Barbara (36 page)

The boat was now far out. Kirkjubøreyn and Nolsoy had in some way expanded before them, blue islands, fells and peaks had appeared both to the south and the north. The boat pitched and foamed forward across the great surface of water.

“Make for the tip, make for the tip,” shouted Barbara.

“The current…!” Niels the Punt objected.

“Oh, you and your current,” shouted Barbara impatiently. “Can't you see we'll make a short cut if we go in close to the tip?”

Niels did partly as she asked He knew it was a wrong manoeuvre if the
Fortuna
was to be caught up with, but he was filled with increasing doubt both as to whether it could be caught and also as to whether it should be caught. It was probably a dubious business to help someone to leave the country without a passport issued by the authorities… now that he thought about it. And he did not for a minute believe that Barbara had such a passport.

Nevertheless, he rowed with all his strength, and so did the others. They could do nothing else in the face of Barbara; she was shouting to them, her eyes were shining and she was eagerly encouraging them to go on.

The
Fortuna
was now a good way behind the tip, and they themselves were approaching this long, sharp point. From Tórshavn it looked low and flat, but now it started to rise before them like a wall, wild and black. Through the furthermost stretch there was a hole through which you could see the light of day. Otherwise, the water was black and green here, close to the land. By now they were so close that they could clearly see the sheep grazing in the sunlight up on the cliff, while they themselves were in the shade.

The men put their feet hard against the boat's timbers and almost pulled themselves to their feet with every stroke of the oars.

“Now – now – now,” groaned Niels the Punt rhythmically through gritted teeth. Ole Atten had lost his bonnet; his white hair and beard were blowing all over the place, and he was puffing like a pair of bellows; he was laughing and looked like both a giant and an old monkey. Young Marcus was hooting from the foremost thwart, and Beach Flea's face was so bloodshot that it looked as though his eyes would pop out sideways. Oh Lord… this was how the men of Tórshavn rowed for Barbara; they were fine fellows, splendid men. And the sea washed past them on both sides, and Barbara shouted and exulted and praised them.

But when she looked towards the land, she saw that the boat was hardly moving. They had got into a current and lay there as though in a quickly flowing river. Tears came into her throat, and she gave a cry of disappointment and fear.

“Bless you, bless you, don't lose heart,” groaned Ole Atten. “We're gaining; we're gaining round the point. That's such a short way. You've got to have patience to win.”

But patience was about the last thing that Barbara possessed. She rose, she sat down, she wrung her hands, she shouted at the men and was quite beside herself. It took them a good quarter of an hour to make the few metres around the point and gain the view east…

And that was when everything collapsed. Barbara's expression was suddenly completely empty; the men glanced over their shoulders and then took on the same expression.

The
Fortuna
was not to be seen. There was nothing at all to be seen. Neither sea nor sky. There was nothing but white mist, a void and the cries of gulls. The men rowed as though possessed for a little while, but suddenly they stopped and rested their oars. Helplessly. The boat fell quite silent.

At that moment Barbara burst out in great, heartrending weeping. The men sat there helplessly and heard her terrible sobbing. But the current silently and quickly took the boat back around the point and into the Nolsoy Fjord, where there was no mist. And when, finally, the oars were dipped in the water, the prow was turned towards Tórshavn.

It was a downcast, sad sight an hour or so later as they rowed into the East Bay again. People were standing watching on Tinganes, on the Redoubt and on every tongue of land. Many had seen Barbara leave; everyone saw her return. She was in the stern, stiff and as white as chalk.

Johan Henrik, who had been standing at his window, turned into the room. He could not face this scene. But otherwise, the people of Tórshavn simply had to express their views on the gauntlet that was being run. The boat was followed by murmurs as it came along the banks of the bay.

“Aye, there's plenty as have burned their fingers on her. Now she's burnt her own fingers. And thoroughly, too.”

When the boat hove to at the Hoist, Gabriel was standing on shore waiting, and a whole group, mostly young people, immediately formed around him. Nor was there a single window free around there. But Gabriel was almost lost for words when he saw the state Barbara was in. White and speechless like a sleepwalker, she came ashore and went straight past him to Nýggjastova. Only when she was out of sight did he collect himself together sufficiently to give the men a dressing down. Silent and embarrassed, they put Barbara's badly packed and as it were randomly assembled luggage ashore. Gabriel kicked the pile contemptuously.

“And she was off to Copenhagen with all that junk! Take all this rubbish up to Nýggjastova,” he ordered some children. “But you,” he continued to the men, “you just don't know what you've let yourselves in for. If you'd got Barbara out of the country today, you'd soon have been following her into the Bremerholm prison. Understand?”

And with that, he left. Old Ole Atten, the most loyal of all the soldiers, felt his hands trembling. But Gabriel was sniggering as he entered the bailiff's house.

“Hi, hi, I bloody well truly believe now that the gilt is really off the gingerbread. The damned bitch is really finished now.”

Suzanne did not deign him a word. She merely finished the bow she was tying and went straight up to Nýggjastova. On the way there, she met the boys coming along with the wretched remains of Barbara's finery.

Published in the UK by Dedalus Limited,
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ISBN printed book: 978 1 909232 30 3

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Publishing History
First published in Denmark in 1939
First published by Dedalus in 2013

Translation copyright © W. Glyn Jones 2013
Introduction copyright © William Heinesen 1939

The right of W. Glyn Jones to be identified as the translator of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

Printed in Finland by Bookwell

Typeset by Marie Lane
This book has been printed on Ensolux Cream wood-free paper.

This book has been printed on Ensolux Cream wood-free paper. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.