Chapter 28

THE SAUSAGE-MAKER

Nothing was done to the land round the Crow's Nest this time; it was a fateful moment when Johannes, instead of taking his spade and beginning the ditching, felt inclined to go with his brother carting herrings. On one of the farms where they went to trade, a still-born calf lay outside the barn; Johannes caught sight of it at once. With one jump he was out of the cart and beside it.

"What do you reckon to do with it?" asked he, turning it over with his foot.

"Bury it, of course," answered the farm-lad.

"Don't folks sell dead animals in these parts?" asked Johannes when they were in the cart again.

"Why, who could they sell them to?" answered Lars Peter.

"The Lord preserve me, you're far behind the times. D'you know what, I've a good mind to settle down here as a cattle-dealer."

"And buy up all the still-born calves?" Lars Peter laughed.

"Not just that. But it's not a bad idea, all the same; the old butcher at home often made ten to fifteen crowns out of a calf like that."

"I thought we were going to start in earnest at home," said Lars Peter.

"We'll do that too, but we shall want money! Your trade took up all your time, so everything was left to look after itself, but cattle-dealing's another thing. A hundred crowns a day's easily earned, if you're lucky. Let me drive round once a week, and I'll promise it'll give us enough to live on. And then we've the rest of the week to work on the land."

"Sounds all right," said Lars Peter hesitatingly. "There's trader's blood in you too, I suppose?"

"You may be sure of that, I've often earned hundreds of crowns for my master at home in Knarreby."

"But how'd you begin?" said Peter. "I've got fifty crowns at the most, and that's not much to buy cattle with. It's put by for rent and taxes, and really oughtn't to be touched."

"Let me have it, and I'll see to the rest," said Johannes confidently.

The very next day he set off in the cart, with the whole of Lars Peter's savings in his pocket. He was away for two days, which was not reassuring in itself. Perhaps he had got into bad company, and had the money stolen from him--or frittered it away in poor trade. The waiting began to seem endless to Lars Peter. Then at last Johannes returned, with a full load and singing at the top of his voice. To the back of the cart was tied an old half-dead horse, so far gone it could hardly move.

"Well, you seem to have bought something young!" shouted Lars Peter scoffingly. "What've you got under the sacks and hay?"

Johannes drove the cart into the porch, closed the gates, and began to unload. A dead calf, a half-rotten pig and another calf just alive. He had bought them on the neighboring farms, and had still some money left.

"Ay, that's all very well, but what are you going to do with it all?" broke out Lars Peter amazed.

"You'll see that soon enough," answered Johannes, running in and out.

There was dash and energy in him, he sang and whistled, as he bustled about. The big porch was cleared, and a tree-stump put in as a block; he lit a wisp of hay to see if there was a draught underneath the boiler. The children stood open-mouthed gazing at him, and Lars Peter shook his head, but did not interfere.

He cut up the dead calf, skinned it, and nailed the skin up in the porch to dry. Then it was the sick calf's turn, with one blow it was killed, and its skin hung up beside the other.

Ditte and Kristian were set to clean the guts, which they did very unwillingly.

"Good Lord, have you never touched guts before?" said Johannes.

"A-a-y. But not of animals that had died," answered Ditte.

"Ho, indeed, so you clean the guts while they're alive, eh? I'd like to see that!"

They had no answer ready, and went on with their work--while Johannes drew in the half-dead horse, and went for the ax. As he ran across the yard, he threw the ax up into the air and caught it again by the handle; he was in high spirits.

"Takes after the rest of the family!" thought Lars Peter, who kept in the barn, and busied himself there. He did not like all this, although it was the trade his race had practised for many years, and which now took possession of the Crow's Nest; it reminded him strongly of his childhood. "Folk may well think us the scum of the earth now," thought he moodily.

Johannes came whistling into the barn for an old sack.

"Don't look so grumpy, old man," said he as he passed. Lars Peter had not time to answer before he was out again. He put the sack over the horse's head, measured the distance, and swung the ax backwards; a strange long-drawn crash sounded from behind the sack, and the horse sank to the ground with its skull cracked. The children looked on, petrified.

"You'll have to give me a hand now, to lift it," shouted Johannes gaily. Lars Peter came lingeringly across the yard, and gave a helping hand. Shortly afterwards the horse hung from a beam, with its head downwards, the body was cut up and the skin folded back like a cape.

Uncle Johannes' movements became more and more mysterious. They understood his care with the skins, these could be sold; but what did he want with the guts and all the flesh he cut up? That evening he lit the fire underneath the boiler, and he worked the whole night, filling the place with a disgusting smell of bones, meat and guts being cooked.

"He must be making soap," thought Lars Peter, "or cart grease."

The more he thought of it the less he liked the whole proceeding, and wished that he had let his brother go as he had come. But he could do nothing now, but let him go on.

Johannes asked no one to help him; he kept the door of the outhouse carefully closed and did his work with great secrecy. He was cooking the whole night, and the next morning at breakfast he ordered the children not to say a word of what he had been doing. During the morning he disappeared and returned with a mincing-machine, he took the block too into the outhouse. He came to his meals covered with blood, fat and scraps of meat. He looked dreadful and smelled even worse. But he certainly worked hard; he did not even allow himself time to sleep.

Late in the afternoon he opened the door of the outhouse wide: the work was done.

"Here you are, come and look!" he shouted. From a stick under the ceiling hung a long row of sausages, beautiful to look at, bright and freshly colored; no-one would guess what they were made of. On the big washing-board lay meat, cut into neat joints and bright red in color--this was the best part of the horse. And there was a big pail of fat, which had not quite stiffened. "That's grease," said Johannes, stirring it, "but as a matter of fact it's quite nice for dripping. Looks quite tasty, eh?"

"It shan't come into our kitchen," said Ditte, making a face at the things.

"You needn't be afraid, my girl; sausage-makers never eat their own meat," answered Johannes.

"What are you going to do with it now?" asked Lars Peter, evidently knowing what the answer would be.

"Sell it, of course!" Johannes showed his white teeth, as he took a sausage. "Just feel how firm and round it is."

"If you think you can sell them here, you're very much mistaken. You don't know the folks in these parts."

"Here? of course not! Drive over to the other side of the lake where no-one knows me, or what they're made of. We often used to make these at my old place. All the bad stuff we bought in one county, we sold in another. No-one ever found us out. Simple enough, isn't it?"

"I'll have nothing to do with it," said Lars Peter determinedly.

"Don't want you to--you're not the sort for this work. I'm off tomorrow, but you must get me another horse. If I have to drive with that rusty old threshing-machine in there, I shan't be back for a whole week. Never saw such a beast. If he was mine I'd make him into sausages."

"That you shall never do," answered Lars Peter offendedly. "The horse is good enough, though maybe he's not to your liking."

The fact was they did not suit each other--Johannes and Klavs; they were like fire and water. Johannes preferred to fly along the highroad; but soon found out it wouldn't do. Then he expected that the nag--since it could no longer gallop and was so slow to set going--should keep moving when he jumped off. As a butcher he was accustomed to jump off the cart, run into a house with a piece of meat, catch up with the cart and jump on again--without stopping the horse. But Klavs did not feel inclined for these new tricks. The result was they clashed. Johannes made up his mind to train the horse, and kept striking it with the thick end of the whip. Klavs stopped in amazement. Twice he kicked up his hind legs--warningly, then turned round, broke the shafts, and tried to get up into the cart. He showed his long teeth in a grin, which might mean: Just let me get you under my hoofs, you black rascal! This happened on the highroad the day he had gone out to buy cattle. Lars Peter and the children knew that the two were enemies. When Johannes entered the barn, Klavs at once laid back his ears and was prepared to both bite and fight. There was no mistaking the signs.

Next morning, before Johannes started out, Kristian was sent over with the nag to a neighbor who lived north of the road, and got their horse in exchange.

"It belonged to a butcher for many years, so you ought to get on with it," said Lars Peter as they harnessed it.

It was long and thin, just the sort for Johannes. As soon as he was in the cart, the horse knew what kind of man held the reins. It set off with a jerk, and passed the corner of the house like a flash of lightning. The next minute they were up on the highroad, rushing along in a whirl of dust. Johannes bumped up and down on the seat, shouted and flourished his whip, and held the reins over his head. They seemed possessed by the devil.

"He shan't touch Klavs again," mumbled Lars Peter as he went in.

The next day Johannes came back with notes in his pocketbook and a mare running behind the cart. It was the same kind of horse as the one he drove, only a little more stiff in its movements; he had bought it for next to nothing--to be killed.

"But it would be a sin to kill it; it's not too far gone to enjoy life yet, eh, old lady?" said he, slapping its back. The mare whinnied and threw up its hind legs.

"'Tis nigh on thirty," said Lars Peter, peering into its mouth.

"It may not be up to much, but the will's there right enough, just look at it!" He cracked his whip and the old steed threw its head back and started off. It didn't get very far, however, its movements were jerky and painful.

"Quite a high flier," said Lars Peter laughingly, "it looks as if a breath of air would blow it up to heaven. But are you sure it's not against the law to use it, when it's sold to be killed?"

Johannes nodded. "They won't know it when I've finished with it," said he.

As soon as he had had a meal, and got into his working clothes, he started to remodel the horse. He clipped its mane and tail, and cropped the hair round its hoofs.

"It only wants a little brown coloring to dye the gray hair--and a couple of bottles of arsenic, and then you'll see how smart and young she'll be. The devil himself wouldn't know her again."

"Did you learn these tricks from your master?" asked Lars Peter.

"No, from the old man. Never seen him at it?"

Lars Peter could not remember. "It must have been after my time," said he, turning away.

"'Tis a good old family trick," said Johannes.

* * * * *

That there was money to be made from the new business was soon evident, and Lars Peter got over his indignation. He let Johannes drive round buying and selling, while he himself remained at home, making sausages, soap and grease from the refuse. He had been an apt pupil, it was the old family trade.

The air round the Crow's Nest stank that summer. People held their noses and whipped up their horses as they passed by. Johannes brought home money in plenty and they lacked for nothing. But neither Lars Peter nor the children were happy. They felt that the Crow's Nest was talked about more even than before. And the worst of it was, they no longer felt this to be an injustice. People had every right to look down on them now; there was not the consolation that their honor was unassailable.

Johannes did not care. He was out on the road most of the time. He made a lot of money, and was proud of it too. He often bought cattle and sold them again. He was dissipated, so it was said--played cards with fellows of his own kidney, and went to dances. Sometimes after a brawl, he would come home with a wounded head and a black eye. Apparently he spent a great deal of money; no-one could say how much he made. That was his business, but he behaved as if he alone kept things going, and was easily put out. Lars Peter never interfered, he liked peace in the house.

One day, however, they quarreled in earnest. Johannes had always had his eye on the nag, and one day when Lars Peter was away, he dragged it out of the stall and tied it up, he was going to teach it to behave, he said to the children. With difficulty he harnessed it to the cart, it lashed its tail and showed its teeth, and when Johannes wanted it to set off, refused to stir, however much it was lashed. At last, beside himself with temper, he jumped off the cart, seized a shaft from the harrow, and began hitting at its legs with all his might. The children screamed. The horse was trembling, bathed in perspiration, its flanks heaving violently. Each time he jumped up to it, the nag kicked up its hind legs, and at last giving up the fight, Johannes threw away his weapon and went into his room.

Ditte had tried to throw herself between them, but had been brushed aside; now she went up to the horse. She unharnessed it, gave it water to drink, and put a wet sack over its wounds, while the little ones stood round crying and offering it bread. Shortly afterwards Johannes came out; he had changed his clothes. Quickly, without a look at any one, he harnessed and drove off. The little ones came out from their hiding-place and gazed after him.

"Is he going away now?" asked sister Else.

"I only wish he would, or the horse bolt, so he could never find his way back again, nasty brute," said Kristian. None of them liked him any longer.

A man came along the footpath down by the marsh, it was their father. The children ran to meet him, and all started to tell what had happened. Lars Peter stared at them for a moment, as if he could not take in what they had said, then set off at a run; Ditte followed him into the stable. There stood Klavs, looking very miserable; the poor beast still trembled when they spoke to it; its body was badly cut. Lars Peter's face was gray.

"He may thank the Lord that he's not here now!" he said to Ditte. He examined the horse's limbs to make sure no bones were broken; the nag carefully lifted one leg, then the other, and moaned.

"Blood-hound," said Lars Peter, softly stroking its legs, "treating poor old Klavs like that."

Klavs whinnied and scraped the stones with his hoofs. He took advantage of his master's sympathy and begged for an extra supply of corn.

"You should give him a good beating," said Kristian seriously.

"I've a mind to turn him out altogether," answered the father darkly. "'Twould be best for all of us."

"Yes, and d'you know, Father? Can you guess why the Johansens haven't been to see us this summer? They're afraid of what we'll give them to eat; they say we make food from dead animals."

"Where did you hear that, Ditte?" Lars Peter looked at her in blank despair.

"The children shouted it after me today. They asked if I wouldn't like a dead cat to make sausages."

"Ay, I thought as much," he laughed miserably. "Well, we can do without them,--what the devil do I want with them!" he shouted so loudly that little Povl began to cry.

"Hush now, I didn't mean to frighten you," Lars Peter took him in his arms. "But it's enough to make a man lose his temper."

Two days afterwards, Johannes returned home, looking as dirty and rakish as he possibly could. Lars Peter had to help him out of the cart, he could hardly stand on his legs. But he was not at loss for words. Lars Peter was silent at his insolence and dragged him into the barn, where he at once fell asleep. There he lay like a dead beast, deathly white, with a lock of black hair falling over his brow, and plastered on his forehead--he looked a wreck. The children crept over to the barn-door and peered at him through the half dark; when they caught sight of him they rushed out with terror into the fields. It was too horrible.

Lars Peter went to and fro, cutting hay for the horses. As he passed his brother, he stopped, and looked at him thoughtfully. That was how a man should look to keep up with other people: smooth and polished outside, and cold and heartless inside. No-one looked down on him just because he had impudence. Women admired him, and made some excuse to pass on the highroad in the evenings, and as for the men--his dissipation and his fights over girls probably overwhelmed them.

Lars Peter put his hand into his brother's pocket and took out the pocketbook--it was empty! He had taken 150 crowns with him from their joint savings--to be used for buying cattle, it was all the money there was in the house; and now he had squandered it all.

His hands began to tremble. He leant over his brother, as if to seize him; but straightened himself and left the barn. He hung about for two or three hours, to give his brother time to sleep off the drink, then went in again. This time he would settle up. He shook his brother and wakened him.

"Where's the money to buy the calf?" asked he.

"What's that to you?" Johannes threw himself on his other side.

Lars Peter dragged him to his feet. "I want to speak to you," said he.

"Oh, go to hell," mumbled Johannes. He did not open his eyes, and tumbled back into the hay.

Lars Peter brought a pail of ice-cold water from the well.

"I'll wake you, whether you like it or not!" said he, throwing the pailful of water over his head.

Like a cat Johannes sprang to his feet, and drew his knife. He turned round, startled by the rude awakening; caught sight of his brother and rushed at him. Lars Peter felt a stab in his cheek, the blade of the knife struck against his teeth. With one blow he knocked Johannes down, threw himself on him, wrestling for the knife. Johannes was like a cat, strong and quick in his movements; he twisted and turned, used his teeth, and tried to find an opening to stab again. He was foaming at the mouth. Lars Peter warded off the attacks with his hands, which were bleeding already from several stabs. At last he got his knee on his brother's chest.

Johannes lay gasping for breath. "Let me go!" he hissed.

"Ay, if you'll behave properly," said Lars Peter, relaxing his grip a little. "You're my youngest brother, and I'm loth to harm you; but I'll not be knocked down like a pig by you."

With a violent effort Johannes tried to throw off his brother. He got one arm free, and threw himself to one side, reaching for the knife, which lay a good arm's length away.

"Oh, that's your game!" said Lars Peter, forcing him down on to the floor of the barn with all his weight, "I'd better tie you up. Bring a rope, children!"

The three stood watching outside the barn-door; one behind the other. "Come on!" shouted the father. Then Kristian rushed in for Ditte, and she brought a rope. Without hesitation she went up to the two struggling men, and gave it to her father. "Shall I help you?" said she.

"No need for that, my girl," said Lars Peter, and laughed. "Just hold the rope, while I turn him over."

He bound his brother's hands firmly behind his back, then set him on his feet and brushed him. "You look like a pig," said he, "you must have been rolling on the muddy road. Go indoors quietly or you'll be sorry for it. No fault of yours that you're not a murderer today."

Johannes was led in, and set down in the rush-bottomed armchair beside the fire. The children were sent out of doors, and Ditte and Kristian ordered to harness Uncle Johannes' horse.

"Now we're alone, I'll tell you that you've behaved like a scoundrel," said Lars Peter slowly. "Here have I been longing for many a year to see some of my own kin, and when you came it was like a message from home. I'd give much never to have had it now. All of us saw something good in you; we didn't expect much, so there wasn't much for you to live up to. But what have you done? Dragged us into a heap of filth and villainy and wickedness. We've done with you here--make no mistake about that. You can take the one horse and cart and whatever else you can call your own, and off you go! There's no money to be got; you've wasted more than you've earned."

Johannes made no answer, and avoided his brother's eyes.

The cart was driven up outside. Lars Peter led him out, and lifted him like a child on to the seat. He loosened the rope with his cut and bleeding hands; the blood from the wound on his cheek ran down on to his chin and clothes. "Get off with you," said he threateningly, wiping the blood from his chin, "and be smart about it."

Johannes sat for a moment swaying in the cart, as if half asleep. Suddenly he pulled himself together, and with a shout of laughter gathered up the reins and quickly set off round the corner of the house up to the highroad.

Lars Peter stood gazing after the horse and cart, then went in and washed off the blood. Ditte bathed his wounds in cold water and put on sticking-plaster.

For the next few days they were busy getting rid of all traces of that summer's doings. Lars Peter dug down the remainder of the refuse, threw the block away, and cleaned up. When some farmer or other at night knocked on the window-panes with his whip, shouting: "Lars Peter, I've got a dead animal for you!" he made no answer. No more sausage-making, no more trading in carrion for him!