The Ice People 39 - Silent Voices. Margit Sandemo

be able to sleep: of that she was certain!

      Nataniel? What a strange-sounding name! He was probably some old psychic who could locate water with a divining rod and find people’s lost wallets, that sort of thing.

      Ugh! He could hardly be of any help to her!

      The sun streamed across the sheriff’s fine sofa and woke Ellen. Or perhaps it had been the big stocky man who had just entered the living room?

      He had a sympathetic appearance, friendly and bearlike with a thick mop of hair. His innocent eyes observed her with kind interest.

      There’ll be no more falling in love with young men right now, Ellen thought drowsily. She had recently endured a difficult ordeal, when she had given more love than she had received and had ended up feeling rather ridiculous and foolish. But upon closer observation she concluded that this man must be much older than she had first assumed. Around forty-five. A harmless age! What a relief!

      “Nataniel?” she asked drowsily, since she knew no other name for him.

      But it wasn’t him. This man was the chief constable, Rikard Brink. Nataniel had a long drive but would probably be with them soon, he explained. Ellen sat up and tried to straighten her hair and clothes.

      “What time is it?” she asked in a grainy voice.

      “Ten – breakfast is ready.”

      A few minutes later, after she had tidied herself up a bit, she was sitting at the breakfast table with the chief constable. After a few polite exchanges, Ellen went straight to the heart of the matter.

      “Who is Nataniel? Or rather, what is he? What’s his real name?”

      “Nataniel is his Christian name. His surname doesn’t matter. Being anonymous is very important to him. He is a relative of mine. We both belong to an unusual family known as ... No, it doesn’t matter. I probably know him better than most people. It may be best if I tell you a little bit about him – so that you know that you can trust him.”

      “Yes, I would appreciate that. You’ve made me very curious.”

      Rikard Brink was silent for a moment, as though he was considering where to begin.

      “I think I should say a little bit about his family,” he said determinedly. “It’ll be a little drawn out, but there’s a point to the story. His grandparents really observed the Bible’s words about peopling the earth. Goodness! You should have seen the obituary when his grandfather departed from this fragile life on earth. Half the column was taken up by the names of his children. His seventh son, Abel – for they all had biblical names – followed in his father’s footsteps when he married for the first time. As a result, Abel’s son Efraim became the seventh son of a seventh son. And everyone knows what that means.”

      “I don’t,” said Ellen.

      “Efraim had healing hands.”

      “Oh, in that sense.”

      “Anyway, he grew up in that belief, eagerly encouraged by his father Abel, and his grandfather, and the rest of their family and friends, and ever-increasing numbers of admirers. Strangers would come from long distances to be healed, and Efraim would place his hands on them with an unctuous expression on his face, and everyone was satisfied and believed in his miraculous power. Everyone in Efraim’s family except for ...”

      From the deprecating expression on the chief constable’s face, Ellen concluded that he was not one of Efraim’s admirers.

      “There were many of us who didn’t believe in Efraim,” he said after a pause. “Because we knew better. One of the first ones to doubt him was, naturally, Nataniel’s mother, Christa, who was Abel’s second wife. She knew better but didn’t say anything because she didn’t want to blacken the reputation of his first wife. She saw that Efraim was simply bluffing and was a charlatan. She knew that the power of suggestion could make people believe that they felt better – even cured, at least for a little while. And Efraim’s followers continued to increase in number as word spread about him. Efraim, who had always been an unpleasant type who was unable to laugh at himself, charged unscrupulous amounts of money for his services and secretly got as drunk as a billy goat on it afterwards. But his admirers worshipped him.

      “That’s why no one noticed Nataniel.

      “Nataniel was Abel’s eighth son. Only his mother, Christa, knew what he was feeling. She knew what the sudden look of pain or fear in his eyes meant. Late at night those two used to sit and whisper together; Christa would pose questions and shudder at her son’s answers.

      “Christa didn’t want to tell Abel, but she had discovered that another of his sons, Joakim, was really the result of a passionate and forbidden love affair between his first wife and a touring priest who had been passing through.

      “Which meant that the seventh son of the seventh son wasn’t the talentless, boastful Efraim – but Nataniel.”

      Ellen objected strongly: “It sounds as though you actually believe that story about the seventh son of the seventh son!”

      Rikard gave her a resigned look. “When it comes to Nataniel, I’m ready to believe anything. You see, the story about the seventh son of the seventh son is merely a detail. Nataniel is one of the chosen.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “I ... can’t explain that now, it would take much too long. All I can say is that we both belong to a rather peculiar family known as the Ice People. And Nataniel is the most peculiar of them all. If I told you about his origin and all the natural traits he’s inherited, you wouldn’t believe me. So I won’t bother.”

      “Forgive my scepticism – please continue. I want to know about Nataniel’s abilities.”

      “Well, he can probably cure the sick, but it’s not something that he ever demonstrates because that’s not his main task. He has so much innate knowledge, and he almost loathes the strange talent that has been given him.”

      “So he’s not envious of Efraim’s ‘stolen triumphs’?”

      “Not at all! He’s grateful that no one’s taken any notice of him, and he’s mortally afraid of being discovered. You see, he’s ... preparing himself for a great task, but please be so kind as to not inquire about it. I can’t tell you about it.”

      “I understand,” Ellen said thoughtfully. “You mentioned something about him wanting to remain anonymous.”

      “Yes. That’s because he doesn’t want to draw any attention to himself ... until he has completed his ... task. I don’t understand how a human being could even begin to accomplish such a task.”

      Rikard Brink became lost in thought. Ellen waited.

      Then the chief constable continued. “I met Nataniel now and then during his difficult childhood and adolescence, and I’ve seen many strange things happen to him.

      “Like the time when I was walking with him along the road in the village. He had been given a five-kroner piece by his mother to buy ice cream for both of us, and I was in charge of it, but would you believe that I dropped it? Nataniel’s melancholy eyes grew even more dreamy. ‘It’s lying in the grass under some harebells,’ he said absentmindedly. ‘There’s an ox-eye daisy behind it, and across from it on the road I can see a round stone with grey and white stripes.’ I didn’t doubt Nataniel’s words for one second. We followed the path back and found the stone, the harebells, the ox-eye daisy and the coin. So we could have our ice creams after all. ‘Actually, Mother has forbidden me from showing off any of my skills,’ Nathaniel said with a shy laugh. ‘But I really wanted an ice cream.’ He knew that I would never tell on him.”

      I was right, Ellen thought angrily. He is one of those psychics that people use but laugh at behind their backs. An eccentric. A village idiot.

      Rikard went on. “Or the terrible time a year later when Nataniel suddenly curled up in violent pain, gasping