Garman and Worse by Alexander Lange Kielland


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Page 5

One after another the fishermen rowed out through the narrow entrance.
Each one had some mischievous joke to throw on board Per's boat, and
more than once the annoying "Wait" was heard. He began to lose his
temper as he lay on his oars, gazing expectantly up at the lighthouse.

But there all was still. The solid little building looked so quiet and
well cared for in the bright sunshine, which shone on the polished
window-panes and on the bright red top of the lantern, where he could
see the lamp-trimmer going round on his little gallery, polishing the
prisms.

At last, after what seemed endless waiting, she came out on to the
steps, and in another moment she was across the yard, over the enclosure
which belonged to the lighthouse, out through the little gate in the
fence, and now she came in full career down the slope. "Have you been
waiting?" she cried, as she came on to the extreme point of the
breakwater. He was just going to tell her not to jump, but it was too
late; without lessening her speed, she had already sprung from the pier
down into the boat. Her feet slipped from her, and she fell in a sitting
posture on the bottom of the boat, while part of her dress hung in the
water.

"Bother the women!" cried Per, who had told her at least a hundred times
not to jump; "now you have hurt yourself."

"No," answered she.

"Yes, you have."

"Well, just a little," she replied, looking stubbornly at him as the
tears came into her eyes; for she really had bruised her leg severely.

"Let me see," said Per.

"No, you shan't!" she answered, arranging her dress over her.

Per began to make for the shore.

"What are you going to do?"

"Going to get some brandy to rub your foot."

"That you certainly shan't."

"Well, then, you shan't go with me," answered Per.

"Very well, then; let me get out."

And before the boat quite touched the ground, she sprang on to the
shore, climbed on to the breakwater, and went hurriedly off homewards.
She clenched her teeth with the pain as she went, but still without
raising her eyes from the ground she followed the well-known path. As
she passed in front of the boat-houses, she had to step over oars,
tar-barrels, old swabs, and all sorts of rubbish, which was scattered
among the boats. All around lay the claws of crabs and the half-decayed
heads of codfish, in which the gorged and sleepy flies were crawling in
and out of the eye-sockets.

She reached the lighthouse without turning her head; she was determined
not to look back at him. At the top, however, she was obliged to pause
to get her breath; she surely might look and see how far he got.
Madeleine knew that the other fishermen had had a long start, and
expected, therefore, to find Per's boat far behind, between the others
and the shore. But it was not to be seen, neither there nor in the
harbour. All at once her eye caught the well-known craft, which was not,
however, far behind, but almost level with the others. Per must have
rowed like a madman. She was well able to estimate the distance, and
could appreciate such a feat of oarsmanship, and, entirely forgetting
her pain and that she was alone, she turned round as if to a crowd of
spectators, and pointing at the boats she said, with sparkling eyes,
"Look at him! that's the boy to row!"

Meanwhile Per sat in his boat, tearing at his oars till all cracked
again. It was as though he wished to punish himself by his gigantic
efforts. Her form grew smaller and smaller as he rowed out to sea, till
at length she was out of sight; but he had deserved it all. "Deuce take
the women!" and each time he repeated the words he sprang to his oars
and rowed as if for bare life.

The next day the same lovely weather continued, and the sea lay as
smooth as oil in the bright sunshine. An English lobster-cutter was in
the offing, with sails flapping against the mast, and the slack in the
taut rigging could be seen as the craft heaved lazily to and fro on the
gentle swell. Madeleine sat by the window; she did not care to go out.
Her eye followed the lobster-cutter, which she knew well: it was the
_Flying Fish_, Captain Crab, of Hull.

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Wed 1st Jan 2025, 5:26