The Prophets of Eternal Fjord by Kim Leine Martin Aitken Read Free Book Online Page A

shan’t say no to that. He winks to the host and shouts out his order. On this here gentleman’s bill, he adds, and points demonstratively. Morten nods to affirm, but avoids looking up at the man. He regrets having come here. He has no idea why he should enter into conversation with this young scoundrel. Then a man rises and embarks upon a long ballad, and he leans back and listens to the song, a saccharine tale of unrequited love.
    When it is over the boy says: A student, eh?
    He nods, but refrains from turning to face him. He feels he is being scrutinized.
    Priest, says the boy.
    Morten turns. How can you tell?
    The boy grins sheepishly and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. It’s a skill I have. An art.
    An art? says Morten. What more can you say of me?
    I can tell the pastor’s fortune, says the boy. But it’ll cost him copper.
    Ah, a vagrant trickster, Morten thinks to himself, who earns his bread from the credulity of others. How much does this fortune telling cost?
    That depends on the prophecy. The boy smiles with cunning. A long life and good luck in matters of love and with wealth to boot is dearer than haemorrhage, the workhouse and imminent death. It stands to reason.
    Morten gestures for their two mugs to be filled. He asks the host if he serves food. Herring, says the host. All right, two portions of herring. The boy casts himself over the meal. His mouth full of boiled cabbage and the rich, salted fish, he divulges to Morten that he travels with a troupe of acrobats and tells fortunes for his living. The Lord has given me the gift to look folk firmly in the eye and to read them as if they were a book, even though I can’t read and can only scratch my mark.
    And you can read me? Morten enquires.
    Hm-m, says the boy between two mouthfuls, and nods. I can see right the way in and out the other side. Easy, it is.
    And what can you see?
    The same as all the others, the boy replies jauntily. The pastor’s nothing special, if that’s what he thinks. But if he wishes to have his fortune told, it’ll cost him three marks. It’s the usual price in winter, otherwise I take five.
    First I shall test you to see if you are worth your money. Can you tell if both my parents live?
    The boy studies his food, as though Morten’s secrets lay hidden there. He fills his mouth again. They live. And your sister, too, is in good health. But some brothers departed this life a long time since, God rest their souls.
    So far, so good, says Morten. He feels his mouth to be dry. Can you see what my sister is doing?
    Oh, she’s playing the two-headed beast with her pastor. The boy breaks into a peal of laughter.
    Morten feels himself grow pale. Kirstine? he says.
    I don’t know her name. But I can see a white dress and black vest­ments. I hear church bells, a dreadful clamour, not for me at all. Priest weds priest, a dainty sight, indeed! And the bridal gown is white on the outside, but inside it’s black and stained with filth. He spits out these latter words as though with malice.
    His hair drops into his eyes, black and greasy. A dribble of spit glis­tens in the upwardly curled corner of his pretty mouth, and in the spit a crumb of bread has settled. The breadcrumb moves as he speaks. Morten reaches out and removes it with the tip of his index finger. Their eyes meet, and then he asks:
    Is she happy?
    The boy smiles. I think she’s in good humour. She laughs, at least, but even skulls seem to laugh when the flesh is picked from them, so what would I know? I’m a seer. I look through people, not within them. I’m no soothsayer. People around her are happy. I can tell by looking at them. They’ve got what they want, but I don’t know about her. Her face is like water when you piss in it. The weather’s nice, the sun’s shining on the church, white, white, shining on the dress, white, white. I can’t wait