Read Online World Light by Halldór Laxness - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Halldór Laxness
Tags: nonfiction
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As summer declined, the evenings began to darken and the birds fell silent; and that secret promise which characterizes the sky of early summer, those light, white clouds which sometimes piled up over the blue mountaintops in untidy heaps, soft and fresh as newly curdled milk—where were they now? The rain clouds of late summer spread over the whole sky, gray and heavy. The time for bringing the sheep down from the mountains was approaching, and there was still a lot of hay lying out in the meadows. Then came a dry spell, but it lasted only for two days; on the evening of the second day the storm clouds started gathering, and the rain was imminent again. Gather the hay! Gather the hay! The brothers were going berserk. On such evenings, people who work in the hayfields are like men possessed, striving to bring in the hay before it is too late. Dusk was beginning to fall.
Somehow or other it had been agreed that Jónas should truss hay with the hired hand, and Júst with Kristjána. But as the evening grew darker, the elder brother, Jónas, called out to Ólafur Kárason to go over to where Júst and Kristjána were working and help them with the rakings.
The younger brother heard this order from a distance, but instead of answering his brother directly, he went over to the boy and asked his dear little friend to go up the hill for him and fetch some horses, so that the hay could be taken home before it started to rain.
The boy stood there in the meadow with his masters, one on either side of him; the one told him to stay, the other told him to go, with rain threatening and not a moment to be wasted.
“You’ll stay down here in the meadow, wretch,” said Jónas.
“You’ll go up the hill, friend,” said Júst.
Kristjána came closer, and laughed.
Now, Jónas was certainly the older and stronger of the two, and it had been proved that when it came to a fight in earnest he could get the better of his younger brother; so according to the rule of force, it was better to obey Jónas. But on the other hand, Júst was considered the cleverer of the two, and for that reason it was difficult to predict what measures he might resort to if he were worsted; he could say “My friend” with a smile, and cut your throat. If you valued your life at all, it was safer to obey Júst, even though he were in the wrong.
“Up the hill, my friend,” said Júst sweetly, and came a step closer to the boy.
“You’ll stay down here!” bellowed Jónas, and he, too, came a step closer.
“Do as I tell you,” whispered Júst.
“Do as I tell you!” roared Jónas.
It had now reached the point where young Kristjána was beginning to enjoy herself; she clapped her hands and shrieked. The hired hands, too, looked over their shoulders for a moment, even though it was now absolutely vital to carry on working. In no time at all the brothers’ struggle for the boy’s soul had reached the stage where each felt his honor was at stake.
Even though the boy had felt like running away only a moment ago, he now could not move a muscle or a limb and stayed where he was. He stood stock-still. But though he stood still, he was not doing so to disobey Júst’s orders or to obey Jónas’s command; he stood still because the terror in his heart was stronger than all other forces, internal or external. He was paralyzed. It was as if the blood had congealed in his veins. He felt as if a whole eternity had passed, even though the whole business, from beginning to end, had lasted for no more than a few seconds. He could never remember clearly what actually happened—one never tries to recall such moments afterwards. He only saw the fists being raised.
7
Some hideous memories and still more hideous forebodings drifted through his consciousness as he came round. It was nighttime, and an oil lamp glimmered faintly; rain drummed against the window. He heard himself groaning as if it were a stranger far away. Then the girl bent over him, and
As summer declined, the evenings began to darken and the birds fell silent; and that secret promise which characterizes the sky of early summer, those light, white clouds which sometimes piled up over the blue mountaintops in untidy heaps, soft and fresh as newly curdled milk—where were they now? The rain clouds of late summer spread over the whole sky, gray and heavy. The time for bringing the sheep down from the mountains was approaching, and there was still a lot of hay lying out in the meadows. Then came a dry spell, but it lasted only for two days; on the evening of the second day the storm clouds started gathering, and the rain was imminent again. Gather the hay! Gather the hay! The brothers were going berserk. On such evenings, people who work in the hayfields are like men possessed, striving to bring in the hay before it is too late. Dusk was beginning to fall.
Somehow or other it had been agreed that Jónas should truss hay with the hired hand, and Júst with Kristjána. But as the evening grew darker, the elder brother, Jónas, called out to Ólafur Kárason to go over to where Júst and Kristjána were working and help them with the rakings.
The younger brother heard this order from a distance, but instead of answering his brother directly, he went over to the boy and asked his dear little friend to go up the hill for him and fetch some horses, so that the hay could be taken home before it started to rain.
The boy stood there in the meadow with his masters, one on either side of him; the one told him to stay, the other told him to go, with rain threatening and not a moment to be wasted.
“You’ll stay down here in the meadow, wretch,” said Jónas.
“You’ll go up the hill, friend,” said Júst.
Kristjána came closer, and laughed.
Now, Jónas was certainly the older and stronger of the two, and it had been proved that when it came to a fight in earnest he could get the better of his younger brother; so according to the rule of force, it was better to obey Jónas. But on the other hand, Júst was considered the cleverer of the two, and for that reason it was difficult to predict what measures he might resort to if he were worsted; he could say “My friend” with a smile, and cut your throat. If you valued your life at all, it was safer to obey Júst, even though he were in the wrong.
“Up the hill, my friend,” said Júst sweetly, and came a step closer to the boy.
“You’ll stay down here!” bellowed Jónas, and he, too, came a step closer.
“Do as I tell you,” whispered Júst.
“Do as I tell you!” roared Jónas.
It had now reached the point where young Kristjána was beginning to enjoy herself; she clapped her hands and shrieked. The hired hands, too, looked over their shoulders for a moment, even though it was now absolutely vital to carry on working. In no time at all the brothers’ struggle for the boy’s soul had reached the stage where each felt his honor was at stake.
Even though the boy had felt like running away only a moment ago, he now could not move a muscle or a limb and stayed where he was. He stood stock-still. But though he stood still, he was not doing so to disobey Júst’s orders or to obey Jónas’s command; he stood still because the terror in his heart was stronger than all other forces, internal or external. He was paralyzed. It was as if the blood had congealed in his veins. He felt as if a whole eternity had passed, even though the whole business, from beginning to end, had lasted for no more than a few seconds. He could never remember clearly what actually happened—one never tries to recall such moments afterwards. He only saw the fists being raised.
7
Some hideous memories and still more hideous forebodings drifted through his consciousness as he came round. It was nighttime, and an oil lamp glimmered faintly; rain drummed against the window. He heard himself groaning as if it were a stranger far away. Then the girl bent over him, and
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