The Glassblower's Children Page 2

  A man came walking down the market street. He was a nobleman, everything indicated that: his clothes, his walk, his gestures. And he had an old coachman who cleared the way for him through the throngs of people. They walked slowly and spoke to no one. And they had bought nothing.

  But then they came to Albert the glassblower’s shop. The coachman had already passed by when the nobleman stopped and called to him. He had a cane, and now he began to point to one glass object after another. Then he nodded, gestured, and gave a curt order to the coachman, who immediately walked up to Albert and asked to buy what his lordship wanted.

  Meanwhile, the nobleman stared at Klas and Klara. He was rather a young man, but his face was without joy. He looked thoughtfully at the children, but he didn’t smile for an instant.

  The coachman paid with great shiny coins, a whole handful, and when Albert wanted to give some back, his lordship waved his hand apologetically, then walked away. Without knowing it, the nobleman had done a good deed. But he had not exchanged a single word with Albert.

  What did Albert care about that? They were saved now! In a short while they had sold more than they had ever dreamed they could.

  They looked at each other, and Albert felt giddy with good fortune.

  Now to have some fun!

  They would close the shop for the day and move into the inn. There they would put the children to bed and then return to the fairground and join in the merriment. They could actually afford to do it this once! It didn’t happen that often. . . .

  Could Albert really mean what he said? Sofia hesitated, doubtful, but the roses rushed to bloom in her cheeks.

  “Do you think we can get a room in the inn?” she asked.

  “Go right now and take the children with you,” suggested Albert. “I’ll arrange everything here and follow in a little while.”

  It was already dusk. Lamps were lit in the shops and stalls, and grand torches flamed and flickered in the market square.

  Right in the midst of the milling crowd filling the market street stood Albert and Sofia. Now they were content and free to do whatever they pleased, and so Albert said to Sofia, “You shall have a gift from me, Sofia, from this fair.”

  “Oh no,” protested Sofia, blushing.

  “Yes,” said Albert.

  But first they had to buy something for the children who were sleeping in the inn. And so they bought caramels and wooden shoes for both of them and a wooden horse for Klas and a little cloth doll for Klara. The doll wore a blouse and skirt, with an apron and a kerchief around her head.

  But what should they buy for Sofia? What did she want? She didn’t know right off. . . . A shawl with roses on it?

  No, her old one was good enough. It ought to be something she didn’t already have.

  A little bottle of perfume, perhaps? That should be just the thing, thought Albert.

  “Oh no, that’s silly,” laughed Sofia.

  Well, then, he didn’t know. . . .

  A little old man, a really old man, very little and wizen, sat in a stall selling jewelry. He didn’t have much to sell and his stall was a little out of the way.

  Albert and Sofia had passed by there several times without stopping. The old man had no lantern, and the place was so murky that they didn’t notice him.

  But just then the moon rose and flooded the old man and his stall with the clearest light. The next time Albert and Sofia passed, they saw him holding out a ring.

  “Would you like a ring?” asked Albert, walking toward the stall.

  Sofia caught up with him. A ring. . . .

  “It would be too expensive, Albert, dear.”

  The old man stood there motionless. He was terribly little, almost a dwarf, really troll-like. His eyes were like lumps of coal in his face, while his hair and beard bristled and shone white in the moonlight. He said nothing, just held out the ring.

  Sofia’s glance fell on it. And immediately it was as if she had always wanted that very ring and had never known it before. She was seized with desire for it, and Albert saw this.

  “We can at least hear what it costs,” he said.

  This sent a shiver through Sofia. She was a little afraid of the old man, but she followed Albert toward him.

  The old man didn’t answer Albert’s question about the price. He took Sofia’s hand and slipped the ring on her trembling finger. It fitted perfectly.

  Mounted in a heavy silver setting, a dark, iridescent green stone glowed bewitchingly. Sofia stood very still, one hand holding the other, which wore the ring. Albert asked her a question, but she couldn’t seem to say anything. She stood there in the moonlight, and her glance was drawn deeper and deeper into the stone’s glittering depth, as though into an eye. She felt as if it were looking back at her. Time stood still.

  Now Albert asked again, “Would you like it?” He sounded happy. He had arranged a price meanwhile with the old man. They could afford the ring.

  “Thank you, Albert,” sighed Sofia in answer.

  And so she could keep the ring. Albert paid and they walked away. They had no more errands to do, but they walked around the fairground and enjoyed themselves.

  The next time they passed the spot where the old man had been, he had gone, both he and his stall. And the moon had slipped behind the forest. The place where he had stood was now like a dark hole.

  A strange fear made Sofia shudder. Quickly she turned and drew Albert back toward the festive square.

  4

  FLUTTER MILDWEATHER had come to the fair as usual and set up her fortune-telling tent. She’d brought along several carpets in both light and dark colors and they hung outside on a rack.

  On this occasion, Wise Wit, her raven, sat in a cage. It was an old, gilded cage that she’d hung from a hook in the top of the tent. When people entered the tent and happened to brush against the cage, it would begin to rock. That startled Wise Wit, and he would come out with the words:

  “I am Wise Wit, the black raven, whose answers are more truthful than people’s questions.”

  Some people grew angry when they heard this and thought the raven was boasting; others felt he was amusing, but most were overcome with awe.

  But Flutter Mildweather didn’t really like his behavior, which she thought undignified. In ordinary circumstances he wouldn’t have described himself that way—it had something to do with his having only one eye. And she told him so, that he wasn’t as wise as he thought; on the contrary, his way of seeing things and people was rather superficial and silly.

  But the raven didn’t agree. He answered calmly, “The wise are seldom happy. Moderately wise is what one should be.”

  Then Flutter sighed, for there was truth in his words—it was what she, herself, experienced every day. She paced the tent again and again, staring anxiously at the pattern in the carpet she had finished just in time for the fair. Every glance left her equally upset and unhappy. Her steps were heavy and, when she shook her head, the flowers and butterfly wings on her hat bobbed and swayed mournfully.

  Wise Wit turned his eye to her:

  “There’s better advice than dread and lament,” he said reprovingly.

  “Yes, indeed, Wise Wit,” she had to answer truthfully. “But then what advice would you give?”

  “So you’ve seen some dreadful unhappiness in the carpet again?” asked the raven.

  She nodded silently.

  “I saw that, and I’ve held my tongue about it,” said Wise Wit, very determined.

  “But if she comes and asks me to tell her fortune?”

  “I’m shutting my mouth,” answered Wise Wit, and he blinked his eye wisely.

  The whole fairground was bathed in moonlight, and the sky clustered full of stars. Now and then a shooting star fell and people got to wish for what they wanted.

  “I want us to become rich!” Sofia wished.

  But Albert didn’t wish anything for himself. He felt they’d already received so much that day.

  “I mean for the children�
�s sake,” Sofia added. “I want them to have a better life than ours.”

  “Things are fine for us,” said Albert quietly.

  But Sofia didn’t listen to him. Just as a star fell she said, “Think how sweet Klara would look in silk and Klas in satin—I want that for them!” She whispered it, and her eyes glittered, dreaming in the moonlight.

  They came to Flutter Mildweather’s fortune-telling tent, and Albert stopped to look at the carpets hanging there. He stood there a long while thinking about them. He saw they were more beautiful than ever before, but in a darker and more mysterious way. And he felt a strange, heart-sickening gloom as he stood there, as if struck by a foreboding of unhappiness.

  Flutter Mildweather herself was nowhere to be seen. The raven Wise Wit perched dead still in his cage. Albert turned to Sofia. He wondered if she felt as he did, especially about one particular carpet, which filled him with melancholy and sorrow.

  But Sofia wasn’t looking at the carpets at all, nor was she listening to the musicians playing dance music at the crossroads.

  She did a little dance step and smiled.

  “I think I’ll have my fortune told, Albert,” she announced.

  “Wouldn’t you like to dance?” asked Albert, who wanted to get away from there.

  “Later. When I’ve heard my fortune.”

  And so Sofia stepped into the tent. Wise Wit saw her but made nary a sound. There inside sat Flutter Mildweather on a three-legged stool. One of her marvelous carpets covered the floor. Sofia didn’t like them, for they were too gloomy and dark.

  Flutter wore her hat, and the brim hid her face. Her shoulder cape drooped. She was staring at the floor and didn’t look up when Sofia entered.

  “I want to have my fortune told,” said Sofia.

  “I’ve finished telling fortunes for today,” Flutter answered curtly.

  “Oh,” said Sofia, disappointed, “I did so want to. . . .”

  The mint-blue eyes wandered a moment over Sofia’s face and then looked away.

  “That doesn’t make any difference,” said Flutter, “and besides, you don’t know what you want.”

  Then Sofia became angry. She thought Flutter was acting that way just because they came from the same village. Of course Flutter didn’t feel she had to bow and scrape to people from home, but Sofia wouldn’t give up. Stubbornly, she stretched out her hand.

  “Look at it! Tell my fortune now!” she demanded. At first Flutter tried to act as if she didn’t see it. Then she looked at it, suddenly staring at the ring Sofia was wearing. Finally she closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “No!” she said. “No and again no!”

  Sofia let her hand fall to her side. She was sad and offended. She wanted to put out her hand again, but couldn’t find the right words to express her indignation. But Flutter understood, nevertheless. Once more she fastened those elusive blue eyes on her and whispered,

  “Dear child”—that was all she said—“dear child. . . .”

  Then Sofia looked down and realized that she’d been wrong: Flutter really was very tired. Sofia felt a little ashamed of herself and turned back toward the door. Behind her she heard Flutter say in a gentle voice,

  “You’re wearing a ring, Sofia. If misfortune should ever befall you one day, you must send me that ring, and I’ll help you, wherever you may be. Don’t forget my words! Send me the ring!”

  Sofia stopped while Flutter spoke. She stood just under Wise Wit’s cage. The raven had fallen asleep; his eyes were closed.

  Sofia didn’t feel like dancing at all after that. She told Albert everything.

  “She wanted my ring, can you imagine!” she burst out indignantly.

  “That’s not really the point,” said Albert, for Flutter hadn’t behaved at all like herself. “I think I’ll let her tell my fortune, and then we’ll see. After all, I don’t have a ring.”

  He walked into the tent, and he stayed in there a long time. Meanwhile Sofia wandered off to listen to the music. She came back just as Albert was leaving the tent. He took big long steps as if he were in a terrible hurry.

  And the raven, Wise Wit, woke and called after him in his hoarse voice, “Believe it if you want to! It’s all the same to me.”

  “What is it, Albert?” Sofia asked, terrified.

  “Come on!” he cried, drawing her along with him. He almost ran with her.

  “Did she tell your fortune?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Albert?”

  But he only made her hurry all the faster. Finally Sofia asked no more questions. She just ran silently and obediently by his side.

  When they came to the inn, Albert burst open the door to the little room they had rented. Without a word he rushed over to the sofa where the children lay. He looked quite wild with frenzy. Leaning over them, he whispered several times,

  “Thank God, thank God. . . .”

  They lay there, sleeping so sweetly. Sofia looked at him anxiously.

  “What came over you? Did you think the children had disappeared?”

  But Albert would not answer her question directly. He said he was tired and wanted to go straight to bed. It was just something he had on his mind, he said. It must have been the raven and the moonlight and those carpets. . . .

  “Yes indeed,” agreed Sofia. “Somehow those carpets are horrible.”

  They laid the doll next to Klara, and the wooden horse beside Klas, and then they went to bed. But Albert lay awake for a long while, twisting and turning.

  The room had no window, only a little louver through which the moonlight slipped in. It cut through the darkness mercilessly, cold and blue, until Sofia rose up from their bed and covered the louver with her skirt.

  In the pale light before dawn Albert rose and packed their wagon. They left Blekeryd before the sun rose on a new day.

  5

  A CHANGE HAD come over Albert.

  He stayed at home much more than before and after nightfall he never returned to the workshop.

  It was as though he was afraid of something. He was obviously anxious about locking the door and closing the window properly. At the slightest unusual sound he’d jump up to see what it was, and if the children were out of sight he almost lost his mind with fear.

  Sometimes he came over from the workshop in the middle of a clear bright morning just to see if everything was all right.

  But if Sofia were to ask what was worrying him, he would avoid answering by saying that any number of unknown dangers always threatened little children, that you could never be vigilant enough, never careful enough about them.

  Sofia knew that this anxiety had come upon him after the autumn fair. But what had happened there, in fact? Well, he’d been to see Flutter Mildweather and she had told his fortune. Could something the old lady said have scared him? He insisted that she hadn’t said anything special. She’d only rambled on the way old crones telling fortunes always do, he said. He couldn’t even remember exactly what she’d told him. And, in any case, he wasn’t the kind of person who worried about the fortune-telling prattle of old women.

  That was what Albert said, but then why did he behave so strangely? Sofia got no answer to so many questions, and at last she wearied of asking.

  Whether or not she had caught Albert’s anxiety, she herself felt far from content, even though she’d been given such a fine ring. How could she be so ungrateful? Sometimes she wished she hadn’t accepted it. It was such an inappropriate present for her! They should have bought something more sensible with the money.

  Whenever she put the ring on her finger, she was filled with alarm. It was just as well that she wasn’t used to finery: such showing off wasn’t for poor people. The thought that the children might have got something warm for the winter instead weighed heavily on her conscience.

  She was sure that this was what made her so uneasy and upset every time she wore the ring. One day she could bear it no longer. She took the ring off her finger and hid it so as not to wear
it ever again. Then everything became easier. And Albert didn’t notice a thing.

  Now, once again, Sofia went from farm to farm as usual, beating the harvested flax. Luckily she found this work to do, for Albert wasn’t able to make very much glass that autumn. And they had next to nothing saved up to fall back on.

  That winter turned out to be long and cold and grey, but then, finally, spring came and it seemed as if everything eased up all at once.

  When everything in nature turned lighter and brighter, Albert began to be his cheerful old self again. For even he couldn’t resist the spring. He got on much faster with his glass in the workshop—for indeed his work had slowed down throughout the winter—and now he had to make enough glass to sell in the spring fair.

  This time he wanted to travel to the fair alone. There was no changing his mind. The children were too young to come along, they’d been such a worry the last time. Sofia was disappointed, but there was nothing to be done about it. She resigned herself to staying at home.

  Albert arranged to travel with a farmer who carved wooden clogs and other wooden articles. This time Albert had just enough glassware to fit in easily with the farmer’s own load.

  He would stay over night in Blekeryd and travel back the following morning with the farmer. They planned to be back early.

  But for Sofia, waiting at home, it proved to be an endless day. They didn’t come when they had promised. Sofia must have run to the crossroad a hundred times to see if they were coming.

  In the end she grew angry and anxious, and then she forgot to keep an eye on the children, though that had been her last promise to Albert.

  Not that Klas and Klara needed anything. Klas had learned to walk during the winter and was really steady on his feet now. And Klara was grown up for her age.

  She took Klas by the hand and they walked out along the lane to watch their mother run down to the big road. Sofia had told them to stay in the cottage, but why should they do that? It was so beautiful outside. The sun was shining and all the birds singing. Green had returned to the grass. And look, there far down the lane you could see mother walking. They followed her until she disappeared around a bend.