The Birds by Tarjei Vesaas Read Free Book Online Page A

embarrassed. “I mean, nothing more I wanted to say.”
    “Pity,” said the girl.
    “One, two, three, pang,” said the young man, reminding the two of them that he was there as well, and that there was a weeding race on.
    Behind them the lucky farmer who had these two splendid workers was chuckling. He obviously took no account of Simple Simon, nobody did.
    “Alright, alright,” said the girl in reply. “I can hear you.”
    Pang, said a quiet voice inside Mattis, directed at the young man who’d received this rap over the knuckles.
    They all started working again.
    The sun was getting hotter and hotter. In the furrows frail, uprooted plants lay withering and dejected. A warm smell rose from the soil.
    Mattis looked behind him at the farmer. Was he feeling tired and fed up? Pretty unlikely, a strong, clever man like him. Mattis was both tired and thirsty by now, had lost all control over his fingers. The girl had revived his flagging spirits, but they sank again under the pressure of a job he couldn’t cope with. And now the three of them were moving away again, this time behind him, giving the whole place a sad and desolate air. Every now and again his thoughts got confused, and he found that he was pulling up turnips instead of weeds, and had to stop.
    When at long last he reached the ridge and had to work his way down the other side, he felt even lonelier. The others seemed to be gone for good.
    His shiny green rows stretched out like a challenge. He dug about, thinking: I must at least earn my food. After that he sat down for a while. Nobody could see him, and the confusion he was in upsetall the movements of his hands. Besides, it was so nice to sit down when you were tired.
    When he saw the three of them appearing over the ridge again a little later, he gave a start. Already! He started fumbling about, destroying a lot of good turnips. But still, it was nice that someone was coming. It was so desolate on this side of the ridge. The young sweethearts weren’t chirping quite as much as before, but all the same. And the farmer didn’t seem to be tired. When you’ve got a field as large as this you don’t get tired, you just get on with the work. He didn’t even look up.
    A very odd sound jolted them: it was Mattis.
    “Please stop!” he cried. It was a shout forcing its way out.
    The farmer straightened up quickly, dashing the sweat off his brow with a hand covered in earth. He was certainly sweating.
    “What’s the matter, Mattis?”
    Mattis was in a bad way. Although he hadn’t finished one trip across the field, he felt worn out. The dust had formed a faint moustache under his nose. The others might look the same, but it didn’t seem to matter on them. Hesitantly Mattis walked over to the farmer.
    “Can’t you see I’m getting left behind?”
    “Well, what of it?” the farmer replied reluctantly.
    “Did you realize?”
    The farmer dismissed the topic, “Yes, yes.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t like complicated work like this,” said Mattis in a serious tone.
    “No, I suppose not,” answered the farmer, bending right down over the turnips.
    Mattis was tempted to ask: Do you want me to stop? But he didn’t. The farmer mumbled something to himself. The sweethearts took advantage of the pause to give each other a pinch or two.
    Suddenly the farmer asked straight out: “Do you want us to do your rows?”
    A gray cloud drifted in front of his eyes. Something familiar from his old life, just as it was before the woodcock arrived.
    “Not yet,” he answered stiffly.
    “Alright then.”
    The farmer stooped over his hoe.
    Mattis started to walk back to the place where he’d been working, but on the way he gave the girl a glance, a glance imploring her to do something to help and comfort him – after all, she was so young and happy, and she had a boyfriend.
    He cleared his throat, as a sign he needed help quickly.
    She seemed to understand. She smiled at him as if reminding him: Here we are, you