“There were three boats that accompanied one another as they rowed the winter fishing season off Molla in east Lofoten. The skippers were Bernt Berntsa, Sørn Pettersa and Abraham Enochsa, and all three of them came from the fjord here. They had not exactly chosen one of the most prestigious fjords, but their fathers before them had rowed out there for many years without whining about the profits. And the harbor was good, and rowing out easy, since those who rowed off Molla could benefit from the wind in nearly every kind of weather, no matter from which direction it came, and this had not a little to say.
“But there came a year, that around eight days after they had come to the fishing grounds, that there was such a dense sea fog that it was simply inadvisable to be out at sea, no matter how familiar one was with it and the landmarks. The lads had nothing to do, bouncing around their huts, and getting into all sorts of trouble with their lusty ideas and monkey games.
“But when the evening came, each skipper demanded peace and quiet in his own hut. And Bernt Berntsa, who could not get a wink of sleep unless everything about him was quiet, sat mending nets, praying that his crew would fall asleep. Now, Bernt Berntsa was such that he found it difficult to quit when he had first started to work. And he remained sitting there, mending the cod net for longer than he had thought to—yes, who knows if he would have stopped before the net had been tied up, had not the outer hut door flown open with a noisy bang, so that the walls of the hut began to come apart, floor to ceiling.
“Bernt Berntsa had not heard people go by, and the wind was a quiet, so he wondered what they were up to, those who were now outside. He put down his work, unhooked the train-oil lamp from the nail on the wall, and went out into the porch to find out what was going on.
“The outer door was wide open, but there was not a living thing to be seen. He closed the door, hooked the latch on to the catch, and went back in.
“But he hadn’t come to rest on his stool, before the outer door flew open with the same bang and the same shock, and in the fury that the Lord’s hand had granted Bernt Berntsa, he threw down his work and went out in his socks to grab the rascals red-handed. For it had to be a scamp that was out playing, and not a fright and a warning, as he had originally thought. There was no one to see; and again he pulled the door closed, secured the latch on to the catch and rattled the lock to make sure it was closed.
“Then he went into the hut, hung the net on the hook next to the window, and put the needles and the ball of string in the table drawer, for now he wanted to take hos clothes off and lie down to sleep.
“Then the front door flew open for the third time, and Bernt Berntsa let go of what he had between his hands, took God’s name in his mouth and padded quietly out into the porch. But there was no one to see, and he hadn’t expected there to be.
“He did not close the door immediately, but remained standing on the stairs, looking out over the huts. The fog had gone and the moon and stars were reflected in the bay.
“But what was that for a turn? Were his own eyes deceiving him, or was Abraham Enochsa’s fembøring really lying there, with its keel in the air?
“In God’s name! He had to go to Abraham Enochsa’s doorstep, and warn him, so that they could right the boat, and gather together the thwarts and bottom boards and everything that lay floating, before it was time to go out and haul the nets.
“He groped within the doorstep for his footwear, and when he straightened up, ready to go, Abraham Enoksa’s fembøring lay with it mast in the air, between Sørn Pettersa’s fembøring and his own. And the seafire shone around the boat, as it did around the others, when the surge splashed against it.
“Yes, well, said Bernt Berntsa to himself, and what he thought shall remain unsaid by my mouth.
“Then he closed the door for the third and last time and went in to bed.
“There was grim fishing that winter, but every man drove himself as hard as he could, and more, getting the fish ready and hung on the racks. But then came the accident.
“Early in the morning of the third of March, the boats rowed out in the best weather they could want.
“But before they were half-finished pulling up their nets, a strong storm of shoreward wind and great seas blew up. There was nothing to do other than to race ashore, giving the boats all the sail they could carry, and leave things in God’s hands.
“The three skippers on the accompanying boats remained alongside one another for as long as possible.
“But halfway to land, Abraham Enoch pulled ahead of the other two; and the distance between them increased, so that Bernt Berntsa’s fembøring fell a long way behind. And the Sørn Pettersa’s fembøringen came last.
“Then a sudden breaker came across Abraham Enoksa’s fembøring. It dipped, then rolled around.
“The folk got up on to the keel, and sat waiting for their accompanying boats to come to and rescue them.
“But the weather was absolutely terrible. And when Bernt Berntsa intended to come about and lay to the hull, his crew rebelled and threatened to wrest the tiller out of his fist, and the moment was lost.
“But Sørn Pettersa’s boat, which came after, laid to the hull, and first saved three men, then drifted off, crossed over again, and saved two more.
“But Abraham Enochsa himself, and the boy he sat with one arm about, were washed away by a sea, and they did not see them any more, even though Sørn Pettersa, in spite of all human reason, for the second time came about to the scene of the accident. But then, besides his own crew, he had the five he had saved to bale the sea out, as soon as he sailed the boat full.
“They found Abraham Enochsa’s fembøring in an inlet west of Brettesness, and it was no worse than that it was possible to put it in a suitable condition to continue fishing.
“Each of them added one to his own crew for those who had disappeared during the storm, and relinquished a man each, so the fishing continued with all three boats.
“But Bernt Berntsa went around with dark thoughts. It was not just the grief of his companion that gnawed and tormented him; the shame and contempt that he had to endure, when the crew took his command from him on his own boat was worse than both grief and death. And had he still had the energy it required, then he would have chased every last one of them ashore again.
“The fishing season ended the week before Easter, and the three boats each had a fine winter lot. It was just so bitterly grevious that Abraham Enochsa and the lad were no longer alive. And Bernt Berntsa felt like a debtor to God, even though his own understanding acquitted him.
“A stiff easterly wind blew on the day the companion boats crossed out of Raftsundet and began up Hadselfjord, and the boats remained alongside one another up the fjord. Then Sørn Pettersa called over to the Bernt Berntsa’s fembøring:
“‘Well, Abraham Enoksa, you don’t feel the cold much, changing your shirt in this freezing easterly gale!’
“Bernt Berntsa turned his face after the cry, and on the thwart close beside him, sat Abraham Enochsa, undressed to the waist, pulling his wool shirt over his head.
“The vision was only momentary. But it was enough to convince Bernt Berntsa of the certainty that his worst fear bore the truth: the revenant was after him, by God it was true!
“The spring and summer were not dangerous to redeem, when daylight and the sun reigned, and the power of the dead counted for nothing. But when the darkness came in the autumn, Bernt Berntsa took care not to linger late down by the boathouse or in the outhouses. Not, you understand, that he had seen anything of the revenant since that day on Hadselfjord. But Bernt Berntsa was not a man to willingly hasten the meeting.
“In the evening on Christmas Eve, after everyone had smartened themselves up for the holiday, the wife in the house discovered that they had forgotten to tap some brandy, and so Bernt Berntsa took a tin pail, lit the barn lantern, and went out to the stabbur, where the barrel lay, for as long as they had some about the house, they had to have brandy on the table on Christmas Eve.
“He left the stabbur door open, and put the lantern beside the barrel while he tapped it into the pail.
“When he had tapped what he thought they needed over the weekend, he took the lantern to go. But there sat Abraham Enochsa across the stabbur doorstep, blocking his way.
“At first Bernt Berntsa was frightened, as may be expected.
“But then his anger got to him, and he found the courage to speak the words of reason that he had wanted to say to his dead companion for so long.
“‘If it it you, Abraham Enoksa, who has found it good to follow after me, even though you are dead, and if is it you who sits there on the doorstep and hinders me from going in to mine, then I must tell you, that you are not the man after your death that I held you to be whilst you yet lived.
“‘You know how I wanted to save you, but that my men took the power to do so from me, and made me impotent aboard my own boat. And if you do not know, then you hear it now.
“‘And never can I tell you with words how it hurt me that you fell away, and I was prevented from saving you.
“‘But now I ask, Abraham Enochsa, that you come to me in dreams when I have come to Molla, and then tell me where you lie, so that I may put you in Christian soil.
“‘Yes, even if you are so broken up and stuck so that I have to pick you out with my sheath knife and pick you up bone by bone and put you in a sack, then you shall have the grave rest you now resist so much.’
“No more was said. But it was enough for the revenant to float away, and Bernt Berntsa let himself out unhindered, with the Christmas brandy for himself and for those who sat waiting inside.
“On the Monday after the holiday, two of the accompanying boats arrived in Molla. The third had a new skipper and had stepped out of the team. That night Bernt Berntsa dreamed that Abraham Enoksa came to him and told him where to find him. It was in a narrow, deep rift in a steep rocky knoll a little north of the harbor.
“As soon as the light was so bright that he could see where to put his feet, Bernt Berntsa took an empty, clean bag and went where the revenant had said he was to be found. The rack of bones was stuck at the bottom of the rift, between two huge stones, and it was with great toil and difficulty he pulled it loose, and put all the stumps into the sack.
“He paid for the coffin, and he paid for one that the same as for an unharmed corpse. And then he sailed it to church and buried the coffin and what was in it, with all the honor and dignity that Abraham Enochsa’s body could claim. And Bernt Berntsa had good reason to believe that Abraham Enochsa appreciated his grave rest. He neither saw nor sensed the revenant after the parson had thrown earth on to the coffin.
“And now I have told mine. And now Albert, you may, if you please, tell about the headless corpse your uncle helped to haul up out of the sea, when they lay drifting for herring, out off Nakling.”
“As you have told yours, then I suppose I have to, but I’m so bad at telling that it will just become a nuisance for you to listen to,” said Albert from Sneisa, and harked to clear his throat.
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