CHAPTER TWO

The next morning, I wake before Halvor and move soundlessly off the bed and out, into the stue, shutting the doors behind me.

Papa is in his bedroom, and Bestefar – my grandfather, has gone home. Two of my uncles are snoring on the long, high-backed benches, either side of the dining board. On the board, left out since the evening’s celebrations, are the aquavit bottle and the elf-sized glasses. I can smell lutefisk too. It is a smoky, pickled, slightly rotten fish smell that lingers on hands and clothes. Mama doesn’t allow it in the house. I go around, opening all the doors and windows. I gather all the plates of leftovers and scrape them into the ash-pit behind the house.

When I come back, the smell is lessened, and my uncles are awake. They rub their red-rimmed eyes and gulp water from the flask I have just filled for breakfast. I have a feeling only Halvor and I will be taking breakfast this morning. It is a good thing Mama is not due back for three more days, at least. Christiania is a long way from Sognefjord, and the railway lines don’t run all the way yet.

*

Sognefjord is the most beautiful place on earth. I have seen pictures of the pyramids of Egypt, and they are fair enough. I saw a picture of Buckingham Palace once; it was certainly large. I have heard that there are many wonderful things to see in Christiania - Tante Kari has been there many times - but nothing, nowhere, could be better than my home.

What palace or monument could top the heights of the Prekkestolen? From up there, a man can see for a thousand miles. Visitors, dangling their feet over the edge of the rock, are specks against the bright sky to us, and we are ants to them. The water of the fjord is deeper and bluer and clearer and sweeter than any foreign sea. The grass is greener, the lichens yellower, the houses whiter and the goats fatter than anywhere else in Norway. Nothing would ever induce me to leave. Nothing.

I know that Papa didn’t want my mother to go with Aunt Kari. It is still early in the sowing season and he should be travelling to his arable lands to the east. There is land around the farm here, but it is so rocky and steeply sloping that it is good for nothing except pasture. Of course, he cannot leave us alone while she is away. He and Bestefar will take turns at it, until she comes home. My uncles work in Stavanger, which is not far from here, but they are required to be at their posts in the sardine cannery, and so cannot help us.

I miss Mama, but I like to be the woman of the house, even for a short while. I like to arrange my own hair, without having it ripped from my scalp by her impatient combing. I like to choose what we should eat, and when. I like to receive compliments for my baking, and for the cleanliness of Papa’s Sunday shirt. By the time she returns I am always tired of my chores, and more than willing to suffer her affectionate scoldings. Always though, when she returns, I see a secret sadness in her expression, when she thinks that she is unobserved. She worries me. I wonder what grown-up things she and Tante Kari talk about, when they are alone.

*

Papa is up and Halvor is hunting through the ruins of the kitchen for his breakfast, so I shall have to see to them.

“Papa!” says Halvor, “Stina told me a new story last night, about a troll with no heart in his body. Can you imagine that, Papa? Can you even believe it?”

Papa smiles and shakes his head. He doesn’t seem as ill as his brothers. He kicks one of them off the bench and takes Halvor onto his knee.

“She did, did she?” he says, looking over in my direction. “You will give this boy nightmares, Stina, with your tall tales.”

“I didn’t have a nightmare, Papa. I was brave. I slept all night long. I slept like a stone.”

“See?” I say, “He’s fine.”

“Don’t make her stop, Papa,” begs Halvor. “Don’t stop her telling me stories.”

“It’s all your mother’s fault,” says Papa. “She reads too much, and now you have the fever too.”

“But I’m not ill, Papa,” says Halvor, which makes Papa roar with laughter. The poorly uncles moan and hold their throbbing heads. “No, I dare say you’ll do alright on this strange diet of troll-hags and hobgoblins; it doesn’t seem to have done your sister any great harm.”

“Stina can tell me stories then?”

“She can,” he says. “Now, Stina - little mother - where is my breakfast?”

*

After we have eaten, Papa and his brothers take their coffee cups out onto the veranda, where they find Halvor carefully testing the tacky paint with one finger after the other. Fortunately for Halvor, Papa is still in good spirits and doesn’t scold. He explains that we need the sun to come and burn off the dew, so that the paint can dry hard and slick; for Mama, he says.

“We want it to be perfect for Mama, don’t we?”

He hugs Halvor to his side with his coffee-free hand, and asks if he would like to help feed and groom the horses this morning.

I am apprehensive. I know that it will end in tears. Halvor isn’t used to this much attention from Papa, who is always out in the fields, or repairing something, or off trading in some market town or other. He will become giddy and foolish, and soon Papa will grow annoyed.

I want to call Halvor back and say, please try to stay calm, little brother. Please listen well and do only as you are told. But they’re off before I can think of an excuse. I say a tiny prayer for him instead, and hope that God will subdue him for me.

This strange, holiday feeling cannot last.

*

They are back in time for lunch and in solemn mood. Halvor has the red print of a hand, distinctly visible across one ear and cheek. Papa takes his food outside, choosing not to sit with us.

“Did I ever tell you the one about Shortshanks?” I ask, as we chew.

He doesn’t look up at me, or answer, so I begin.

“Once upon a time, there was a mother who was blessed with a great many children – one for every year of her marriage. The father didn’t think it such a blessing though; he thought only of the number of mouths he would have to feed. And when the newest child was due into the world, the father left their house, saying he had no wish to see the little squaller.”

He frowns into his sandwich, but doesn’t speak. Perhaps I should have chosen a more comical tale, to make him laugh?

“Anyway,” I say, “as soon as the babe appeared – and he was beautiful to behold – he spoke to his mother, asking for food and clothing, so that he might go out into the world and make his fortune.”

“But he was only a baby. That’s stupid,” says Halvor.

“He was a very special baby, as you will soon see. At first, his mother begged him to stay, safe and warm, with her. But then, seeing the sense in what he said, she agreed to let him go. Off he toddled, on his short legs.” I glance over at Halvor, and catch the flutter of a smile at one corner of his mouth.

“No sooner was the baby out of sight, than the mother’s birth-pains began again, and another son came into the world; the twin of the first. He too asked for clothing and food, and bade his mother hurry, so that he might catch up to his brother, and be introduced. Their mother agreed, and off the tiny boy ran, in search of his twin.”

I hand Halvor a cup of hot milk and take our plates to the bucket of warm water for washing, never breaking the spell of my story.

“When the second twin caught up with the first, he scolded him for not waiting, but they promised to be friends forever, and began by christening each other, as their mother had not had time to do it for them. ‘What shall you be called?’ asked the first brother, ‘I have chosen Shortshanks, as it suits my size.’ ‘Oh not me,’ said the second brother, ‘I will call myself King Sturdy, and will endeavour to grow into my name as soon as I can.’ And so, they were agreed.

“They walked further, until they came to a crossroads, where they decided to part. Shortshanks took the east road, and King Sturdy took the west, but they swore that they should always come to each other’s aid, if they were required. King Sturdy told his brother to call his name out loud three times, and he would be there as quick as lightning.”

Halvor takes a seat by the fire, warming his socks as I potter about. The day is colder today, and he will not venture out while Papa is still in the front yard.

“On went Shortshanks, until he met an old crone with one eye, sitting by the side of the road. She had dropped her eye, and was scrabbling around in the dust for it. Shortshanks snatched up the eye, and asked the crone what she would give to have it back again.”

Now he speaks, but continues to gaze into the flames. “That sounds a cruel thing to do.”

“Maybe so, but this old woman was a troll-hag, and he could not allow himself to take a weak position in his dealings with her. He had to be tough. He offered her the eye, and, in return, she gave him a magic sword. She promised that the sword would prove strong enough to beat any army that Shortshanks was required to fight.

“Not much further on, Shortshanks met a second one-eyed troll-hag, and then a third. Now that he knew what to do, he plucked out each hag’s eye, making a good bargain for its return. In addition to the magic sword, he ended up with a ship and the secret of how to brew one hundred gallons of malt-ale, at a single strike.”

“A ship?” he interrupts. “How could he carry a ship?”

“It was tiny. It fitted exactly into his pocket but, whenever he wanted to sail, all he had to say was ‘Off and away, over fresh water and salt water, over high hills and deep dales.’ And the boat would take him wherever he needed to go.”

“But why would he need all that malt-ale? What good is malt-ale to a baby?”

“Shortshanks didn’t know, but he was sure it would come in handy. Are you going to let me finish?”

He nods.

“Shortshanks found that his little legs tired quickly, and so he thought of trying the ship. No sooner had he taken it out of his pocket, and lifted his foot to climb aboard, than it grew to its real size and carried him up into the air. ‘Off and away,’ he cried, ‘over fresh water and salt water, over high hills and deep dales, and don’t stop until you come to the King’s palace.’ And there it stopped.

“The King and his courtiers, and his grooms, and his servants, all ran outside to see the marvellous flying ship. But, as soon as he landed, Shortshanks jumped down off the vessel, which shrank until he was able to pop it back into his trousers. By the time the King and his followers reached the gates, all there was for them to gaze at was a small, tired-looking baby in ragged clothes. The tiny boy cried and begged for a place in the palace, offering to do any work he could manage, and they took pity on him and gave him to the kitchen maid.

“The palace was grand, but hung all about with black drapery. On his first night, the kitchen maid told Shortshanks the whole sad story. She said that the King’s daughter had been promised in marriage to one of three troll-brothers, and the troll was due to collect his bride on the following Thursday. Their strongest knight, Rider Red, had told everyone that he would set her free, but nobody knew if he would manage it. And that was why they grieved so.”

“Why would he do something like that?” asks Halvor. “If the King truly loved his daughter, why would he promise her to a troll?”

“No one knows,” I say. “Trolls will feign kindness when they want to have you in their debt. It is possible that the troll brothers were in a position to help the King, perhaps many years ago, when he was a bachelor prince, and had no thought of marriage or children. He would not have known then, what a precious gift a child is. Some people come to that understanding later than others.”

“Then he was as bad as the twins’ father, because he didn’t care about his children either. Why didn’t the King fight the troll himself? Why leave it in the hands of this knight?”

“Don’t forget that there were three trolls to overcome. The King had been young and foolish once, but he had grown wiser with the years, and he was determined to save his princess. So, when night fell on Thursday, Rider Red was sent to lead the princess out of the palace gate and down to the beach, where she was to meet her troll.”

“Didn’t he do anything?”

“After a fashion. Although Rider Red didn’t know how to help the princess, he couldn’t altogether abandon her either. He climbed up into a tall tree, and hid himself among the branches to wait – he dared not watch.”

“Was she very afraid?” he asks.

“Oh yes. She begged Rider Red not to leave her there, but all he said was ‘Better to lose one life, than two.’ While the members of the royal court wailed and gnashed their teeth, and no one could stomach any lunch, Shortshanks pleaded with the kitchen maid to be allowed to go down to the beach to play. The kitchen maid let him go, telling him to be back in time to cook the supper, and to be sure to bring back with him a good armful of firewood.

“No sooner had Shortshanks reached the spot where the desolate maiden sat, than the troll roared up in his fast sailing ship, screaming ‘Fire!’ at the top of his lungs. ‘Fire yourself!’ shouted Shortshanks in return. ‘Can you fight?’ shrieked the troll. ‘If I can’t, I shall soon learn,’ yelled Shortshanks. The troll leapt ashore and struck at him with a great iron club. He missed the boy, but the stroke of the club threw earth and stones five metres up into the air.

“Shortshanks grabbed the troll-hag’s sword from his bag and swung and slashed until all the troll’s five great ugly heads lay lifeless in the sand.”

“Five heads? You never said he had five heads.”

“Well he did, and his brothers had even more.”

“How many?”

“The second brother had ten heads, and the third, fifteen.” He looks at me as though he’s going to tell me the story is ridiculous, but I see that he thinks better of it.

“As soon as the first troll was dead, Rider Red jumped down from his tree perch. Tired little Shortshanks was busy having a nap, with his head on the joyful maiden’s knee, and was quite hidden by the folds of her silken cloak. The knight threatened the princess, and made her swear to say it was he, Rider Red, who had saved her life. And so she did. The knight cut out the tongue of the troll for a trophy. When the King saw it, he brought Rider Red to sit at his right hand for the victory feast.

“Meanwhile, Shortshanks had taken full advantage of the troll’s abandoned ship. He took as much gold and silver as he could carry. On his return, the kitchen maid was afraid that he had done wrong to come by all that wealth. When he said it was all for her though, she was quiet on the matter.

“Word soon came to the palace, that the second troll would have the princess in his brother’s stead. The following Thursday, all was grief and heartbreak again, as Rider Red took the maiden down to the shore. And also, as before, Shortshanks begged leave to go and play, and went out to find the princess.

“They had not long to wait before an even larger, finer ship drew near. Its ten-headed troll-captain screamed ‘Fire!’ just as before. ‘Fire yourself!’ shouted Shortshanks in reply. ‘Can you fight?’ yelled the troll. ‘If not, I shall soon learn,’ replied Shortshanks, wasting no time in reaching for the magic sword.

“The troll swung with his great iron club. He missed Shortshanks, but the blow caused the earth and stones to fly ten metres into the air. Shortshanks took his turn, swiftly severing the ten monstrous heads from their shoulders. Again the princess bade him sleep in her lap after his exertions, and again, Rider Red told her he would cut out her tongue if she spoke a word of what had truly happened. She promised to keep the secret, but drew her silver cloak more tightly about her, so that Shortshanks would not be discovered. When Rider Red had gone, the boy loaded himself up with gold and silver, and took it all back to the kitchen maid.

“The King welcomed Rider Red as a hero. If Rider Red could save the princess a third time, he said, he would be given her hand in marriage and half the kingdom.

“The third time, things happened much as before, only the ship was even richer, and of course the troll had fifteen heads. Once the heads lay motionless on the ground, the princess asked Shortshanks how they would make it known that it was, in fact, he who had saved her.”

“She can’t marry Rider Red,” says Halvor, scandalised.

“Don’t worry, lillevenn – my little friend. Have you forgotten that this is a story of TWO brothers?”

“Oh yes,” he cries, “King Sturdy will save them.”

“We shall see,” I tease. “Our friend Shortshanks quickly formulated a plan. He told the princess to ask for him on her wedding day, to be her cup-bearer for the bridal feast. He warned her that people would be surprised that she should want such a poor-looking child, and said she must hold fast, and not be dissuaded. She promised she would do it. When Rider Red had lead her away for a third time, Shortshanks took off the golden cloak that covered him, and again transported all the treasure he could carry, back to the palace kitchen.

“The wedding day dawned and the princess insisted on Shortshanks for her cup-bearer. According to his plan, every time Shortshanks filled her wine cup, he took care to spill a drop onto the knight’s plate. Every time he spilt, Rider Red became enraged, and struck him. The first time, Shortshanks’ rags fell away, to reveal the silken cloak underneath. The second time he was struck, the silken robe fell away to reveal the silver one. And the third time, the silver cloak slipped to the floor, leaving the golden cloak, shining for all to see.

“The princess turned her fury on her betrothed and said ‘Shame on you, to strike my heart’s dearest, who has saved my life three times.’ The knight protested, ‘Nay, it is I who saved you. Everyone knows of my bravery.’ The King then intervened, with a challenge, for he knew his daughter to be an honest girl, ‘Truly, the man who saved my daughter should have some token to show of it.’

“Rider Red took off, and soon returned with the mouldering troll-tongue, wrapped up in a handkerchief. Shortshanks, too, came back with his great sack of treasure, taken from the ships of the troll brothers. Each laid his tokens before the King, who knew at once that such treasures as were before him could only have been fashioned by trolls.”

“I thought you said trolls were stupid?” asks Halvor.

“They are, but many of them are fine craftsmen, when it comes to the precious metals. They prize silver above all others, and their metalwork is far finer than human hands can manage.”

“So the King believed Shortshanks then?”

“He did. Rider Red was thrown into the snake pit, and it was Shortshanks who was awarded the princess and half the kingdom.”

“But he was still just a child.”

“That is true, but the princess said she would stay a maid until he had grown – she would have no other man but him. While he waited to grow, he fell to talking with the King one night, and asked him if he hadn’t any other children; a son perhaps, to take over his kingdom one day. The King said sadly that he had once had another daughter, but she had also been promised to a troll, and that troll had been successful in carrying her off. The King had not seen her since. He said that, if Shortshanks could bring home his other daughter, he should have both halves of the kingdom.

“Shortshanks said he would try, for he had time to spare. In preparation for his journey, he asked for an iron cable, five hundred fathoms long, an army of five hundred men, and enough food to last them fifteen weeks. The King agreed willingly, and Shortshanks loaded up his pocket ship and the three huge troll-ships, fastening them together with the iron cable. He said farewell to his princess, and set off on his voyage, calling out, ‘Off and away, over fresh water and salt water, over high hill and deep dale, and don’t stop until you come to where the King’s daughter is.’

“They sailed far and away, and came to a halt right in the middle of the sea. The men were puzzled, but Shortshanks tied one end of the cable around his waist and jumped into the water. H said that, if they should feel a tug on the line, they should haul him up good and quick, or they would all lose their lives.

“At the very bottom of the sea, Shortshanks spied a huge rock, and in it, a cave. And inside the cave, a princess sat sewing. She was overjoyed to see a fellow Christian, but said that the troll would kill him on the spot, unless he could brew a hundred gallons of malt-ale at a single strike.”

“Hang on,” says Halvor, “now that’s just silly.”

“Maybe so, but who can guess why trolls do the things they do? Shortshanks brewed the ale, and the troll invited all his kith and kin to come and help him drink it. But Shortshanks had brewed the ale so strong, that they all fell down dead, and he took the princess and gave his signal, and they both were pulled to safety.

“The second princess, who was the King’s elder daughter, was so enamoured of her rescuer, that she argued with her sister and the King, swearing that she would have Shortshanks for herself. It is true that the elder princess usually marries first, and so the King had little choice but to give in to her tantrums.

“For days and days, Shortshanks worried at the problem of the two princesses, neither of whom he wanted to hurt, and yet he was determined that the younger maiden should be his bride. At last, the answer came to him, ‘King Sturdy!’ he cried out, ‘King Sturdy, King Sturdy, come at once!’ And there stood his brother before him, like an image in a mirror.

“King Sturdy looked all around him, saying, ‘Why have you called me? There is no danger here. There isn’t so much as a gnat.’ And he gave Shortshanks such a box on the ear that he fell to the ground. Shortshanks was too pleased to be vexed much by this harsh treatment, and laughed, saying ‘Brother, wait and see what plans I have for us. First though, you must dress up in my clothes and make haste to the palace. There, you will find two princesses. One of them will kiss you, and that girl will be your bride.’

“King Sturdy was disbelieving, but he had come a long way by magic, and was curious to learn how his brother had been spending his time.”

“But what if the younger princess had kissed him?” asks Halvor. “Then Shortshanks would get the wrong girl.”

“Ahh, but he knew how siblings are. The elder princess was bigger and stronger, and sisters are not afraid to push and shove to get what they want. When King Sturdy went in, the older girl elbowed her sister aside and picked up the boy, planting affectionate kisses on his forehead and cheeks. And so, she made her choice.”

“Were they very cross when they found out? And who got the kingdom in the end?”

“No, the princesses were not cross. They saw the joke of it and so did their father, and the kingdom was shared. The wedding party was the grandest the world has yet seen and, by the time the old King died, each brother was grown and ready to rule long and wisely, and this they did.”

Halvor beats me to it: “Snip, snap, snout. Now the story’s out.”


CHAPTER THREE

Mama hasn’t come home. She has been away from Saturday-last until today, Sunday. She should be back by now. Papa says not to worry, but so many people asked after her at church this morning. I could tell that he was finding it difficult to answer them. Some people saw his discomfort; they said that the roads were bad, or that time seems to pass more quickly in the big city – perhaps she hasn’t finished her shopping yet? Papa nodded and smiled at them, but the smile was not in his eyes; his eyes were full of fear.

What if she and Tante Kari are lost? What if there has been an accident with the train? Papa and Bestefar said that, if there had been an accident, my uncles would have heard talk of it in Stavanger; it would have been in the Dagbladet – the local newspaper. Kidnapped then? Or robbed by a highwayman?

Papa said the English storybooks Tante Kari bought me last Christmas have addled my brain.

I’m trying not to think about it. I’d rather be concentrating on my chores, but today is Sunday, so I’m forced to sit in my best dress and make conversation on ‘suitable topics’. Tante Kari isn’t a Lutheran anymore. She became a Methodist and now she can do whatever she likes on a Sunday. I suppose that, seeing as she has no children and isn’t married, she can do what she likes every day of the week. I have always thought it sad that she is all alone, but now I’m not so sure. Sometimes I wish I were a Methodist.

For a long time, Mama didn’t tell anyone about Tante Kari leaving the church. She lives twenty kilometres away, so we don’t really know anyone from her local church. Papa’s family might never have found out. Then, last December, Uncle Per - Papa’s brother - said that he had seen her name published in the Stavanger Dagbladet, along with other women who had formed a charity group to deliver Yule meat and firewood to poor families. The charity group were Methodists, and some families refused to take their offerings. I heard Papa say that Tante Kari would go to hell, and that Methodist ministers had women preaching in their churches.

That’s the only time I’ve ever heard Mama shouting at him.

At first, he threatened to return the Christmas presents that she sent, by courier, after he had already made it known that she wasn’t welcome to eat with us on First Yule Day. I had seen the red and purple corners of cloth-bound books, peeping out of the snowy tissue paper packages inside the courier’s pannier. I cried so hard that Papa let me have them, but he sent no greetings in return. That’s why Mama didn’t tell him about the trip to Christiania until it was already settled. I don’t know if he tried to stop her, but they whispered long into the night before she left and, in the morning, her expression was triumphant; his, downcast.

I do know that he told Bestefar and his brothers that the trip had been his idea, in order that they could paint the house in peace while she was away. They saw the two women off in high spirits last Saturday, and Papa handed her a heavy purse, which made her look suspiciously at him. His generosity pleased my grandfather though.

I’ve never heard Papa tell a lie before. Do all adults lie? Eirik-Priest, our minister, says that liars and thieves burn for all eternity. Is that a lie too?

*

Oh dear God. She isn’t coming! I don’t know what will happen to us. How could she? Nobody understands, least of all me.

We received a message, by way of Eirik-Priest. I suppose she thought Papa might have killed any other messenger; she may have been right. I have never seen him so crazy. Eirik-Priest had a letter from her, two days ago. That means that she has known for a week – she decided a week ago – while all this time I have been cooking and cleaning and fretting over how she will find us when she returns.

Eirik-Priest sent me and Halvor out of the house, so that he could talk to Papa. We thought one of our uncles was in trouble again, and Eirik-Priest was letting Papa know, so that he could deal with it quietly, and save the family name. How are we going to save the family name now? People are going to notice that she’s not here. People have already noticed.

I haven’t seen the letter, but Halvor and I were listening at the window as Papa read it. The only things we heard clearly, were Tante Kari’s name, the word ‘theatre’, and another word that neither of us recognised: kvinnesakforening. It means ‘women’s matters group’, which makes no sense to me, but of course I daren’t ask Papa.

Eirik-Priest left several hours ago, and it is almost dusk. We will have to go back into the house soon. Neither of us has eaten since breakfast. We will have to go in soon but I dread what we will find. As long as I stay out here, it doesn’t seem quite real. As long as I’m not in our house without her, I can almost pretend that it’s all just a mistake – that she’s in there, cooking middag right now. If I concentrate, I can almost smell it.

*

We are so ashamed. Papa didn’t take us to church last Sunday. We just sat in the stue, all day, while he stayed in his bedroom and didn’t come out, even for meals. And I hate Bestefar. He told Papa that Mama was no good, and that now she had gone the same way as Tante Kari. Papa threw a bottle at the wall and it smashed; then he threw Bestefar out of the house. That was a week ago, and we haven’t seen Bestefar since. We haven’t seen my uncles either. I don’t think they want to be seen with us.

We are ruined.

I wrote a letter to Tante Kari, but there is no one to take it to her. Tomorrow, if Papa stays in his room again, I will have to go to Stavanger myself, for we have no salt for the meat and no flour for the dumplings. I will take the pony and trap, which I can manage all by myself now, and I will also take my letter. If I leave right after breakfast, I will be home in time for middag. Halvor will make do with bread and herring for lunch and, if he has any sense at all, he’ll keep out of Papa’s way.

*

I remember asking Mama once about Tante Kari; about how she could have left God and gone over to the Methodists. How could she go where His connection surely cannot be as strong, if indeed He visits them at all? Mama said Tante Kari played with God in this way because she had not had children.

She became sad then, when I asked what she meant. She said that a woman who has already let one or two precious bairns into His care, in heaven, could never take such a risk; could not chance being separated from them for all eternity. Mama said that she, herself, could never leave that little patch of consecrated ground outside our Lutheran church, where the family headstone is carved with the Christian names of my infant siblings.

That is how I know she would never willingly abandon us – any of us – the living or the dead. Something has happened to her, and I will find out what. If Papa will do nothing besides drink and curse, I will be the one to bring her back where she belongs.

… T.B.C.