Read Online Where Monsters Dwell by Jørgen Brekke - Free Book Online
Authors: Jørgen Brekke
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the shadows between two warehouses.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” he said. And then he let go.
He saw the cat turn in midair, just as Nils had said. Its paws were now pointing straight down, the skin under its front legs spread out, almost as if it had wings. An angel. Then the cat hit the water and disappeared in a swirl of bubbles and foam. When it surfaced, the little head looked even smaller out there in the current, which caught the cat and swept it along. He ran after it but could not keep to the edge of the wharf the whole way. In some places the warehouses stood at the very edge, and he had to run around them. He lost sight of the cat several times, but always managed to locate it again. The little head, the bravely struggling paws. The cat kept itself afloat but was being pulled farther and farther away from him. Where the wharf ended, a path ran along the river toward the fjord. He followed the cat the whole way but could do nothing to save it. All he could do was watch it being swept along by the current. When he reached the mouth of the river, he saw the animal for the last time, before it vanished into the white foam where the seawater met the river. Then the cat was gone. He sat down in the grass by the riverbank. He was seven summers old. He would no longer have the cat to sleep with at night, no one to lie awake with as he listened to the bellowing men who visited his mother in the bed right next to his, the ones who left money to put food on the table. There was no longer anyone to share his food with, or to rub against his leg when he came home after a long day on the streets or in the smithy with Johan, his mother’s friend. The smith never shared his mother’s bed, but he gave the boy work to do on the days when it was busy.
“That was a stupid thing to do,” he said out loud to himself, but he did not cry.
“I saw you,” said a voice behind him. “I saw you in-between the warehouses back in town.”
He gave a start and abruptly turned around. He hated surprises. They made him feel so small. A man with a big, dark beard and clear green eyes stood behind him wearing a blue woolen cloak. Under it he was dressed in fine, clean linen. The clasp on his cloak showed that he had money. The man looked tired, as if that was a constant condition for him.
“That didn’t go the way you thought it would, did it?” said the man.
The boy shook his head slowly, then looked out over the fjord. It was dark today. Maybe it was going to rain.
“You’ll see the cat again in heaven,” said the man.
“Do animals go to heaven?” asked the boy, looking the man in the eye for the first time. He did not usually look men in the eye. Not even the smith. What he really wanted to ask was, Will I go to heaven?
“Animals that are loved do,” said the man. He leaned over and put his hand on the boy’s head.
“Did I love the cat?”
“Didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.” The boy looked out toward the fjord again, at the cloister on the island. He saw it every day from the smith’s window, but it belonged to a different and more peaceful world than his.
“I think you did,” said the man. “And I think you’ve learned something from this. Remember that the way you treat animals says a lot about what sort of man you are.”
The boy understood that the man with the fine cloak regarded him not as a boy, like his mother and the smith did, but as a man. He had waited a long time for someone to realize that. He was a man.
“Come with me,” said the man, “and I’ll buy you a beer.”
* * *
The beard-cutter stayed in Trondheim for two winters. He made some attempts to get himself a cabin where he could carry out his work, but he could not find one for a good price, nor could he find a widow to marry. But he was not trying very hard. He had plenty of money after selling a house in Bergen, and could spend his time as he liked. Mostly that meant reading the books at the school, where he
“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” he said. And then he let go.
He saw the cat turn in midair, just as Nils had said. Its paws were now pointing straight down, the skin under its front legs spread out, almost as if it had wings. An angel. Then the cat hit the water and disappeared in a swirl of bubbles and foam. When it surfaced, the little head looked even smaller out there in the current, which caught the cat and swept it along. He ran after it but could not keep to the edge of the wharf the whole way. In some places the warehouses stood at the very edge, and he had to run around them. He lost sight of the cat several times, but always managed to locate it again. The little head, the bravely struggling paws. The cat kept itself afloat but was being pulled farther and farther away from him. Where the wharf ended, a path ran along the river toward the fjord. He followed the cat the whole way but could do nothing to save it. All he could do was watch it being swept along by the current. When he reached the mouth of the river, he saw the animal for the last time, before it vanished into the white foam where the seawater met the river. Then the cat was gone. He sat down in the grass by the riverbank. He was seven summers old. He would no longer have the cat to sleep with at night, no one to lie awake with as he listened to the bellowing men who visited his mother in the bed right next to his, the ones who left money to put food on the table. There was no longer anyone to share his food with, or to rub against his leg when he came home after a long day on the streets or in the smithy with Johan, his mother’s friend. The smith never shared his mother’s bed, but he gave the boy work to do on the days when it was busy.
“That was a stupid thing to do,” he said out loud to himself, but he did not cry.
“I saw you,” said a voice behind him. “I saw you in-between the warehouses back in town.”
He gave a start and abruptly turned around. He hated surprises. They made him feel so small. A man with a big, dark beard and clear green eyes stood behind him wearing a blue woolen cloak. Under it he was dressed in fine, clean linen. The clasp on his cloak showed that he had money. The man looked tired, as if that was a constant condition for him.
“That didn’t go the way you thought it would, did it?” said the man.
The boy shook his head slowly, then looked out over the fjord. It was dark today. Maybe it was going to rain.
“You’ll see the cat again in heaven,” said the man.
“Do animals go to heaven?” asked the boy, looking the man in the eye for the first time. He did not usually look men in the eye. Not even the smith. What he really wanted to ask was, Will I go to heaven?
“Animals that are loved do,” said the man. He leaned over and put his hand on the boy’s head.
“Did I love the cat?”
“Didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.” The boy looked out toward the fjord again, at the cloister on the island. He saw it every day from the smith’s window, but it belonged to a different and more peaceful world than his.
“I think you did,” said the man. “And I think you’ve learned something from this. Remember that the way you treat animals says a lot about what sort of man you are.”
The boy understood that the man with the fine cloak regarded him not as a boy, like his mother and the smith did, but as a man. He had waited a long time for someone to realize that. He was a man.
“Come with me,” said the man, “and I’ll buy you a beer.”
* * *
The beard-cutter stayed in Trondheim for two winters. He made some attempts to get himself a cabin where he could carry out his work, but he could not find one for a good price, nor could he find a widow to marry. But he was not trying very hard. He had plenty of money after selling a house in Bergen, and could spend his time as he liked. Mostly that meant reading the books at the school, where he
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