broken platform on the westward side. And there they were! I could see the seals basking, scratching themselves in the sunshine. I took my harpoon and climbed over the rocks as quietly as I could.”
“Go on,” prompted Ralf, as Bjorn fell silent.
“I was sunstruck, perhaps,” he said slowly. “At least, as I crept over the rocks, I found it hard to see clearly. I felt dizzy and my head ached, and I remember seeing things that could not be. White bees buzzed around my head. I saw faces in the rocks. The sea chuckled and gurgled in secret holes under my feet. I heard a chattering and humming. I thought I heard voices. And then, on the flat rocks where the seals lay, I saw three fair womensitting. Their dark hair blew in tangled strands, and they combed it out with long fingers. At their feet, three sealskins lay in wet gleaming folds.”
The family sat spellbound, their eyes fixed on Bjorn, who stared at the wall as if seeing right through it to the far-distant skerry and the washing waves.
“I leaped down the rocks,” he went on in the same far-off voice. “The air was singing and ringing. The sun winked off the water, sharp as needles. In the blink of an eye the women were gone. All but the nearest! As her sisters threw on their skins and plunged into the water with the seals, I snatched up her sealskin. Heavy, it was—glossy and greasy and reeking of the sea.
“She screamed like a seagull, and her hair fell down over her face and her white shoulders. She stretched out pleading fingers. How she wept! I almost gave it back to her—for sheer pity—but it seemed wrong to wrap such beauty in a stinking sealskin….
“Then I heard a shout. It was Arnë calling, and the boat came knocking along the side of the skerry. And I knew I had to choose.”
Bjorn’s square brown hands knotted. “I’m just a fisherman!” He looked up defiantly. “There I stood with the catch of my life. Suppose I let her go? I already knew that I was caught, too. I’d never forget her. I’d grow old still dreaming of her, wishing I’d had the courage to do … what I did then.
“I threw the sealskin down to Arnë. And I put my two arms around her and wrapped her in my cloak and lifted her into the boat.”
Gudrun breathed out a long, wistful sigh. Ralf shuffled his feet uneasily. Hilde sat frowning, her eyes intent on Bjorn. Even the babies were quiet. Peer’s head ached fiercely. So Bjorn admitted it—he had stolen Kersten! In the silence, Sigrid piped up in a puzzled voice. “Is this a true story, Bjorn?”
Bjorn gave a brief, unhappy smile. “A true story?” he echoed. “There are so many stories, aren’t there, sweetheart? Who knows which are true? I told Arnë a different story, and it may have been a better one. He was only fifteen then, no older than Peer is now, and I could see he was scared. ‘Who’s this, brother?’ said he, and his teeth chattered. So I told him I’d found the girl stranded on theskerry. ‘Likely her boat went down,’ I said. ‘No wonder if she’s a bit dazed. Who knows how many nights and days she’s spent on that rock, with only the seals and the sea birds for company?’
“Arnë accepted it. Even to me, it sounded reasonable. But the weather suddenly changed, with a black squall driving over the sea and the waves clapping against the skerries in spouts of foam.
“As the boat tossed and Arnë rowed, a face rose out of the water—a face that looked half human, with furious eyes and snarling teeth. A great bull seal it was, and it charged at the boat, roaring. He’d have tipped us over. I still had the harpoon. I threw it without even thinking. It sank deep into his shoulder. He screamed, and the line burned through my hands as he dived, and the water around us was streaked with dark blood and red bubbles. Arnë gave a shout, and the girl flung herself at me, screeching like a wildcat. I had to hold her off, and we fell down together in the bottom of the boat as it pitched and
“Go on,” prompted Ralf, as Bjorn fell silent.
“I was sunstruck, perhaps,” he said slowly. “At least, as I crept over the rocks, I found it hard to see clearly. I felt dizzy and my head ached, and I remember seeing things that could not be. White bees buzzed around my head. I saw faces in the rocks. The sea chuckled and gurgled in secret holes under my feet. I heard a chattering and humming. I thought I heard voices. And then, on the flat rocks where the seals lay, I saw three fair womensitting. Their dark hair blew in tangled strands, and they combed it out with long fingers. At their feet, three sealskins lay in wet gleaming folds.”
The family sat spellbound, their eyes fixed on Bjorn, who stared at the wall as if seeing right through it to the far-distant skerry and the washing waves.
“I leaped down the rocks,” he went on in the same far-off voice. “The air was singing and ringing. The sun winked off the water, sharp as needles. In the blink of an eye the women were gone. All but the nearest! As her sisters threw on their skins and plunged into the water with the seals, I snatched up her sealskin. Heavy, it was—glossy and greasy and reeking of the sea.
“She screamed like a seagull, and her hair fell down over her face and her white shoulders. She stretched out pleading fingers. How she wept! I almost gave it back to her—for sheer pity—but it seemed wrong to wrap such beauty in a stinking sealskin….
“Then I heard a shout. It was Arnë calling, and the boat came knocking along the side of the skerry. And I knew I had to choose.”
Bjorn’s square brown hands knotted. “I’m just a fisherman!” He looked up defiantly. “There I stood with the catch of my life. Suppose I let her go? I already knew that I was caught, too. I’d never forget her. I’d grow old still dreaming of her, wishing I’d had the courage to do … what I did then.
“I threw the sealskin down to Arnë. And I put my two arms around her and wrapped her in my cloak and lifted her into the boat.”
Gudrun breathed out a long, wistful sigh. Ralf shuffled his feet uneasily. Hilde sat frowning, her eyes intent on Bjorn. Even the babies were quiet. Peer’s head ached fiercely. So Bjorn admitted it—he had stolen Kersten! In the silence, Sigrid piped up in a puzzled voice. “Is this a true story, Bjorn?”
Bjorn gave a brief, unhappy smile. “A true story?” he echoed. “There are so many stories, aren’t there, sweetheart? Who knows which are true? I told Arnë a different story, and it may have been a better one. He was only fifteen then, no older than Peer is now, and I could see he was scared. ‘Who’s this, brother?’ said he, and his teeth chattered. So I told him I’d found the girl stranded on theskerry. ‘Likely her boat went down,’ I said. ‘No wonder if she’s a bit dazed. Who knows how many nights and days she’s spent on that rock, with only the seals and the sea birds for company?’
“Arnë accepted it. Even to me, it sounded reasonable. But the weather suddenly changed, with a black squall driving over the sea and the waves clapping against the skerries in spouts of foam.
“As the boat tossed and Arnë rowed, a face rose out of the water—a face that looked half human, with furious eyes and snarling teeth. A great bull seal it was, and it charged at the boat, roaring. He’d have tipped us over. I still had the harpoon. I threw it without even thinking. It sank deep into his shoulder. He screamed, and the line burned through my hands as he dived, and the water around us was streaked with dark blood and red bubbles. Arnë gave a shout, and the girl flung herself at me, screeching like a wildcat. I had to hold her off, and we fell down together in the bottom of the boat as it pitched and
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