What happened to him? I said.
Oh, one morning he turned into a white pig. Do you want to see him? He’s in the swineyard. You two might find common topics to grunt about.
Well, I’m not him, I told her; you can depend on me.
Then do bring me that swan-shirt, said Ingrid. In not a day more than three years, and in the meantime I don’t promise to be faithful.
I’ll set out in the morning. Will you give me some bread and cheese to carry?
What you don’t understand, said Ingrid, is that any help I gave you would only make it worse.
The cormorant-trapper’s daughter warmed me in her bed, beat the dirt out of my clothes, fed me the best she had, saw me to the door, kissed me, and for a parting token gave me a twisting arm-snake of good red gold. I thanked her with all my heart.
I’ve spoken with the swans, she said, and it seems that swan-shirts are even rarer than they used to be. I wish you’d take mine; it would save so much effort! I’ve only worn it once, to make sure I wove the right magic. Surely Ingrid wouldn’t mind that.
Well, I would, I said.
Have it your way, she answered. All the Valkyries who used to turn into swans have flown away. So you’d need to find a witch to make you one. From what the wind tells me, the greatest witch alive is this Ingrid of yours. Tell me, does she do anything in bed that I can’t do?
Well, she has a certain way of smiling that’s not a smile, and she knows how to leave me lonely when she opens her legs, so that no matter how deep inside her I go, I can never reach her, which makes her a goddess, or at least an infinite dream. And since she never gives me anything, nothing from her appears imperfect.
I wish you joy of her, said the cormorant-trapper’s daughter. My advice is to inquire about swan-shirts at the queen’s grave.
I asked her which queen — for there are as many queens as there are women — and the cormorant-trapper’s daughter replied: Good Queen Hnoss was the wisest of all, or at least so the seagulls tell me, and they’ve flown even to the other side of the sea.
I thanked her again. She smiled at me, quite cheerfully, then went inside and shut the door.
As I set off into the wind, I had to wonder whether I were doing the right thing. The cormorant-trapper’s daughter truly was so goodhearted. Besides, her bed was a veritable nest of eiderdown; no chill could ever get in there. And for some reason I could never even imagine dwelling forever with Ingrid, in her tall narrow house on her meadow of butter-rich grass. But I could see no help for it, so I kept walking, in search of the queen’s grave. Soon the night was as dark as an iron axehead.
Yes, the queen’s name was Hnoss, meaning jewel, which so many precious women have been called since the time of Freya’s elder daughter. She lived in the time when the sea was higher than now, and keys’ heads more complex than their stems. But in her day as in ours the highest human office was that of giver; and indeed this woman gained strange renown for her generosity, as you will hear; for when a friendless old thrall fell down sick before her hall, she had him carried to the hearth and nursed; once he strengthened sufficiently to go his own way, she gave him a gold ring for his family. And as I tell this over, it strikes me that this Hnoss was not so unalike to the cormorant-trapper’s daughter — still another reason I might have done just as well remaining in her company. But how are we to know what others are? Ingrid’s soul, for instance, was lightless, and of course that ancient thrall was not what he seemed. What woe he might already have worked upon our kind is unknown; for what malice he had come there is likewise concealed; but thanks to her kindness and healing leechcraft, the queen became the one and only member of humankind who receives praise in the Jötunsbok, the Book of Giants; and I have even heard that on her account the end of the world was put off by seven years. As for the king, his lendermen and thralls, and all the other hard people who grubbed over that turf until it devoured them, they doubtless took what they could of her. All the Morkinskinna says of her is that she was a good queen, who received everybody well, and furthermore brought good seasons, although ordinarily those are said to be brought about by kings. Never a wife gave birth but the queen sent something to her, be it a cooking-pot or a length of wadmal cloth. She was an unparalleled weaver, and introduced the lovely elf-stitch, which no one alive can duplicate — all the more reason to inquire at her grave about swan-shirts. Besides, when she died she must have gone to her friends, and one of them might know where I could get a swan-shirt for Ingrid.
So I walked all the way around the world, beginning to wonder whether my resolution might prove as fatal as King Swegde’s vow to seek Odin’s dwelling-place; a dwarf enticed him into a boulder, promising him his heart’s desire, and he never came out. The longer I searched, the less I cared for gifting Ingrid and the more I desired the swan-shirt for myself, although perhaps I had no use for it, either. So I became old, hence unworthy of the loving gaze of Ingrid with her freckled young face. I had to remind myself of the fact that I loved Ingrid so very much, because she was beautiful and her vagina knew a special sucking trick. Counting red cows and black cows on the old green grave-mounds, I proceeded toward the queen’s grave, which, as a kindly sexton told me, lay on the sea-meadow just over the hill from Ingrid’s. That night I dreamed three times of Ingrid calmly refusing to make love to me, and each time I woke up in tears with an erection. Tomorrow would be the last day of my three years.
Ingrid lived where the sea resembled the interior of a mussel shell, and in her back meadow, just past the pigsty, rose Frey’s mound, a fine old green hill where long ago, it is said, there was a door with three holes in it, one for gold, one for silver and one for copper; into these people paid their taxes to the god, in exchange for fat cows and good seasons. Since Ingrid had told me to keep away from there — and she never expressed her prohibitions but once — I avoided that place now, with its breath-sucking wind, all the more since I preferred for her not to catch sight of me until I had succeeded or failed. Besides, why should I mind detouring around a hill when I had already circumnavigated the world? Around the hill I went, and then down to the salmon-creeks and sheep-fields where all the lesser mounds were. One cold sunny morning long ago, before I ever met Ingrid, I came here to watch the salmonberries dance in the wind with the sea so bright behind them, while I wondered why I was squandering my life. Now that my life had been safely spent on Ingrid in any event, that flock of regrets had long since flown off to roost on some younger hero’s shoulders. Rich in moss, grass and islands, such most happily remained my life; and even if my travels had not precisely accomplished my hopes, there is something to be said for not sitting at home, especially just now, when, feeling excited that I could soon present myself to Ingrid one way or the other, I enjoyed so sweetly striding along, with ahead of me the sea-ribbon wrapping grey and ultramarine around green grass. Past where I was going, the pale reddish dunes reminded me of Ingrid’s pubic hair.