I dismissed the notion. I had been waiting for the soup to come to the boil when he had knocked, and now I stirred it and poured some into a bowl. I had in addition the flatbrød that I had baked earlier in the day. The soup was a fish chowder and had, if I may say so, a wonderful aroma, so much so, in fact, that I was compelled to pour myself a bowl.
Louis sipped from his bowl with an inelegant sucking sound, and I thought that he had probably not ever been much on manners. I observed, as he drank, that his copper beard badly needed trimming, and that while I had been fairly diligent with his laundry, his lying in bed so many hours of the day had stained his shirt around the neck and under the arms. I was thinking that perhaps, if I could find some proper cloth, I would make him a new shirt while he was recovering.
“You are a good cook,” he said, looking up from the soup.
“Thank you,” I said, “but fish soup is easy, is it not?”
“I can’t cook myself,” he said. He put his spoon down. “You are lonely here?”
To my surprise, I blushed. I was so rarely ever asked questions of a personal nature.
“No,” I said. “I have my dog, Ringe.”
“Your dog,” he said, observing me. “Is he enough?”
“Well, I have my husband…”
“But he is gone all the day.”
“And I have work. There is always a great deal to do here. You have seen this.”
“Too much work makes for a dull life,” he said, and again smiled to reveal his teeth. He brushed his hair, which had grown long and somewhat greasy and overhung his forehead, with his fingers. “Do you have a pipe?” he asked.
I was, for the moment, confused by this request. I didn’t know whether John would like me to share his tobacco with this boarder, but I didn’t quite know how to refuse Louis Wagner.
“My husband sometimes smokes in the evenings,” I said.
Louis tilted his head at me. “But he is not here during the day, is he?”
“There are pipes,” I said uncertainly.
Louis simply smiled at me and waited.
After a time, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, I went to the box where John kept the pipes, handed one to Louis, and watched as he filled it with tobacco. Outside it was a fair day, with a calm sea. The sun highlighted the salt on the windows so that it looked like ice crystals.
I had never smoked a pipe without my husband, and never at such an early hour in the morning, but I confess that as I sat there observing Louis, my own yearning for a smoke grew, so that after a time, I got out my own pipe and, as Louis had just done, filled it with tobacco. I suppose I had been quite nervous altogether, for the first long draw on my pipe tasted wonderfully marvelous and calmed my hands.
Louis seemed amused that I was smoking with him. “In Prussia,” he said, “women do not smoke.”
“I am a married woman,” I said. “My husband has taught me to smoke.”
“And what other things has your husband taught you?” Louis asked quickly with a smile.
I hasten to say that I did not like this rejoinder and so did not answer him, but Louis seemed determined to tease me out of my somber demeanor, and so said to me, “You look too young to be a married woman.”
“Then you have seen not too many married women,” I said.
“I don’t have enough money for a proper woman.”
I colored at my understanding of the possible meaning of this utterance and turned my head away.
“John Hontvedt is very lucky to have such a beautiful wife,” he said, persisting in this inappropriate speech.
“You are being silly,” I said, “and I will not listen to such talk.”
“But it’s true,” he said. “I’ve been looking at the women in this country for eleven years, and none are so beautiful as you.”
I am ashamed to admit, so many years later, that at that moment I was at least partially flattered by this talk. I knew that Louis Wagner was flirting with me, and that it was improper for him to do so, but though I could scold him, I could not quite bring myself to banish him from my apartment. After all, I told myself, he meant no harm. And to be truthful, I had never in my life had a man call me