn't even been lit. She sat up and stared uncomprehendingly toward the cold stove---the fact that there wasn't a pan of water singing over the fire seemed to be a direct infraction of the laws of nature.

Then she noticed that Uncle lay quite still, stretched out on his sheepskin on the floor beside the stove. She crept out of bed and went over to him. He was not asleep; it was really very odd. When she bent down, he looked at her sweetly with his old eyes, which seemed just a little absent-minded, and said in a weak voice: "Uncle feels poorly today." When he closed his toothless mouth, she could get a good idea of how sunken it was. He smacked his lips a little, and his chin bobbed up and down by itself. "My dear uncle, how old you are," Sabine said, and threw her arms around him.

Then, with a bound, she was standing again. She would see to it that Uncle had tea in bed, and then he would no doubt feel fine once more. Some dry sticks lay on the shelf around the stove, but she could not find firewood anywhere. Sabine thought things over for a moment. It wasn't as simple as you'd imagine to fix a glass of tea. The water pail was empty, too. She got dressed as fast as she could, wrapped Uncle's blue-striped apron around her, and went out singing to herself, the pail on her arm. "Scat!" she hissed, when in her haste she had almost fallen over the cat which sat right in front of the door. It did not bother her at all that the cat spat angrily after her, for she had more   [p. 130]   important matters to think of. It was an exciting enterprise to haul water up out of the well. She looked down into the deep black shaft and shuddered involuntarily. At the bottom, the water glittered evilly. It would not have surprised her if a long clammy arm had reached out and grabbed her by the neck as she leaned over the well's edge. Using all the care she could muster, she stretched her arm downward with the pail, but she saw immediately that she was a long, long way from reaching the water. That was odd. Imagine that the old uncle had exposed himself to all these dangers and difficulties every morning without saying a word about it! She saw that a rotted old piece of rope was fastened to the edge of the well, and it dawned on her that she was supposed to tie the pail to the rope, and lower it in that way. Immeasurably proud of her discovery and forgetting all her caution, she merrily heaved the pail downward, and almost went sliding in along with it. She uttered a little shriek, and, in her terror, let go her grip. Afterwards, it was a real comfort to discover that the pail had not vanished after all. But how heavy it was! She pulled and tugged with all her might, bracing herself against the edge of the well, but the pail just got heavier and heavier. Ordinary water wasn't that heavy. There was someone holding the bucket down there, that much was sure. "Shame on you, you naughty troll," Sabine scolded, and then the pail came up like greased lightning. She poured out most of the water, and as she did, she examined it very carefully. It looked like ordinary water, no matter what had happened. Quite exhausted but satisfied with herself, she left the well with just a cupful or two of water splashing around in the bottom of the pail.

At last she had collected everything she needed, a little water and some pieces of firewood, and no one could believe how much trouble they caused her before she got them into the house. Now---would you believe it?---they   [p. 131]   lay just as quiet and innocent as you please. But she was the troll now. "I'll scald your fine skin," she said to the water. "I'll burn you up," she said to the piece of wood. And she rejoiced in her heart when she saw the red flame, crackling merrily, devour the white wood. The water seethed and whistled inside the saucepan, but could not get out.

"Now you're going to get some warm tea," she said to Uncle. She was red in the face from her own eagerness and the heat of the fire, and her eyes shone with joy at being the master of the objects she had collected.

She sat down on the floor beside Uncle and gave him, as carefully as she could, one sip after another of the good warm drink. She let some pieces of a roll lie in the glass until they had swollen up and grown quite soft, so that she could give Uncle a few of them with her teaspoon. There was a funny kind of smacking noise in his mouth, and he blinked his eyes like a doll.

"I'd so much have liked to have a few days more, since it's not finished yet," Uncle whispered between sips.

"I know that you'll get to finish reading everything," Sabine said.

"How do you know that?" Uncle asked.

"Just because I know it," said Sabine. She felt big and strong. She knew everything. Uncle was like a little child whom you had to instruct---you had to straighten him out.

"It's so peaceful if you can reach the end. Then there's nothing left over."

When Uncle talked this way, Sabine had to remember Joachim. She sat thinking for a while, and then she began to weep quietly to herself. She wept and still she was terribly happy. She did not need to ask anything, because she knew everything.

"Just look there," Sabine said suddenly. "You look a lot   [p. 132]   healthier already. Your cheeks are as red as a Christmas goat's."^[1*]

What the troll child said was true. He really felt a great deal better. He sat up and looked around the cottage. He saw the striped rug which Natalia Ivanovna had given him many years ago, when the children had sung for him on his birthday. They stood in the dark winter morning with candles in their hands and sang one song after another for old Uncle Mandarin. He laughed silently to himself. "I'm a winter child," he thought. "My mother was young and strong when she gave birth to me. My life was strong and beautiful. I have never been afraid."

With a great sense of satisfaction, he pulled himself up on his shaky legs. He had done many foolish things in the course of his life and had made many mistakes. One morning he had gone off and left little Katja, and afterwards he had never thought of her. He had tasted hunger and thirst. He had hunted antelopes. He had seen blood flow. And he had been paid back for everything he had done wrong. "I've lived, I've lived," he muttered to himself. He knew that a joyous death awaited him after the completion of his day's labor.

He got carefully dressed in order to be ready when his friend arrived, so that this friend, together with him, might go through what was left of the fleeting flourishes his spiritual self had written upon the face of the earth.