The Ice Palace by Tarjei Vesaas, Elizabeth Rokkan Page A
Authors: Tarjei Vesaas, Elizabeth Rokkan
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did not seem absurd. A quiver passed through them all.
The teacher said, ‘I think that’s going too far, Siss. None of us should say things like that.’
‘But can’t the desk stay as it is?’
‘I like the way you feel, Siss, but you mustn’t go too far.Wouldn’t it be better for someone to sit there for the time being? That would be quite natural. Nothing would be spoiled by that, would it?’
‘Yes, it would,’ said Siss, unable to think very far ahead in the tumult of the moment. She stared, shocked at the teacher, who could not understand her either.
The new girl was still standing in front of the class, unable to join them. It was obvious that she would have preferred to run away from it all. There was clearly a feeling of ill will against her for which she was not responsible. The class sat securely behind Siss in a topsy-turvy kind of satisfaction.
The teacher came to a decision.
‘All right, I’ll fetch another desk.’
Siss looked at him gratefully.
‘It’s not worth spoiling a thing like this,’ he added. He went out into the corridor.
At once their attitude towards the girl was changed. She was no enemy. She was welcome.
For some reason they asked Siss, who was crouching in her seat again. ‘You’ll join us again now, won’t you, Siss?’
She shook her head.
She could not tell them about the promise and that she had been given a great gift. All she was waiting for at that moment was to turn towards the teacher who came dragging the desk.
12
A Dream of Snow-Covered Bridges
As we stand the snow falls thicker.
Your sleeve turns white.
My sleeve turns white.
They move between us like
snow-covered bridges.
But snow-covered bridges are frozen.
In here is living warmth.
Your arm is warm beneath the snow, and
a welcome weight on mine.
It snows and snows
upon silent bridges.
Bridges unknown to all.
13
Black Creatures on the Snow
A movement up in the treetops is the first warning. There is no wind, merely a current through the green tops of the conifers in the early evening. Only when night falls will it become a strong draught, a nocturnal stream.
Snow has fallen today, too. Everything is shining new and white, but the sky is heavy, the clouds low and smooth.
Now it begins. People out walking in it feel it and change to a different rhythm, as if wanting to get home in good time. How mild it is, they say to themselves. But they have no desire to speak. Now it begins.
The stream has increased and is flowing more strongly up in the forest. The pine needles stretch their tongues and sing an unfamiliar nocturnal song. Each tongue is so small that it cannot be heard; together the sound is so deep and powerful that it could level the hills if it wished. But the air is mild, the snow lies wet and unmoving below, no longer rising in snow flurries.
How mild it is, say the people out walking late. They leave the forest and come out on to open ground – and there they meet the mild stream itself. They are moved, and welcome it as they would a friendly envoy. It has been cold long enough – and it will probably be just as bitter again soon. But in this wind they are for a moment as they prefer to be. The wet wind in the winter darkness can make the face radiant.
Nothing has yet been released, but something will come; it is tied by its own warning up in the clouds. In this statethey finally return from their walk to the sleeping house. No one will know tomorrow that for a little while this evening they were radiant and altered.
In the morning and when it gets light it is still very mild, with the trees soughing and swaying. When the daylight comes the wet snow is seen to be scattered with minute black creatures; on every inch of snow, and for miles in all directions. They are alive, creeping as if on the move; recently they were a cloud, windborne and nightborne, a glimpse of what goes on in the universe, and they will turn into a stripe in the drift after the next snowfall.
14
The
The teacher said, ‘I think that’s going too far, Siss. None of us should say things like that.’
‘But can’t the desk stay as it is?’
‘I like the way you feel, Siss, but you mustn’t go too far.Wouldn’t it be better for someone to sit there for the time being? That would be quite natural. Nothing would be spoiled by that, would it?’
‘Yes, it would,’ said Siss, unable to think very far ahead in the tumult of the moment. She stared, shocked at the teacher, who could not understand her either.
The new girl was still standing in front of the class, unable to join them. It was obvious that she would have preferred to run away from it all. There was clearly a feeling of ill will against her for which she was not responsible. The class sat securely behind Siss in a topsy-turvy kind of satisfaction.
The teacher came to a decision.
‘All right, I’ll fetch another desk.’
Siss looked at him gratefully.
‘It’s not worth spoiling a thing like this,’ he added. He went out into the corridor.
At once their attitude towards the girl was changed. She was no enemy. She was welcome.
For some reason they asked Siss, who was crouching in her seat again. ‘You’ll join us again now, won’t you, Siss?’
She shook her head.
She could not tell them about the promise and that she had been given a great gift. All she was waiting for at that moment was to turn towards the teacher who came dragging the desk.
12
A Dream of Snow-Covered Bridges
As we stand the snow falls thicker.
Your sleeve turns white.
My sleeve turns white.
They move between us like
snow-covered bridges.
But snow-covered bridges are frozen.
In here is living warmth.
Your arm is warm beneath the snow, and
a welcome weight on mine.
It snows and snows
upon silent bridges.
Bridges unknown to all.
13
Black Creatures on the Snow
A movement up in the treetops is the first warning. There is no wind, merely a current through the green tops of the conifers in the early evening. Only when night falls will it become a strong draught, a nocturnal stream.
Snow has fallen today, too. Everything is shining new and white, but the sky is heavy, the clouds low and smooth.
Now it begins. People out walking in it feel it and change to a different rhythm, as if wanting to get home in good time. How mild it is, they say to themselves. But they have no desire to speak. Now it begins.
The stream has increased and is flowing more strongly up in the forest. The pine needles stretch their tongues and sing an unfamiliar nocturnal song. Each tongue is so small that it cannot be heard; together the sound is so deep and powerful that it could level the hills if it wished. But the air is mild, the snow lies wet and unmoving below, no longer rising in snow flurries.
How mild it is, say the people out walking late. They leave the forest and come out on to open ground – and there they meet the mild stream itself. They are moved, and welcome it as they would a friendly envoy. It has been cold long enough – and it will probably be just as bitter again soon. But in this wind they are for a moment as they prefer to be. The wet wind in the winter darkness can make the face radiant.
Nothing has yet been released, but something will come; it is tied by its own warning up in the clouds. In this statethey finally return from their walk to the sleeping house. No one will know tomorrow that for a little while this evening they were radiant and altered.
In the morning and when it gets light it is still very mild, with the trees soughing and swaying. When the daylight comes the wet snow is seen to be scattered with minute black creatures; on every inch of snow, and for miles in all directions. They are alive, creeping as if on the move; recently they were a cloud, windborne and nightborne, a glimpse of what goes on in the universe, and they will turn into a stripe in the drift after the next snowfall.
14
The
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