Read Online Hunger by Knut Hamsun - Free Book Online Page A

rejoicing in this thought for quite a while. Time was passing, the wind was blowing hard in the chestnut trees around me, and the day was coming to an end. But wasn’t it a bit cheap to come and sneak six shaving coupons into the hands of a young gentleman who worked in a bank? For all I knew, he might have two chock-full shaving books in his pocket, with coupons that were far, far nicer and cleaner than mine. I felt in all my pockets for some more things which I could throw in with them, but found none. What if I offered him my tie? I could easily do without as long as I buttoned my coat up tight, which I had to do anyway since I no longer had a vest. I undid it, a big cravat-type bow tie that covered half my chest, brushed it carefully, and wrapped it in a piece of white writing paper together with the shaving book. Then I left the cemetery and went down to the Oplandske Café.
    The clock of the city jail showed seven. I hovered around the café, shuffling up and down along the iron railing and keeping a sharp lookout for all who came and went. Finally, at about eight o’clock, I saw the young man, fresh and elegant, coming up the hill and cutting across toward the café entrance. The moment I caught sight of him my heart ran riot in my breast like a caged bird, and I came straight to the point, without even saying hello.
    â€œA half krone, my old friend!” I said, making myself bold. “Here—here’s value for your money.” And I stuck the little packet into his hand.
    â€œHaven’t got it,” he said, “I swear to God!” And he turned his purse inside out under my very eyes. “I was out last night and went bust. You must believe me, I haven’t got it.”
    â€œOf course, my friend, I understand,” I answered, taking his word for it. There was no reason, after all, why he should lie in such a trifling matter; in fact, his blue eyes seemed all but moist when he examined his pockets and didn’t find anything. I turned back. “Please excuse me, then,” I said. “I just happen to be in a tight spot right now.”
    I was already some distance down the street when he called after me about the packet.
    â€œKeep it, just keep it!” I replied. “You are quite welcome to it. It’s only a couple of small things, a trifle—pretty much all my possessions on this earth.” I was moved by my own words—they sounded so dismal in the evening twilight—and burst into tears.
    The wind was blowing more briskly, the clouds scudded furiously across the sky, and it became chillier and chillier as it grew dark. Walking down the street I cried without a break, feeling more and more sorry for myself, and time after time I repeated a few words, an exclamation which drew fresh tears when they were about to stop: “Oh God, I’m so miserable! Oh God, I’m so miserable!”
    An hour passed—it passed exceedingly slowly and sluggishly. I hung about on Torv Street awhile, sat on the steps, slipped into the entranceways when someone came by, or stood staring vacuously into the illuminated little shops where people were scurrying about with merchandise and money. At last I found myself a snug spot behind a lumber pile between the church and the Arcades.
    No, I couldn’t go out to the woods tonight, no matter what; I didn’t have the strength for it and it was so endlessly far away. I would stay where I was and get through the night as best I could. If it became too cold I could stroll about a bit by the church, I didn’t intend to make any more fuss about that. I leaned back and drowsed.
    The noise around me diminished, the stores closed, the footsteps of the pedestrians were heard more and more seldom, and eventually the lights went out in the windows. . . .
    Opening my eyes, I noticed a figure in front of me; the shiny buttons that gleamed toward me made me suspect a policeman. I couldn’t see the man’s