Hunger by Knut Hamsun Read Free Book Online

over to Semb’s and get it wrapped; that would make it look better right away, and there would be nothing to be ashamed of anymore in carrying it. I entered the store and stated my errand to one of the clerks.
    He looked first at the blanket and then at me. It seemed to me he mentally shrugged his shoulders in contempt as he accepted the parcel. I felt offended.
    â€œBe careful, damn it!” I cried. “There are two expensive glass vases inside. The parcel is going to Smyrna.”
    That helped. It helped a lot. The man begged my pardon in every movement he made for not guessing right away there were important articles inside the blanket. When he had finished his wrapping, I thanked him for his help like someone who had sent precious objects to Smyrna before, and he even opened the door for me when I left.
    I began wandering about among the people at Stortorvet Square, preferring to stay close to the women selling potted plants. The heavy red roses, smoldering with a raw, bloody flush this damp morning, made me greedy, and I was sorely tempted to snatch one; I asked the price just so I could get as close to it as possible. If I had money left over I would buy it, come what may; after all, I could always skimp a little here and there on my daily fare to balance my budget again.
    Ten o’clock came around and I went to the newspaper office. “Scissors” is rummaging through some old newspapers, the editor hasn’t come in yet. I hand over my big manuscript on request, giving the man to understand that it is of more than merely ordinary importance, and I urge him to remember to hand it to the editor personally when he showed up. I would drop by for his answer myself later in the day.
    â€œVery good!” Scissors said, going back to his newspapers. I thought he took it all too casually but didn’t say anything, just nodded indifferently to him and left.
    Now I had plenty of time on my hands. If only it would clear up! The weather was really miserable, without a breath of air or freshness; the ladies were carrying umbrellas just in case and the gentlemen wearing funny-looking woolen caps. I took another turn on Stortorvet Square to look at the vegetables and the roses. Then I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn around: The “Maiden” says good morning.
    â€œGood morning?” I reply in a questioning tone, in order to know his business right away. I didn’t care much for the “Maiden.”
    He looks curiously at the big brand-new parcel under my arm and asks, “What have you got there?”
    â€œI’ve been down at Semb’s and gotten some material for clothes,” I answer in a casual tone. “I thought I shouldn’t go around looking so shabby any longer—one can be too mean with one’s body, you know.”
    He looks at me, surprised.
    â€œHow are things, by the way?” he asks hesitantly.
    â€œOh, beyond expectation.”
    â€œSo you’ve found something to do, have you?”
    â€œSomething to do?” I reply, looking greatly surprised. “I’m bookkeeper at Christie’s, the merchant, don’t you know.”
    â€œOh, indeed!” he says, backing away a little. “Gosh, I’m so happy for you! I just hope they won’t wheedle the money you make out of you. Goodbye.”
    In a little while he turns around and comes back. Pointing his cane at my parcel, he says, “I would like to recommend my tailor for your suit of clothes. You won’t find a more fashionable tailor than Isaksen. Just say I sent you.”
    Why did he have to stick his nose into my affairs? What was it to him which tailor I used? I got angry. The sight of this empty, dolled-up individual made me indignant, and I reminded him rather brutally of the ten kroner he had borrowed from me. However, even before he managed to answer I regretted having pressed him for the money; I became embarrassed and avoided meeting his eyes. When a