So once more she crept forward, and there stood the captain, looking as ready and cheerful as ever, although most of the crew had disappeared, and just then the purser leaped headfirst over the side, burrowing greedily into the earth. As Kristina had borne him a grudge ever since the death of Reverend Johansen, this sight caused her less horror than one might have expected; and in any event she had come on business.
The master inquired how she was, and she could not but reply that she was well. Something about him put her at ease, as if even now matters must come out for the best. Aside from Øistein, he was the only one whom she now could see and hear without some sensation of distance. He smiled at her, and his blue eyes sparkled. Laying a hand on her shoulder, he remarked: Sooner or later, my good woman, emigrants discover that patience is better than hope. Because when hope is gone—
But I still have that, said Kristina, confidingly drawing out the blue jewel that Reverend Johansen had bequeathed her.
May I see it? he courteously inquired.
She placed it in his hand, and for a moment he closed his fingers around hers. Holding the lovely stone close to his eyes, he studied it for an instant. Then he blew on it, and at once it turned black.
Counterfeit, said Kristina dully. Who would have thought…?
Not at all! laughed Captain Gull. But it was perishable. I’ve preserved it for you, in a less brittle form. Don’t thank me. We’re through the worst, my dear! Go encourage the others, for I’ve got much to do.
When he returned the stone into her hand, she discovered that it had grown heavy and cold. Nothing could be accomplished by complaining, so she slipped it into her pocket and crept back into that tight and chilly coffin where the last passengers lay, and all of them as utterly white as halibut-flesh. She had little to tell them; their voices came faint in her ears. The matter of the jewel confused and in some measure discredited her, so that it seemed just as well left locked up in her breast. Einar kept praying aloud with his son. When she offered to share the last piece of flatbread, they would not take it. She could barely hear her own husband, who whispered something about this villainous Captain Gull, whom I hope to see hanged in chains.
Now came footfalls, and to avoid turning into figures of bygone people scrimshawed on cracked ivory they fell silent and lay very still. As usual, it was no use. This time, instead of sailors it was trolls who threw back the lid and reached in. They bit people’s heads off and ate them right there. Then they went away, and only Øistein, Kristina and Einar were left.
They lay in silence until they heard someone coming. Desperately Kristina seized her husband’s hand. He could feel the blood pulsing in her fingers. For his part, dread tightened down upon him like his dead father’s great vise, the diameter of whose screwthreaded cylinder exceeded a grown man’s clasp; for a moment it comforted him to remember those hand-planes and pulleys, the staves steaming, his father smilingly tightening the iron hoop on a new barrel, then shaking hands with Mr. Kielland’s father, with the wooden-wheeled cart of crates, baskets and sacks all lashed down tight. Øistein encouraged himself: My father was never afraid of anything.
He stared at Einar, who kept watching him as if he were the sort who steals Bibles from a church.
Again the lid creaked back, and they saw the last worm-constellations overhead in that moldy dirt. Captain Gull bent smilingly over them. Remembering that pale face which had watched their embarkation from between the pairs of triple panes of their old home, Øistein could not decide if there were one or two of those specters. What could he do but clench his fists?
From here on out, said their master, we’ll only have room for two passengers. I’ll return for your decision.
The instant he turned away, leaving their prison open, Einar rose up with an old-time ryting-knife* and attacked Øistein, who, expecting this, immediately struck him down with punches. Trolls gathered around, howling with laughter. Making use of their acquiescence, Øistein, who had not been wounded, began to drag Einar toward the railing.
Help me! he shouted at Kristina.
No, she said. I refuse to murder.
He shouted: Would you rather it was I?
Just then Einar got to his knees and stabbed Øistein in the thigh. The trolls applauded. Enraged, Kristina thrust her knitting needle under the man’s ear. He fell more permanently, and the couple heaved him over, but not before they helped themselves to his ryting-knife. He had little time to rest, for the instant he landed, a greenish-grey hand burst out of the dirt and snatched him away.
The ship was neither more nor less than a large casket now, sliding down across the dark dirt by itself. The sailors were long gone, while the trolls leaped on and off the bowsprit as easily as walruses, and presently dove down into the ooze until not even their hairy feet could be seen. Øistein stood motionless. His good wife took his hand. She had come to resemble her mother, who in her last years grew stooped from carrying too many buckets, and grey-faced from malnutrition. Now for a long time the Pedersons stood clasping hands, and Øistein’s heart grew hard and cold to anticipate the passage’s next narrowing. He whispered: When he comes—
Turning toward them, Captain Gull gently said: If you, Kristina, and you, Øistein, do not yet hate each other and yourselves, then you cannot continue on with me.
Oh, yes, Kristina assured him, patting her husband’s hand. We hate each other.
At this the master laughed, and then, one by one, removed his eyes, which until now the Pedersons had never realized were made of glass. He flung them up into the air. Two ravens swooped to swallow them.
The captain’s eyesockets were a trifle horrible, to be sure, but so many peculiar things had already happened that Øistein and Kristina made no remark. Besides, Stavanger people have no time to be squeamish.
Now he was removing his face like a hood. When they perceived his true appearance, it seemed to the Pedersons somehow right, which is to say in accordance with his true nature — but if so, why had they not much sooner perceived what he was? A case may be made that the Hyndla’s passengers should have seen through the captain at the outset, but I disagree, for the face of death, whenever it remains unveiled, is customarily concealed by the living. Six feet of earth, and then we turn away! Oh, but we know — or should know — but why bring little Ingigerd to nightmares and tears? True love defies “reality” for as long as it can — and besides, Captain Gull had always been such a pleasant old gentleman!
Until then, Øistein and Kristina had been prepared to give up everything simply to get through the narrow passage. But they declined to give up each other.
Well, said the skeleton, are you ready to decide? At this stage I like to invite the last pair to gamble—
The Pedersons knew what to do. Øistein gripped Einar’s ryting-knife in his right hand, while in her left, Kristina held her cousin Eyvind’s awl, whose end was as sharp as a marline spike. While the skeleton cocked its skull in a soothing grin, no doubt supposing itself still in command, they rushed over the railing and leaped straight down, Kristina comforting herself with the words of Christ, Whoever seeks to gain his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life will preserve it. This must be the end. Truth to tell, she felt much the same way that she used to on those black January mornings in Stavanger when she had finished making her husband’s breakfast and must now go out into the miserably cold streets if she were to arrive at the cannery on time. As for Øistein, he likewise expected the trolls to tunnel up and devour them right away. They had not very far to fall. And so they struck the dark moss-riddled ooze.