The Hall of the Mountain King by Lisa Strømme

Author:Lisa Strømme
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: opera, norway, folklore, tragedy, childhood loss, trauma, music therapy, childhood romance, coming of age, Edvard Grieg, Nina Grieg, Hardanger fjord
Publisher: Atticus Woolf
Published: 2022-09-30T00:00:00+00:00

SECOND MOVEMENT

SILENCE

11

I stopped talking.

Jacob’s name was the last thing I said.

A period of time passed, it is lost to me now. I remember so little of it. A pair of strong arms, being lifted, carried, only vague images. I later discovered it was Konrad Olsen who found me when he was out wandering. I had been lying there for almost two days. That evening, Rolf Qvale found Jacob’s broken body on the rocks, lifeless, pummeled by the ferocious falls. The men had to attach ropes to their waists and wade into the water to get him out. They brought him back down the mountain to Bestfar Jørgen who had to feel Jacob’s cold body to believe what Rolf was telling him.

Konrad carried me home. I remember being placed by the fire and all the boys being there but not saying anything and Far pacing back and forth. They tried to feed me but I wouldn’t eat, tried to talk to me but I wouldn’t speak. Days passed. People came and went: Hedda and Joakim, Mor Utne, Mathilde and Konrad. Everyone sorry, everyone praying. I spoke to none of them. Words of comfort didn’t exist. Words of sorrow didn’t exist. What good were words when Jacob was gone?

Magnus Jevnaker spent long spells in the afternoons carrying out his pastoral duties, visiting me, sitting with me, reading from the bible. I closed my eyes, pretended I was asleep, couldn’t look at that man’s face. Arrangements were being made for the funeral. Joakim would play his fiddle, Emanuel Sørensen would lead the proceedings. They thought I wanted to hear about it but I didn’t.

On the fourth day, I ran to the church. I was taken by a compelling notion that Jacob was still alive. He spoke to me clearly. I heard him shouting for me, asking me to come. I shot out of the chair and fled, like a horse bolting from a stable. Far got up and called after me but I was gone before he had even crossed the room. I charged down to the church and rattled at the door pulling and turning the handle with all my strength.

Eugen Mohr finally opened it. ‘Oh...Dagny,’ he said, airily, ‘how can I help you, child?’

I sped past him and rushed down the aisle to the transept where the coffin was waiting to be taken to Bestefar Jørgen. I touched the lid. It had not yet been sealed so I prised it open.

When I saw Jacob, my whole heart disintegrated. It fractured into tiny pieces and seeped up my throat in a giant swell of ache and despair. He lay there, still and cold. His beautiful face peacefully asleep. His brow was grazed and there were cuts on his skin, still bloodied but dry.

He seemed to be smiling, his lips were still so full and plump. I expected his eyes to flick open at any minute and for him to shout boo!

Jacob! Wake up! Wake up! But he didn’t. I pushed the lid off the coffin and it clattered against the wall.

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