Hunger by Knut Hamsun Read Free Book Online Page B

days maybe, or . . .?”
    â€œWell, we’ll see. Anyway, I have your address.”
    I forgot to inform him that I no longer had an address.
    The audience is over, I step back, bowing, and leave. My hopes are fired up again, nothing was lost yet—on the contrary, I could still win everything, for that matter. And my brain began to fantasize about a great council in heaven where it had just been decided that I should win, win cap itally ten kroner for a story. . . .
    If only I had some place to stay for the night! I ponder where I could best slip in, and I become so absorbed by this question that I stand stock-still in the middle of the street. I forget where I am and stand like a solitary buoy in the middle of the ocean, surrounded on all sides by surging, roaring waves. A newsboy holds out a copy of Vikingen to me: “It’s such fun!” I look up and give a start—I am outside Semb’s again.
    I quickly make a full turn, hiding the parcel in front of me, and hurry down Kirke Street, fearful and ashamed that someone might have seen me from the window. I pass In gebret’s and the theater and, turning at the Lodge Building, head down toward the water and the Fortress. I find a bench again and start racking my brains afresh.
    Where in the world was I to find shelter for tonight? Wasn’t there a hole someplace where I could sneak in and hide until morning? My pride forbade me to return to my room, it would never occur to me to go back on my word. I rejected that idea with great indignation, smiling inwardly in disdain at the thought of the little red rocking chair. By an association of ideas I suddenly found myself in a big two-bay room I had lived in once in the Hægdehaugen section: I saw a tray on the table loaded with huge sandwiches, it changed and turned into a beefsteak, a seductive beefsteak, a snow-white napkin, bread galore, a silver fork. The door opened: my landlady came to offer me more tea. . . .
    Visions and dreams! I told myself that if I took some food now, my head would be confused again, my brain get feverish as before, and I would have lots of crazy ideas to contend with. I couldn’t stand food, I wasn’t made that way; it was a peculiarity of mine, an idiosyncrasy.
    Perhaps something would turn up in the way of shelter later in the evening. There was no hurry; at worst I could take to the woods somewhere, I had the entire city environs to choose from and there was no frost in the air.
    The sea out yonder swayed in a brooding repose. Ships and fat, broad-nosed barges plowed trenches in its lead-colored surface, scattering streaks left and right, and glided on, while the smoke rolled out of their funnels like downy quilts and the piston strokes came through with a muffled sound in the clammy air. There was no sun and no wind, the trees behind me were wet, and the bench I sat on was cold and damp. Time passed; I fell into a doze and grew sleepy, a slight chill creeping along my spine. A moment later I felt my eyelids begin to close. And I let them close. . . .
    When I awoke it was dark all around; dazed and frozen, I jumped up, grabbed my parcel and started walking. I walked faster and faster to get warm, flapped my arms and rubbed my legs, which I could barely feel anymore, and came up to the firehouse. It was nine o’clock; I had slept several hours.
    Where was I to go? I had to be somewhere, after all. I stand there staring up at the firehouse, pondering whether I could manage to get into one of the hallways, watching out for a moment when the patrol turned his back. I climb the stairs ready to talk to the man, who immediately lifts his ax in salute and waits for what I’m going to say. This ax held high, its edge turned toward me, flashes through my nerves like a cold blow; I’m struck dumb with terror before this armed man and involuntarily pull back. I don’t say a word, just slip further and further away from him; to save face I pass my hand