Shallow Soil by Knut Hamsun

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He looked at her again and said: "No, thanks."

On the return trip Irgens seemed a different person. He chatted,
entertained the ladies, helped even poor Ojen, who suffered greatly. Milde
had captured a bottle on the pretext that it was drink time again, and
Irgens drank with him simply to be accommodating. Mrs. Hanka's spirits
also rose; she was lively and cheerful, and a strange association of ideas
made her suddenly decide to ask her husband for a couple of hundred crowns
this very evening.

Tidemand was at the tiller and could not be dislodged; he sailed the boat
and did not utter a syllable. He looked well as he stood high in the
stern, rising and falling against the blue background of sea and sky. His
wife called to him once and asked him if he were cold, an attention he
could hardly believe and therefore pretended not to hear.

"He is deaf," she said smilingly. "Are you cold Andreas?"

"Cold? Not at all," he called back.

And by and by the party reached the jetty.

Hardly had Ojen stepped ashore before he called a cab. He was in a hurry
to get home and find his manuscript or learn the worst. He could not rest
until he knew his fate. But perhaps he would meet the company later on.
Would they be at Sara's?

They looked at each other uncertainly and did not know what to say. But
Ole Henriksen declared that he was going home; he was thinking of
Tidemand, who was in need of rest and quiet. They parted outside
Tidemand's house.

Mrs. Hanka asked abruptly, before even the door was opened:

"Will you please let me have a hundred or so?"

"A hundred? Hm. Certainly. But you will have to come with me to the
office; I haven't got the money here."

In the office he handed her the bill; his hand was trembling violently.

"Here is the money," he said.

"Thanks--Why are you trembling?" she asked.

"Oh--I suppose because I have held the tiller so long--Hm. Listen, Hanka,
I have a pleasant surprise for you! You have asked me a number of times to
consent to a divorce; I have decided in God's name to do what you ask--You
understand, I am not going to oppose you any more."

She could hardly believe her ears. Did he agree to a divorce? She gazed at
him; he was deathly pale, his eyes were lowered. They were standing
opposite each other, the large desk between them.

He continued:

"Circumstances are different now--My big speculation has failed; even if
I am not a bankrupt this moment, I am a poor man. I may avoid closing up
shop, but that will be all. Anyway, I shall not be able to keep up this
mode of life. And, this being so, I feel that I have no right to interfere
with your plans and desires any longer."

His words reached her as from afar. For a moment she felt a vague
sensation of happiness--she was free; she would escape the yoke that had
become oppressive; she would be a girl once more! Hanka Lange--imagine,
only Hanka Lange! And when she realised that her husband was almost a
bankrupt it did not greatly upset her; he had said he might not be forced
to shut down. Of course, he was not wealthy, but neither was he a beggar;
it might have been a great deal worse.

"Is that so?" she said simply; "is that so?"

Pause. Tidemand had regained his composure; he stood again as he had stood
aboard the yacht; one could almost see the tiller in his hand. His eyes
were on her. She had not said no; her intentions were evidently not
shaken. Well, he had hardly expected that they would be.

He said:

"Well, that was all I wanted to tell you."

His voice was remarkably even, almost commanding; she thought: "He has not
spoken to me like that in three years." His strength was marvellous to
behold.

"Well, do you really want to?" she asked. "You think, then, that we ought
to separate? Of course, but--I hope you have thought it over--that you are
not doing this simply to please me?"

"It goes without saying that I do it to please you," he answered. "You
have requested it often enough, and I sincerely regret that I have opposed
you until now." And he added without a trace of malice: "You must forgive
me for having interfered with your wishes so long."

She grew attentive at once.

"I don't know what you mean," she said a trifle haughtily.

He did not care about that and did not answer. Hadn't she spoken about a
divorce time and time again? Hadn't he put her off? Perfectly composed, he
opened his coat and took out his pocket calendar, in which he proceeded to
make an entry.

She could not help being impressed by this quiet superiority, which she
never before had noticed in him; she happened to say:

"I think you have changed greatly."

"Oh, well, one gets a little grey, but--"

"No, you misunderstand me!" she interrupted.

Tidemand said slowly and looked straight into her eyes:

"I wish to God you had understood me as well as I have you, Hanka!
Perhaps, then, this would not have become necessary." He buttoned his coat
as if preparing to leave, and added: "Now, in regard to the money--"

"Yes, dear, here is the money!" she said, and wanted to give him back the
bill.

For the first time since their interview he tossed his head impatiently
and said:

"I am not talking about _that_ money now! Kindly make at least an
effort to understand me--Whatever money you need shall be sent you as
soon as you inform me where to send it."

"But, dear me," she said in confusion, "do I have to go away? I thought I
could stay in the city. What do you want me to do?"

"Whatever is agreeable to you. You will let the children remain here,
won't you? I shall take good care of them; you need not worry about that.
As for yourself, I suppose you will want to take an apartment somewhere.
You know it takes three years, don't you?"

She was standing with the bill in her hand, gazing at it abstractedly. She
was unable to think clearly; her mind was whirling; but deep down she had
a vague feeling of relief--she was free at last! She said nothing; he felt
his self-control give way and wanted to get it over with quickly so as not
to break down.

"Good-bye, then--" He could say no more, but offered her his hand; she
took it. "I hope we shall see each other occasionally; but I want to thank
you now for everything; this may be the last chance I shall have--I shall
send you the money every month." And he put on his hat and went to the
door.

She followed him with her eyes. Was this Andreas?

"Well, I suppose you want to go," she said, bewildered, "and I am standing
here delaying you. I suppose we shall have to do as you say--I don't know
what I am saying--" Her voice broke suddenly.

Tidemand opened the door with trembling hands and let her out. At the foot
of the stairs she stopped and let him walk ahead. When he reached the
landing he waited for her; then he opened the door with his key and held
it for her. When she was inside he said:

"Good night, then!"

And again Tidemand walked down-stairs, down to his office, where he shut
himself in. He went over to the window and stood there, his hands clasped
behind him, staring out into the street with unseeing eyes. No, she had
not changed her mind in the least, that was not to be expected. She had
not hesitated. There she had stood, with her elbow on the desk; she had
heard what he said and she had replied; "Well, I suppose we shall have to
do as you say." There had been no hesitation, no, none at all.... But she
had not exulted, either; she had spared him from witnessing any outburst
of joy. She had been considerate--he had to admit that. Oh, Hanka was
always considerate; God bless her wherever she went! She had stood there.
Hanka, Hanka!... But probably she was rejoicing now; why shouldn't she
be? She had had her way.... And the children were asleep now, both Ida and
Johanna. Poor little things; they did not even reach up to their pillows!
Well, they would be provided for. One might be getting a little grey, but
there was still a fight or two left....

And Tidemand went back to his desk. He worked over his books and papers
until daylight.

II

Mrs. Hanka looked in vain for Irgens for several days. She had hurried to
him to bring him the joyful news; she was free at last! But he was never
at home. His door was locked, and it was not opened when she knocked;
consequently he must be out. She did not meet him in his usual haunts,
either. Finally she had to write to him and make an appointment; she wrote
that she had excellent news for him.

But during these two days, these long hours of waiting in which she could
do nothing, it seemed as if her joy over the coming divorce had begun to
wane. She had dwelt on her happiness so long that she had grown accustomed
to it; it did not make her heart beat faster any more. She was going to be
free from her husband--true, but she had not been so entirely shackled
before. The difference was not so pronounced that she could steadily
continue to revel in it.

And to this was added an indefinable fear, now when the irrevocable
separation confronted her; the thought that she was to leave her home was
tinged with a vague sense of regretfulness, of impalpable foreboding.
Sometimes a quivering pang would pierce her heart when the children put
out their little arms to her; why that pain? She had got out of her bed
last night and looked at them in their sleep. There they were lying, each
in her little bed; they had kicked the blankets off and were uncovered up
to their very arms, but they slept soundly and moved, now and then, a rosy
finger or a dimpled toe in their sleep. Such children! To lie there
unblushingly naked, with arms and legs pointing in all directions! She
tucked them carefully in and left them with bowed head, her shoulders
shaken by inaudible sobs.

How was she going to arrange her future? She was free, but in reality she
was married still; for three years she would have to live somewhere, pay
rent, keep house for herself. She had worried and fretted about this for
two long days without anyone to help her; what could have happened to
Irgens? God only knew where he kept himself. She had not once seen her
former husband.

She started for Irgens's rooms. Surely he would help her find a place and
get settled! Oh, it was fine to have an end to this daily galling
restraint; here she had been tortured by dissatisfaction and restlessness
for months and years, ever since she had been introduced to the clique and
had acquired a taste for their irresponsible mode of living. She was free,
free and young! She would overwhelm Irgens with this joyful news, he who
had so often sighed for that divorce during their most intimate hours--

Irgens was at home at last.

She told him the great news at once. She recounted how it had happened,
repeated Tidemand's words, and praised his superiority. She gazed into
Irgens's eyes; her own were sparkling. Irgens, however, did not show any
great exultation; he smiled, said yes and no, asked her if she were
satisfied now. So she was really going to get a divorce? He was glad to
hear it; it was foolish to go through life in this heart-breaking
manner.... But he sat there very quietly and discussed the great news in
an every-day voice.

Gradually, very gradually, she came to earth; her heart began to flutter
wildly.

"It seems as if the news does not make you so very happy, Irgens," she
said.

"Happy? Of course I am. Why shouldn't I be happy? You have sighed for this
for a long time; why shouldn't I rejoice with you now? I do, most
assuredly."

Words only, without fire, without warmth even! What could have happened?
Did he not love her any more? She sat there, her heart heavy within her;
she wanted to gain time, to hush the wakening terror in her breast. She
said:

"But, dear, where have you been all this time? I have called on you three
times without finding you in."

He answered, choosing his words carefully, that she must have missed him
because of an unfortunate series of accidents. He went out occasionally,
of course; but he spent most of his time at home. Where in the world could
he go? He went nowhere.

Pause. Finally she yielded abjectly to her fears and stammered:

"Well, Irgens, I am yours now, entirely yours! I am going to leave the
house--You will thank me, won't you? It will take three years, of course,
but then--"

She stopped suddenly; she felt that he was squirming, that he was bracing
himself against the inevitable; her terror increased as he remained
silent. A few anguished moments went by.

"Well, Hanka, this is rather unfortunate, in a way," he began finally.
"You have evidently understood me to mean that when you got your divorce--
that if you only were free--Of course, I may have said something to that
effect; I admit that if you have interpreted my words literally such a
supposition is probably justified. I have most likely said things more
than once--"

"Yes, of course," she interrupted; "we have never meant anything else,
have we? For you love me, don't you? What is the matter? You are so
strange to-day!"

"I am awfully sorry, but really--things are not as they used to be." He
looked away sadly and searched for words. "I cannot lie to you, Hanka, and
the plain truth is that I am not enraptured by you as much as I used to
be. It would hardly be right to deceive you; anyway, I couldn't do it--it
is beyond me."

At last she understood; these were plain words. And quietly bending her
head, yielding to the inevitable, letting go of the last lingering hope,
she whispered in a dull and broken voice:

"Couldn't do it; no--It is all over, irrevocably over--"

He sat there silent.

Suddenly she turned and looked at him. Her white teeth showed beneath the
slightly raised upper lip as she endeavoured to force a smile. She said
slowly:

"But surely it cannot all be over, Irgens? Remember, I have sacrificed a
great deal--"

But he shook his head.

"Yes, I am awfully sorry, but--Do you know what I was thinking of just now
when I didn't answer you? You said 'irrevocably over.' I was wondering if
that was proper grammar, if it sounded right. That shows how little this
scene really affects me; you can see for yourself that I am not beside
myself with grief--not even deeply stirred. That ought to show you--" And
as if he wanted to utilise the opportunity to the utmost and leave no room
for doubt, he continued: "Did you say that you have been here three times,
looking for me? I know that you have been here twice. I think I ought to
tell you, so that you can see how impossible it is for me to pretend: I
sat here and heard you knock, but I didn't open. That surely proves the
matter is serious--Dearest Hanka, I cannot help it; really, you mustn't
be unhappy. But you surely will admit that our relationship must have been
a little galling, a little humiliating, to me as well? It is true; it has
not been easy for me to accept money from you continually; I have said to
myself: 'This degrades you!' You understand, don't you--a man with a
nature like mine; unhappily, I am proud, whether it is a virtue or a vice
in me--"

Pause.

"All right," she said mechanically, "all right." And she rose in order to
go. Her eyes were wide and staring, but she saw nothing.

However, he wanted to explain himself thoroughly; she must not leave with
a wrong impression of him. He called her back; he wanted to prove why it
could not have been otherwise, why his conduct was beyond reproach. He
spoke at length and cleared up the matter perfectly; it seemed as if he
had expected this and had prepared himself thoroughly. There were a number
of bagatelles; but it was just the little things that counted with a man
like him, and these little things had gradually made it so clear to him
that they were not compatible. Of course, she was fond of him, a great
deal more so than he deserved; but all the same he was not sure that she
understood and appreciated him fully. This was not said reproachfully,
but--She had said that she was proud of him, and that she enjoyed seeing
the ladies turn and look after him when they walked down the street
together. All right! But that did not prove that she valued his
individuality. She took no pride in the fact that he was, above all, a
somewhat different individuality. Of course, he did not blame her; but,
unfortunately, it proved that her understanding of him was not deep
enough. She was not proud of him for what he had thought or written; not
primarily, at any rate; she loved to see the ladies look after him on the
street. But ladies might turn and look after anybody, even after an
officer or a tradesman. She had once given him a cane so that he might
look well on the street....

"No, Irgens, I had no such thought, not at all," she interrupted.

All right, he might have been mistaken; if she said so, of course....
Nevertheless, he had the impression that such was her reason. He had
thought that if he couldn't pass muster without a cane, then.... For even
those two sheared sheep of Ojen's used a cane. In brief, he gave the cane
away to the first comer.... But there were other little things, other
bagatelles: She liked to go to the opera; he didn't. She went without him,
and he was very much pleased, of course; still.... She wore a light
woollen dress, and when he was with her his clothes got full of fuzz from
her dress, but she never noticed it. He had to brush and pick fuzz
unceasingly to avoid looking as if he had been in bed fully dressed; but
did she notice? Never. And in this manner one thing after another had come
between them and had affected his feelings for her. There were hundreds of
little things! A little while ago her lips had been so badly cracked that
she couldn't even smile naturally; and just think, an insignificant thing
like that had repulsed him, absolutely spoiled her for him! Dear me, she
must not think that he found fault with her because of a cracked lip; he
knew very well that she could not help such a thing; he was not
stupid.... But the truth of the matter was that it had reached a point
where he was beginning to dread her visits. He had to admit it; he had sat
on this very chair and suffered, suffered tortures, when he heard her
knock on the door. However, no sooner had she gone away than he felt
relieved; he got ready and went out, too. He went to some restaurant and
dined, dined unfeelingly and with a good appetite, not at all deploring
what he had done. He wanted her to know these things so that she would
understand him.... "But, dearest Hanka, I have told you all this and
perhaps added to your sorrow instead of alleviating it. I wanted you to
see how necessary has become our parting--that there are deep and weighty
reasons for it--that it is not merely a whim. Unfortunately, these things
are deeply rooted in my nature--But don't take it so to heart! You know I
am fond of you and appreciate all you have done for me; and I shall never
be able to forget you; I feel that only too well. Tell me that you will
take it calmly--that is all I ask--"

She sat there, dull and immobile. Her premonition had not deceived her; it
was all over. There he sat; he had spoken about this and that and
remembered this and that--everything that could possibly explain and
justify his actions. He had said a great deal, he had even bared himself
in spots; yes, how penuriously hadn't he scraped up the least little thing
that might vindicate him in the slightest degree! How could she ask him to
advise her? He would simply refer her to the newspaper advertisements:
"Flats and Apartments to Let." How insignificant he suddenly appeared!
Slowly he blurred before her eyes; he was blotted out; he became lost in
the dim distance; she saw him as through a haze; she barely discerned his
mother-of-pearl buttons and his sleek and shiny hair. She realised how her
eyes had been opened during his long speech; there he sat.... She felt
languidly that she ought to go, but she lacked the energy to get up. She
felt hollow and empty; the last little illusion to which she had clung so
tenaciously had collapsed miserably. Somebody's step sounded on the
stairs; she did not remember whether or no the door was locked, but she
did not go and make sure. The steps died down again; nobody knocked.

"Dearest Hanka," he said in an effort to console her as best he might,
"you ought to start in in earnest and write that novel we have talked
about. I am sure you could do it, and I will gladly go over the manuscript
for you. The effort, the concentration would do you good; you know I want
to see you content and satisfied."

Yes, once upon a time, she had really thought she would write a novel. Why
not? _Here_ one miss bobbed up, and _there_ another madam bobbed
up, and they all did write so cutely! Yes, she had really thought that it
was her turn next. And how they all had encouraged her! Thank God, she had
forgotten about it until now!

"You do not answer, Hanka?"

"Yes," she said absently, "there is something in what you say."

She got up suddenly and stood erect staring straight ahead. If she only
knew what to do now! Go home? That would probably be the best. Had she had
parents she would most likely have gone to them; however, she had never
had any parents, practically. She had better go home to Tidemand, where
she still lived....

And with a desolate smile she gave Irgens her hand and said farewell.

He felt so relieved because of her calmness that he pressed her hand
warmly. What a sensible woman she was, after all! No hysterics, no
heartrending reproaches; she said farewell with a smile! He wanted to
brace her still more and talked on in order to divert her mind; he
mentioned his work and plans; he would surely send her his next book; she
would find him again in that. And, really, she ought to get busy on that
novel.... To show her that their friendship was still unbroken he even
asked her to speak to Gregersen about that review of his book. It was most
extraordinary that his verses had attracted so little attention. If she
would only do him this favour. He himself would never be able to approach
Gregersen; he was too proud; he could never stoop to that....

She went over to the mirror and began arranging her hair. He could not
help watching her; she really surprised him a little. It was of course
admirable in her to keep her feelings in leash; still, this unruffled
composure was not altogether _au fait_. He had really credited her
with a little more depth; he had ventured to think that a settlement with
him would affect her somewhat. And there she stood tranquilly and arranged
her hair with apparent unconcern! He could not appreciate such a display
of _sang-froid_. To tell the truth, he felt snubbed; and he made the
remark that he was still present; it seemed peculiar that she had already
so completely forgotten him....

She did not answer. But when she left the mirror she paused for a moment
in the middle of the room, and with her eyes somewhere in the vicinity of
his shoes, she said wearily and indifferently:

"Don't you understand that I am entirely through with you?"

But in the street, bathed in the bright sunshine, surrounded by people and
carriages--there her strength gave way entirely and she began to sob
wildly. She covered her face with her veil, and sought the
least-frequented side-streets in order to avoid meeting anybody; she
walked hurriedly, stooping, shaken by convulsive sobs. How densely dark
the outlook whichever way she turned her eyes! She hurried on, walking in
the middle of the street, talking to herself in a choked voice. Could she
return to Andreas and the children? What if the door should be closed
against her? She had wasted two days; perhaps Andreas now had grown
impatient. Still, the door might be open if she only hurried....

Every time she took out her handkerchief she felt the crinkle of an
envelope. That was the envelope with the hundred-crown bill; she still had
that! Oh--if she only had somebody to go to now, a friend--not any of her
"friends" from the clique; she was through with them! She had been one of
them a year and a day; she had listened to their words and she had seen
their deeds. How had she been able to endure them? Thank God, she was done
with them forever. Could she go to Ole Henriksen and ask help from him?
No, no; she couldn't do that.

Andreas would probably be busy in his office. She had not seen him for two
days; very likely it was an accident, but it was so. And she had accepted
a hundred crowns from him, although he was ruined! Dear me, that she
hadn't thought of this before now! She had asked him for that money.
"Yes," he had said; "will you please come into the office? I have not so
much with me." And he had opened his safe and given her the hundred;
perhaps it was all the money he had! He had proffered the bill in such a
gentle and unobtrusive manner, although, perhaps, it was all the money he
owned! His hair had turned a little grey and he looked as if he hadn't had
much sleep lately; but he had not complained; his words were spoken in
proud and simple dignity. It had seemed as if she saw him then for the
first time.... Oh, would that she never had asked him for this money!
Perhaps he might forgive her if she brought it back. Would she bother him
very much if she stopped at his office a moment? She would not stay
long....

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