since I believe that he was particularly exhausted from his arduous week (for a fisherman’s work is invariably made more difficult in cold temperatures), but I persisted in my invitation, and I daresay I talked him into it.
We walked for some distance without speaking. My brother seemed rather preoccupied that afternoon, and I was somewhat at a loss as to how to begin our conversation. As Evan walked beside me, I could not help myself from making a close observation of him. Already it was apparent that, at the age of twenty-two, the sun and the sea had begun to take their toll, as he had tiny lines around his eyes and mouth and on his forehead. His brow seemed to have knit itself together in a permanent manner, and I thought this the result of a constant squint on the water. His skin was weathered, with that texture seamen get that resembles nothing so much as fine paper. The blisters and rope burns on his hands had long since turned to calluses, but I could see the scars of many hook tears on his fingers. Additionally, I observed that Evan had attained, during his absence, his full growth, and I may say here that he towered over me. He was not, as I may have mentioned earlier, built broad in the shoulders, as John was, but rather was sinewy in his structure, though he gave off the appearance of great strength. I think that partly this was due as well to his character, which was extremely reserved and not given to much foolishness.
After a time, we passed a few pleasantries between us, but spoke of nothing that might be of a difficult nature, at least not immediately. I had dressed that day in my heavy woolen cloak, and my face was wrapped in a long scarf of a fine pale blue, the wool of which I had sent for from Kristiania.
“Do you remember,” I asked when we had reached the cliffs and were gazing out at the bay, from which rose what appeared to be a miasmic wall of coral and rose and pink, “all the walks we used to take along this very coast road?”
He looked surprised for a minute, and then he said, “Yes, I do, Maren.”
“And the day you climbed the tree, and I took off all my clothes and went up after you?”
“It seems so long ago.”
“And how you saved me at Hakon’s Inlet?”
“You would have saved yourself.”
“No, I’d have drowned. I’m sure of it.”
“It wasn’t a very safe place to play,” he said. “If I saw children there now, I’d chase them off.”
“We never thought about safety.”
“No, we didn’t.”
“Those were such good times,” I said.
Evan was silent for a moment. I assumed that he was, like myself, contenting himself with the fond memories of our childhood, when suddenly a great sigh erupted from him, and he turned himself away from me.
“Evan, what is it?” I asked.
He didn’t answer me. I was about to ask him again what the matter was, but I was silenced by the sight of tears that had, at that moment, sprung to his eyes. He shook his head violently, so that his hair swung about. Indeed, he was shaking his head in the rough manner of men who wish literally to throw out of their heads the thoughts that lodge there. I was so frightened and appalled by this sudden show of emotion and of intense hatred toward himself that I fear I cried out in the most desperate way and flung myself to my knees, for I have never been able to bear signs of grief or of sorrow on the face of my brother — and indeed, these signs triggered in me memories of the night our mother perished, a night on which Evan, and thus myself, had nearly lost our senses.
When next I was aware of my brother, he was tugging on my sleeve and trying to get me to stand up.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Maren,” he said curtly. “You’ll freeze to death.” He brushed tiny pebbles from my cloak.
And then, without any further words between us, Evan began to walk along the coast path south in the direction of the cottage. It was apparent, from his gait, that he did not intend I should follow him.
I had never been abandoned by Evan in so horrid a manner, and although I did soon recover myself and think how distraught my brother must have been to have wept