“It was during the Barents herring season in the autumn, late in September, that the boat crew my uncle was part of felt something heavy stuck in their chain of nets. They hauled and they pulled, but it was only as they approached the end of the chain that they found a headless corpse. It was so entangled in the net that it was impossible to get it out. And they didn’t have the time to bother with it either. They took the net with the corpse in it out of the link, fastened the chain together again, and went about their business. But there was no catch to speak of that night. And so they rowed ashore.
“When they had untangled the corpse from the net, they saw it was a well-dressed fellow in clothes of blue duffel, and tall boots on his feet. As I say, his head was gone but judging by his clothes, he had to be a Russian. And so many boats to and from Archangel passed by at this time of the year, that it was not unthinkable that the dead fellow came from one of them.
“The dead man had no money, nor anything of value on him, except a signet ring on his little finger. And there was nothing, neither written nor printed, in his pockets that could guide those who had fished him up. But they had a duty to put him into Christian soil, no matter what the cost, and that ring wasn’t coming off unless they took the finger. But he was was disfigured enough already, as he lay there, unknown and headless, and so none of them would do him any more harm.
“They took and carried the dead man up to Lars Hansa’s boathouse and put it the empty coffin for Pernille Sellback, Lars Hansa’s mother-in-law. Lars Hansa himself gave them leave, for there was no time to provide another coffin, so busy they were with the herring. And since Pernille Sellback was yet alive and kicking, he didn’t think she would need to use her vessel for a long time yet.
“They bared their heads, as was the custom, before they laid the lid on the coffin and went back to their own business, and there was a tacit agreement between them not to mention anything about the sea dead. And when the weekend came, they would take the corpse, row across the sound with him, and put him into consecrated ground.
“Late in the afternoon, when the menfolk had rowed out after the herring, the womenfolk of the farm at Nakling saw a dark-clad man walking and wandering about up above Lars Hansa’s boathouse. He was bent over forwards, and if they glanced quickly at him, it appeared to them as if he were missing his head. And they wondered greatly about who for a fellow it might be; he lacked the manners to go up to the farm, so that proper folk could understand what manner of fellow he was, and what he was about.
“The sheep and the goats went about, gnawing on the grassy mound above the sea houses, but as soon as they got wind of the stranger, they sprang, as if a wolf were after them, and they curled up in a flock, tight by the wall of the house, trembling and shivering, and pawing angrily at the ground with their forefeet.
“But then the stranger was gone, and none of those who had seen him could tell where he had gone, and the flocks fell quiet immediately, and trotted willingly to the barn.
“The next day was worse rather than better. The cattle played up, bellowing and kicking up the soil, and gathering themselves around Lars Hansa’s boathouse; they could not be moved. And the children cried, and the dogs howled, and there was a commotion and a song so one might easily lose one’s mind by listening to it.
“And from the windows, everyone who wanted to could see it—the strange, dark-clad man, walking and stealing about between the sea houses. But if one of the women dared go down the sea road, then he was as if sunken into the earth.
“None of them had experienced such a grim day before, and when the menfolk realized they could not keep it hidden, they told of the corpse lying Pernille Sellback’s coffin.
“But then the women grew furious, and demanded that the men should take the corpse away from the farm. They had seen him walking around headless in the middle of the bright day, and he should be taken away, no matter whether they were in a hurry or not.
“So four men took the coffin with them, and sailed together with it on Lars Hansa’s firroring.1 But they had never known a boat as heavy to row as the firroring was that day. And when they reached midway across the sound, they were not able to move it from the spot, no matter how they struggled and toiled with the oars.
“Three of them wanted to take the coffin and heave it into the sea, but the fourth said they should behave properly as folk. He who lay in the coffin had no head and lacked the light of reason, he said.
“But he did have a heart, said the other three, and could thus make sense of how heavily they struggled to get him into his grave.
“Now, they knew that the human heart is a malleable thing, in which Satan as much as our Lord can make his dwelling, said he who would look after the coffin. And as soon as he said it, the boat grew as light as a feather.
“They reported the find of the corpse to the sheriff and ordered his grave from the gravedigger, and they put the coffin in Job Jonsa’s northern boathouse at Vinje. It would stay there until they came to pick it up on the sermon Sunday, to bring it to the churchyard.
“Then they sailed back to Nakling, sincerely pleased to be rid of the corpse for the time being.
“Late on Saturday night, after all the people had settled, Job Jonsa’s two lads came sailing home from Eidsfjord, and laid to at the northern boathouse.
“They took all their tackle out of the boat and carried it up to the boathouse, and the oldest of the lads, he was called Petter Johan, and was the one who had command and had all the responsibility, bade the other one to go to the farm for the boathouse key.
“He came back quickly with a lit lantern and told him that there was a corpse in the boathouse, so they had to go quietly forth.
“They let themselves in through the upper door and took away the spar from the main doors while they carried in everything that was to go in, closed up, and laid the spar in place.
“Then they stowed all their tackle and hung up what was to hang, and filled their bucket with the herring that they were to take to the farm.
“The coffin stood upon two wooden trestles along one of the long walls, and the charcoal dust that had been scattered around it glittered in the light from the lantern as they went about, arranging things.
“At last, the sail was the only thing rmaining that they had to look after. But it was wet, so they took it and stretched it over the beams. And to get a better hold, Petter Johan stepped up on to one of the wooden trestles, and rested his right foot lightly on the coffin lid.
“But as he was about to step down again on to the floor, he inadvertently knocked the coffin. It fell down from the trestles, and they both heard that the corpse fell heavily against the coffin lid.
“It was not a pleasant sound, and they took and lifted the coffin onto its scaffold, and lighted around it with the lantern before they went to the upper door.
“The youngest lad went first, with the bucket of herring and the lantern, and Petter Johan went behind. And he had the sensation that something evil was after him. Closer and closer it came, and as soon as he stepped across the tall doorstep, he received a blow across his left shoulder so that he collapsed.
“‘God comfort and help me, now the corpse has taken my health,’ moaned Petter Johan, trying to get up.
“The other lad supported him, and together they stumbled up to the farm, and got him into bed. But in the morning it seemed as if the whole of Petter Johan’s shoulder had been shattered into small pieces. And the pain spread to his arm and down his left side to his heart. Job Jonsa sat wake with the boy himself and changed his dressing every ten minutes. But there was no noticeable relief for the haunted unfortunate before Sunday morning at eleven o’clock. Then the pain left him. And he commended his soul God and was extinguished like a light at the same time that the folk at Nakling drove past Job Jonsa’s cabin with the headless corpse.
“Here, my story ends, and if we‘re going to do things the way we did when we were young, taking turns to tell, then it‘s your turn, Rebekah; don’t try to get out of it.“
“No, you may trust me that I won’t. And now you shall hear about the girl who promised her sweetheart fidelity in life and in death. I heard it told last winter, when I was visiting my aunt, who was married in Strandlandet.“
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A Nordland boat of about 25 foot, and four rowing stations. ↩
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