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Neither
of
us
has
the
intuitive
humanity
of
womankind
,
so
we
are
not
to
blame
.
"
He
said
it
quite
without
gallantry
,
as
a
simple
statement
.
Lily
would
not
meet
my
eyes
.
Her
face
was
in
shadow
.
She
wore
no
jewelry
,
no
ornament
;
simply
the
white
dress
,
like
a
figure
in
a
tableau
symbolizing
Purity
.
"
But
then
I
had
an
experience
that
led
me
to
understand
what
Lily
was
just
said
to
you
.
Just
then
she
paid
us
the
compliment
of
making
God
male
.
But
I
think
she
knows
,
as
all
intelligent
women
do
,
that
all
profound
definitions
of
God
are
essentially
definitions
of
the
mother
.
Of
giving
things
.
Sometimes
the
strangest
gifts
.
Because
the
religious
instinct
is
really
the
instinct
to
define
whatever
gives
each
situation
.
"
He
settled
back
in
his
chair
.
"
I
think
I
told
you
that
when
modern
history
—
because
that
chauffeur
stood
for
democracy
,
equality
,
progress
—
struck
de
Deukans
down
in
1922
I
was
abroad
.
I
was
in
fact
in
the
remote
north
of
Norway
,
in
pursuit
of
birds
—
or
to
be
more
exact
,
bird
sounds
.
You
know
that
countless
rare
birds
breed
up
there
on
the
Arctic
tundra
.
I
am
lucky
.
I
have
perfect
pitch
.
I
had
by
that
time
published
one
or
two
papers
on
the
problems
of
accurately
notating
bird
’
s
cries
and
songs
.
I
had
even
begun
a
small
scientific
correspondence
with
men
like
Dr
.
Van
Oort
of
Leiden
,
the
American
A
.
A
.
Saunders
.
The
Alexanders
in
England
.
So
in
the
summer
of
1922
I
left
Paris
for
three
months
in
the
Arctic
.
"
On
my
way
north
a
professor
at
Oslo
University
told
me
of
an
educated
farmer
who
lived
in
the
heart
of
the
vast
fir
forests
that
run
from
Norway
and
Finland
into
Russia
.
It
seemed
this
man
had
some
knowledge
of
birds
.
He
sent
migration
records
,
things
like
that
,
to
my
professor
,
who
had
never
actually
met
him
.
The
fir
forest
had
several
rare
species
I
wanted
to
hear
,
so
I
decided
to
visit
this
farmer
.
As
soon
as
I
had
ornithologically
exhausted
the
tundra
of
the
extreme
north
I
crossed
the
Varanger
Fjord
and
went
to
the
little
town
of
Kirkenes
.
From
there
,
armed
with
my
letter
of
introduction
,
I
set
out
for
Seidevarre
.
"
It
took
me
four
days
to
cover
ninety
miles
.
There
was
a
road
through
the
forest
for
the
first
twenty
,
but
after
that
I
had
to
travel
by
rowing
boat
from
isolated
farm
to
farm
along
the
river
Pasvik
.
Endless
forest
.
Huge
,
dark
firs
for
mile
after
mile
after
mile
.
The
river
as
broad
and
silent
as
a
lake
in
a
fairy
tale
.
Like
a
mirror
unlooked
-
in
since
time
began
.
"
On
the
fourth
day
two
men
rowed
me
all
day
,
and
we
did
not
pass
a
single
farm
or
see
a
single
sign
of
man
.
Only
the
silver
-
blue
sheen
of
the
endless
river
,
the
endless
trees
.
Towards
evening
we
came
in
sight
of
a
house
and
a
clearing
.
Two
small
meadows
carpeted
with
buttercups
,
like
slabs
of
gold
in
the
somber
forest
.
We
had
arrived
at
Seidevarre
.
"
Three
buildings
stood
facing
each
other
.
There
was
a
small
wooden
farmhouse
by
the
water
’
s
edge
,
half
hidden
among
a
grove
of
silver
birches
.
Then
a
long
turf
-
roofed
barn
.
And
a
storehouse
built
on
stilts
to
keep
the
rats
out
.
A
boat
lay
moored
to
a
post
by
the
house
,
and
there
were
fishing
nets
hung
out
to
dry
.
"
The
farmer
was
a
smallish
man
with
quick
brown
eyes
—
about
fIfty
years
old
,
I
suppose
.
I
jumped
ashore
and
he
read
my
letter
.
A
woman
some
five
years
younger
appeared
and
stood
behind
him
.
She
had
a
severe
but
striking
face
,
and
though
I
could
not
understand
what
she
and
the
farmer
were
saying
I
knew
she
did
not
want
me
to
stay
there
.
I
noticed
she
ignored
the
two
boatmen
.
And
they
in
their
turn
gave
her
curious
looks
,
as
if
she
was
as
much
a
stranger
to
them
as
myself
.
Very
soon
she
went
back
indoors
.
"
However
,
the
farmer
bade
me
welcome
.
As
I
had
been
told
,
he
spoke
halting
,
but
quite
good
,
English
.
I
asked
him
where
he
had
learnt
it
.
And
he
said
that
as
a
young
man
he
had
trained
as
a
veterinary
surgeon
—
and
had
studied
for
a
year
in
London
.
This
made
me
look
at
him
again
.
I
could
not
imagine
how
he
had
ended
up
in
that
remotest
corner
of
Europe
.
"
The
woman
was
not
,
as
I
expected
,
his
wife
,
but
his
sister
-
in
-
law
.
She
had
two
children
,
both
in
their
late
adolescence
.
Neither
the
children
nor
their
mother
spoke
any
English
,
and
without
being
rude
,
she
made
it
silently
clear
to
me
that
I
was
there
against
her
choice
.
But
Gustav
Nygaard
and
I
took
to
each
other
on
sight
.
He
showed
me
his
books
on
birds
,
his
notebooks
.
He
was
an
enthusiast
.
I
was
an
enthusiast
.
"
Of
course
one
of
the
early
questions
I
asked
concerned
his
brother
.
Nygaard
seemed
embarrassed
.
He
said
he
had
gone
away
.
Then
as
if
to
explain
and
to
stop
any
further
questions
,
he
said
,
’
Many
years
ago
.
’
"
The
farmhouse
was
very
small
and
a
space
was
cleared
in
the
hayloft
above
the
barn
for
my
campbed
.
I
took
my
meals
with
the
family
.
Nygaard
talked
only
with
me
.
His
sister
-
in
-
law
remained
silent
.
Her
chlorotic
daughter
the
same
.
I
think
the
inhibited
boy
would
have
liked
to
join
in
,
but
his
uncle
could
rarely
be
bothered
to
translate
what
we
said
.
Those
first
days
none
of
this
little
Norwegian
domestic
situation
seemed
important
to
me
,
because
the
beauty
of
the
place
and
the
extraordinary
richness
of
its
bird
life
overwhelmed
me
.
I
spent
each
day
looking
and
listening
to
the
rare
duck
and
geese
,
the
divers
,
the
wild
swans
,
that
abounded
in
all
the
inlets
and
lagoons
along
the
shore
.
It
was
a
place
where
nature
was
triumphant
over
man
.
Not
savagely
triumphant
,
as
one
may
feel
in
the
tropics
.
But
calmly
,
nobly
triumphant
.
It
is
sentimental
to
talk
of
a
landscape
having
a
soul
,
but
that
one
possessed
a
stronger
character
than
any
other
I
have
seen
,
before
or
since
.
It
ignored
man
.
Man
was
nothing
in
it
.
It
was
not
so
bleak
that
he
could
not
survive
in
it
—
the
river
was
full
of
salmon
and
other
fish
and
the
summer
was
long
and
warm
enough
to
grow
potatoes
and
a
crop
of
hay
—
but
so
vast
that
he
could
not
equal
or
tame
it
.
I
make
it
sound
forbidding
,
perhaps
.
However
,
from
being
rather
frightened
by
the
solitude
when
I
first
arrived
at
the
farm
,
I
realized
in
two
or
three
days
that
I
had
fallen
in
love
with
it
.
Above
all
,
with
its
silences
.
The
evenings
.
Such
peace
.
Sounds
like
the
splash
of
a
duck
landing
on
the
water
,
the
scream
of
an
osprey
,
came
across
miles
with
a
clarity
that
was
first
incredible
—
and
then
mysterious
because
,
like
a
cry
in
an
empty
house
,
it
seemed
to
make
the
silence
,
the
peace
,
more
intense
.
Almost
as
if
sounds
were
there
to
distinguish
the
silence
,
and
not
the
reverse
.
"
I
think
it
was
on
the
third
day
that
I
discovered
their
secret
.
The
very
first
morning
Nygaard
had
pointed
out
a
long
tree
-
covered
spit
of
land
that
ran
into
the
river
some
half
a
mile
south
of
the
farm
,
and
asked
me
not
to
go
on
it
.
He
said
he
had
hung
many
nesting
boxes
there
and
started
a
thriving
colony
of
smew
and
goldeneye
,
and
he
did
not
want
them
disturbed
.
Of
course
I
agreed
,
though
it
seemed
late
,
even
at
that
latitude
,
for
duck
to
be
sitting
their
eggs
.
"
I
then
noticed
that
when
we
had
our
evening
meal
,
we
were
never
all
present
.
On
the
first
evening
,
the
girl
was
away
.
On
the
second
the
boy
appeared
only
when
we
had
finished
—
even
though
I
had
seen
him
sitting
gloomily
by
the
shore
only
a
few
minutes
before
Nygaard
came
and
called
me
to
eat
.
The
third
day
it
so
happened
that
I
came
back
late
myself
to
the
farm
.
As
I
was
walking
back
through
the
firs
some
way
inland
I
stopped
to
watch
a
bird
.
I
did
not
mean
to
hide
,
but
I
was
hidden
.
"
Conchis
paused
,
and
I
remembered
how
he
had
been
standing
the
week
before
,
when
I
left
Lily
;
like
a
pre
-
echo
of
this
.
"
Suddenly
about
two
hundred
yards
away
I
saw
the
girl
going
through
the
trees
by
the
shore
.
In
one
hand
she
held
a
pail
covered
with
a
cloth
,
in
the
other
a
milk
can
.
I
remained
behind
a
tree
and
watched
her
walk
on
.
To
my
surprise
she
followed
the
shore
and
went
on
to
the
forbidden
promontory
.
I
watched
her
through
glasses
until
I
saw
her
disappear
.
"
Nygaard
disliked
having
to
sit
in
the
same
room
with
both
his
relations
and
myself
.
Their
disapproving
silence
irked
him
.
So
he
took
to
coming
with
me
when
I
went
to
my
’
bedroom
’
in
the
barn
,
to
smoke
a
pipe
and
talk
.
That
evening
I
told
him
I
had
seen
his
niece
carrying
what
must
have
been
food
and
drink
onto
the
point
.
I
asked
him
who
was
living
there
.
He
made
no
effort
to
hide
the
truth
.
The
fact
was
this
.
His
brother
was
living
there
.
And
he
was
insane
.
"
I
glanced
from
Conchis
to
Lily
and
back
;
but
neither
of
them
showed
any
sign
of
noticing
the
oddness
of
this
weaving
of
the
past
and
the
alleged
present
.
"
I
asked
at
once
if
a
doctor
had
ever
seen
him
.
Nygaard
shook
his
head
,
as
if
his
opinion
of
doctors
,
at
least
in
this
case
,
was
not
very
high
.
I
reminded
him
that
I
was
a
doctor
myself
.
After
a
silence
he
said
,
I
think
we
are
all
insane
here
.
He
got
up
then
and
went
out
.
However
,
it
was
only
to
return
a
few
minutes
later
.
He
had
fetched
a
small
sack
.
He
shook
its
contents
out
on
my
campbed
.
I
saw
a
litter
of
rounded
stones
and
flints
,
of
shards
of
primitive
pottery
with
bands
of
incised
ornament
,
and
I
knew
I
was
looking
at
a
collection
of
Stone
Age
articles
.
I
asked
him
where
he
had
found
them
.
He
said
,
at
Seidevarre
.
And
he
then
explained
that
the
farm
took
its
name
from
the
point
of
land
.
That
Seidevarre
was
a
Lapp
name
,
and
meant
’
hill
of
the
holy
stone
,
’
the
dolmen
.
The
spit
had
once
been
a
holy
place
for
the
Polmak
Lapps
,
who
combine
a
fisher
culture
with
the
reindeer
-
herding
one
.
But
even
they
had
only
superseded
far
earlier
cultures
.
"
Originally
the
farm
had
been
no
more
than
a
summer
dacha
,
a
hunting
and
fishing
lodge
,
built
by
his
father
—
an
eccentric
priest
,
who
by
a
fortunate
marriage
had
got
enough
money
to
indulge
his
multiple
interests
.
A
fierce
old
Lutheran
pastor
in
one
aspect
.
An
upholder
of
the
traditional
Norwegian
ways
of
rural
life
in
another
.
A
natural
historian
and
scholar
of
some
local
eminence
.
And
a
fanatical
lover
of
hunting
and
fishing
—
of
returning
to
the
wild
.
Both
his
sons
had
,
at
least
in
youth
,
revolted
against
his
religious
side
.
Henrik
,
the
elder
,
had
gone
to
sea
,
a
ship
’
s
engineer
.
Gustav
had
taken
to
veterinary
work
.
The
father
had
died
,
and
left
almost
all
his
money
to
the
church
.
While
staying
with
Gustav
,
who
had
by
then
begun
to
practice
in
Tronctheim
,
Henrik
met
Ragnar
,
and
married
her
.
I
think
he
went
to
sea
again
for
a
short
time
,
but
very
soon
after
his
marriage
he
went
through
a
nervous
crisis
,
gave
up
his
career
,
and
retired
to
Seidevarre
.
"
All
went
well
for
a
year
or
two
,
hut
then
his
behavior
grew
stranger
and
stranger
.
Finally
Ragnar
wrote
Gustav
a
letter
.
What
it
said
made
him
catch
the
next
boat
north
.
He
found
that
for
nearly
nine
months
she
had
managed
the
farm
singlehanded
—
what
is
more
,
with
two
babies
to
look
after
.
He
returned
briefly
to
Trondheim
to
clear
up
his
affairs
,
and
from
then
on
assumed
the
responsibility
of
the
farm
and
his
brother
’
s
family
.
"
He
said
,
’
I
had
no
choice
.
’
I
had
already
suspected
it
in
the
strain
between
them
.
He
was
,
or
had
been
,
in
love
with
Ragnar
.
Now
they
were
locked
together
more
tightly
than
love
can
ever
lock
—
in
a
state
of
total
unrequitedness
on
his
side
and
one
of
total
fidelity
on
hers
.
"
I
wanted
to
know
what
form
the
brother
’
s
madness
had
taken
.
And
then
,
nodding
at
the
stones
,
Gustav
went
back
to
Seidevarre
.
To
begin
with
,
his
brother
had
taken
to
going
there
for
short
periods
to
’
meditate
.
’
Then
he
had
become
convinced
that
one
day
he
—
or
at
any
rate
the
place
—
was
to
be
visited
by
God
.
For
twelve
years
he
had
lived
as
a
hermit
,
waiting
for
this
visit
.
"
He
never
returned
to
the
farm
.
Barely
a
hundred
words
had
passed
between
the
brothers
that
last
two
years
.
Ragnar
never
went
near
him
.
He
was
of
course
dependent
for
all
his
needs
on
them
.
Especially
since
,
by
a
surcroit
de
malheur
,
he
was
almost
blind
.
Gustav
believed
that
he
no
longer
fully
realized
what
they
did
for
him
.
He
took
it
as
manna
fallen
from
heaven
,
without
question
or
human
gratitude
.
I
asked
Gustav
when
he
had
last
spoken
to
his
brother
—
remember
we
were
then
at
the
beginning
of
August
.
And
he
said
,
shamefacedly
but
with
a
hopeless
shrug
,
’
In
May
.
’
"
I
now
found
myself
more
interested
in
the
four
people
at
the
farm
than
in
my
birds
.
I
looked
at
Ragnar
again
,
and
thought
I
saw
in
her
a
tragic
dimension
.
She
had
fine
eyes
.
Euripidean
eyes
,
as
hard
and
dark
as
obsidian
.
I
felt
sorry
for
the
children
too
.
Brought
up
,
like
bacilli
in
a
test
tube
,
on
a
culture
of
such
pure
Strindbergian
melancholia
.
Never
to
be
able
to
escape
the
situation
.
To
have
no
neighbors
within
twenty
miles
.
No
village
within
fifty
.
I
realized
why
Gustav
had
welcomed
my
arrival
.
In
a
way
he
had
kept
his
sanity
,
his
sense
of
perspective
.
His
insanity
,
of
course
,
lay
in
his
doomed
love
for
his
sister
-
in
-
law
.
"
Like
all
young
men
I
saw
myself
as
a
catalyst
,
as
a
solver
of
situations
.
And
I
had
my
medical
training
,
my
knowledge
of
the
still
then
not
ubiquitously
familiar
gentlemen
from
Vienna
.
I
recognized
Henrik
’
s
syndrome
at
once
—
it
was
a
textbook
example
of
anal
over
-
training
.
With
an
obsessive
father
identification
.
The
whole
exacerbated
by
the
solitude
in
which
they
lived
.
It
seemed
as
clear
to
me
as
the
behavior
of
the
birds
I
watched
each
day
.
Now
that
the
secret
was
revealed
,
Gustav
was
not
unreluctant
to
talk
.
And
the
next
evening
he
told
me
more
,
which
confirmed
my
diagnosis
.
"
It
seemed
Henrik
had
always
loved
the
sea
.
This
was
why
he
had
studied
engineering
.
But
gradually
he
realized
that
he
did
not
like
machinery
,
and
he
did
not
like
other
men
.
It
began
with
misomechanism
.
The
misanthropism
took
longer
to
develop
,
and
his
marriage
was
probably
at
least
partly
an
attempt
to
prevent
its
development
.
He
had
always
loved
space
,
solitude
.
That
is
why
he
loved
the
sea
,
and
no
doubt
why
he
came
to
hate
being
cramped
aboard
a
ship
,
in
the
grease
and
clangor
of
an
engine
room
.
If
he
could
have
sailed
round
the
world
alone
…
But
instead
he
came
to
live
at
Seidevarre
where
the
land
was
like
the
sea
.
His
children
were
born
.
And
then
his
eyesight
began
to
fail
.
He
knocked
glasses
over
at
table
,
stumbled
over
roots
in
the
forest
.
His
mania
began
.
"
Henrik
was
a
Jansenist
,
he
believed
in
a
divine
cruelty
.
In
his
system
,
he
was
elect
,
especially
chosen
to
be
punished
and
tormented
.
To
sweat
out
his
youth
in
bad
ships
in
filthy
climates
so
that
his
reward
,
his
paradise
should
be
snatched
out
of
his
hands
when
he
came
to
enjoy
it
.
He
could
not
see
the
objective
truth
,
that
destiny
is
hazard
:
nothing
is
unjust
to
all
,
though
many
things
may
be
unjust
to
each
.
This
sense
of
God
’
s
injustice
smouldered
in
him
.
He
refused
to
go
to
hospital
to
have
his
eyes
looked
at
.
He
became
red
-
hot
for
lack
of
the
oil
of
objectivity
,
and
so
his
soul
both
burnt
in
him
and
burnt
him
.
He
did
not
go
to
Seidevarre
to
meditate
.
But
to
hate
.
"
Needless
to
say
,
I
was
eager
to
have
a
look
at
this
religious
maniac
.
And
not
altogether
out
of
medical
curiosity
,
because
I
had
grown
to
like
Gustav
very
much
.
I
even
tried
to
explain
to
him
what
psychiatry
was
,
but
he
seemed
uninterested
.
It
is
best
left
alone
,
was
all
he
said
.
I
promised
him
still
to
avoid
the
promontory
.
And
there
the
matter
was
left
.
One
windy
day
soon
after
,
I
had
gone
three
or
four
miles
south
along
the
river
,
when
I
heard
someone
calling
my
name
.
It
was
Gustav
in
his
boat
.
I
stood
out
from
the
trees
and
he
rowed
towards
me
.
I
thought
he
had
been
netting
sik
,
but
he
had
come
to
find
me
.
He
wanted
me
to
look
at
his
brother
.
We
were
to
remain
hidden
,
to
stalk
and
watch
Henrik
like
a
bird
.
Gustav
explained
that
it
was
the
right
day
.
His
brother
had
very
sharp
hearing
and
so
the
wind
was
in
our
favor
.
