Victoria by Knut Hamsun Read Free Book Online

misunderstanding.”
    “I’m still just as uncertain about everything.”
    “Let’s say no more about it. I’ve said enough, I’ve said far too much, and I’m giving you pain. I love you, I wasn’t lying the other day and I’m not lying now; but there are so many things that separate us. I’m very fond of you, I like talking with you, more than with anyone else, but . . . Hm, I dare not stay here any longer, they can see us from the windows. Johannes, there are so many reasons you don’t know about, so you mustn’t keep asking me to tell you what I mean. I’ve thought about it night and day; I mean what I’ve said. But it’s impossible.”
    “What is impossible?”
    “The whole thing. Everything. Listen, Johannes, don’t force me to be proud for both of us.”
    “All right. Fine, you won’t have to. But the fact is you fooled me the other day. You just happened to run across me in the street, you were in a good mood, and so—”
    She turned to go in.
    “Have I done something wrong?” he asked. His face was pale and unrecognizable. “I mean, what have I done to lose your . . . Have I committed some crime in these last two days and nights?”
    “No. That’s not it. It’s just that I’ve thought it over; haven’t you? It has been impossible all along, don’t you know? I’m fond of you, I appreciate you—”
    “And respect you.”
    She looks at him; his smile offends her and she continues more vehemently, “Good God, can’t you understand that Papa would refuse you? Why do you force me to spell it out? You can figure that out by yourself. What would it all have come to? Am I not right?”
    Pause.
    “Yes,” he says.
    “Besides,” she goes on, “there are so many reasons. . . . No, you really mustn’t follow me to the theater again, you frightened me. You mustn’t do that ever again.”
    “No,” he says.
    She takes his hand.
    “Can’t you come home for a while? I would very much look forward to that. How warm your hand is; I feel cold. No, now I must go. Good night.”
    “Good night,” he answers.
    The street stretched cold and gray before him, it looked like a belt of sand, an endless road to walk. He bumped into a boy selling old, lifeless roses; he called to him, took a rose, handed the boy a tiny gold five-krone piece, a gift, and went on. Shortly afterward he saw a group of children playing near an entrance. A ten-year-old boy sits quietly watching them; he has a pair of aged blue eyes that follow the game, hollow cheeks, and a square chin, and on his head he’s wearing a canvas cap. It was the lining of a cap. This child wore a wig, a hair sickness had disfigured his head for good. And his soul was all withered, most likely.
    He noticed all this, though he had no clear idea in which part of the city he found himself or where he was going. Then it began to rain but, not feeling it, he didn’t open his umbrella, though he had been carrying it with him all day.
    When he finally came to a square with some benches, he went and sat down. It was raining harder and harder; automatically, he opened the umbrella and stayed on. Soon after he was overcome by an irresistible drowsiness, his brain was enveloped in fog, and he closed his eyes and began to nod, dozing.
    A while later he was awakened by the loud conversation of some passersby. He got up and rambled on. His brain had cleared, he remembered what had happened, every incident, even the boy to whom he gave five kroner for a rose. He imagined the rapture of the little gentleman when he discovered this strange coin among his pennies and realized it was not a twenty-five-øre coin, but a gold five-krone piece. God bless!
    The other children had probably been driven away by the rain and were now continuing their games in the entrance, playing hopscotch and marbles. And the disfigured oldster of ten was watching them. Who knows, maybe he sat there being happy about something, maybe he had a doll in his little backstairs room, a jumping