In bed that evening Isak as usual sought his wife; he attended to her as often as she could wish, and never neglected her for other women. And it seemed now as ever that she was willing; he had no suspicions, poor man. He did not know that his wife had sharpened a knife and hidden it under the mattress.
As the husband now was ready she took out her knife and cut off his implement, root and branch.
Isak fainted and bled in streams. His wife had in advance sent for a blood stancher, who arrived at the house immediately after the occurrence. He now did what he could for the injured one, and the wife, also in advance, had made concoctions from skvattram and bloodroot, which herbs were used to stop bleeding from injuries. Together they stanched the wound of her husband before he became conscious.
The wife then nursed Isak with much love and care till his recovery.
Nor was it known that the couple became unfriendly toward each other because of her action; they lived together until their dying days.
But Isak of Orranäs was never the same man after his operation; he grew slack and dull in his mind, and showed no interest in what he was doing. He neglected his farm more and more. After a few years he sold Orranäs, which consisted of half a homestead, and set himself down on reserved rights.
Ever after he kept his hands and other limbs away from women. Indifferent as a gelded steer, he had no more interest in them. From now on he lived a harmonious and pious life with his wife, to whom he was greatly devoted in his old days.
The limb which the wife had cut from her husband she dried and put away. She wanted to keep it as a souvenir. She only brought it out once in a while, when visitors came, or at some celebration or other when relatives and friends were gathered. While Isak listened in silence, she would tell how she went about it that time when she cured her husband of his sinful lust. She would also take out the Bible and refer to that place where it says a man must cut off that limb that is an offense to him in order to save his soul from eternal suffering; she had done for her husband what ought to be done, because all must agree that the limb she had relieved him of had been a great offense.
It was rumored, however, that Isak of Orranäs still had a small part left, and this led to his nickname, the Stump, concluded Jonas Petter.
— 5—
In the silence ensuing after the story’s end Robert heard his ear roar more clearly. The wife had by now finished straining the milk, and was removing the dishes from the table. Her mouth was closed in a narrow line. She had looked at her husband a few times while he was telling the story, but remained mute. Robert had not yet heard them speak to each other this evening.
Jonas Petter many times before had told him tales of women’s evil deeds, and Robert could guess why the farmer spoke so. But this, as far as Robert knew, was the first time his own wife had been listening.
It was a cruel fate that had overtaken Isak of Orranäs, and Robert thought he must be careful before he lay down with a woman — he must always feel under the mattress to be on the safe side.
“The son who became sheriff was born many years before this,” added Jonas Petter, as if this explanation were necessary.
In hearing the sheriff mentioned, Robert’s fears returned: the sheriff was on the roads, looking for him. Wouldn’t it be wise to run away and hide in the woods? His ear kept on throbbing, the brännvin could not silence that sound tonight.
Suddenly he rose: he could hear wagon wheels on the road; it must be the sheriff on his way back. Brita-Stafva, too, heard the sound of the carriage and went out on the stoop.
Jonas Petter said: “Sit down, lad! Don’t be afraid!”
Robert did sit down but he was afraid. A desperate fear filled his breast; it felt too small, it was overfull, he could not ease the pressure. It didn’t help to exhale, it was still full, it was strained and squeezed.
And a storm raged in his injured ear: Here, my little hand, here is a big box! This one you’ll remember!
If. . if he were left behind? If he weren’t allowed to go with Karl Oskar? Then the gates on the America road would never open for him.
The wagon noise from without was heard more distinctly, it came from light wheels, rolling speedily; it was a light carriage. It could be no one else but the returning sheriff.
The wife had gone outside and did not return. She had hard eyes and a beard on her chin. And she looked queerly at him. Why did she slip out as soon as she heard the carriage? What was she doing outside?
Robert moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue: “Jonas Petter. . She went out. . She won’t say anthing?”
“Brita-Stafva?”
“Yes.”
Robert was convinced the farm wife would betray him if in doing so she could vex her husband.
“She won’t hail him?” the youth whispered; he was short of breath.
“She should dare!”
Jonas Petter’s voice rose. He bent forward across the table toward the boy whom he had promised to protect against the sheriff. “If she dares, then I’ll sharpen the knife tonight!”
Robert stared at him, forgetting his own fear at the words of the peasant. What did he mean? Sharpen the knife? What knife?
“Sharpen the knife. .?”
“Yes. Otherwise I’d thought of doing it tomorrow.”
What did Jonas Petter intend to do? He had lived in deep discord with his wife for many years — did he intend to harm her now? Would he cut her up? What kind of knife did he want to sharpen? He was getting drunk — it could be heard and seen.
The sound of the carriage had died down, and Brita-Stafva came inside.
She said it was the churchwarden, Per Persson of Åkerby, driving by. He had been in Korpamoen to speak to Karl Oskar about the impending auction of the farm chattels.
At last Robert’s chest felt free, he could breathe easier. He poured himself another drink.
As yet this evening he had not heard the couple of Hästebäck speak to each other. Brita-Stafva now opened her tight lips, but only to eat of the potato porridge she had prepared for herself. Jonas Petter’s eyes were brännvin-bleary, he repeated in a mumble, again and again: A man, too, could sharpen a knife.
There was really no meaning to what he said: it was always the menfolk who sharpened tools, knives and such. So Robert could not understand what the farmer sitting there meant with his insinuating remarks. He could not know what was to take place the following day between the husband and wife of Hästebäck. There were to be no witnesses to these happenings — it was after Robert had gone out.
Story of a Man Who Sharpened a Knife
When they had finished their breakfast the following morning the farmer rose slowly from the table and turned to his wife, who was washing the dishes near the fire. He wanted to do some sharpening; she was to go with him and crank the grindstone; no one else was available at that moment; Robert was already in the fields.
Brita-Stafva did not answer. To answer would have been to use unnecessary words between them. After their latest great quarrel, three days of silence had passed. Today was the morning of the fourth day.
The wife dried her hands on her apron and followed her husband outside.
The grindstone stood under the large mountain ash near the barn gable. It was cool there in the shadow of the tree during hot summer days; now — in early spring — the wind howled around the corner of the house. Brita-Stafva wiped a drop from her nose-tip, while she leaned against the grindstone bench, waiting for her husband who had gone to the well.
Jonas Petter returned and poured well water into the grindstone trough. His wife took hold of the crank handle to begin.