Father and Son [ Part 2 ]

If you have read the Part 1 of the story, here I have the part 2 of this interesting story. Its a great story from the last century.

For them there was always comfort enough in the hope that,
if they ate nothing today, God would send them a meal tomorrow--or
the next day. The advancing spring found them pale and hollow-
cheeked, plagued by bad dreams, so that night after night they lay
awake together.--And one such spring, a spring moreover that had
been colder and stormier than usual, with hardly a single day of
decent weather, evil chance paid another visit to old Hasan 's
home.

Early one morning the flood water landed on the cabin on the Point,
burying both father and son. By some inexplicable means little
Hasan managed to scratch his way out of the drift and the trees and debris carried by the flood. As soon as he realised that for all his efforts he could not dig his father out single-handed, he raced off to the village and got people out of their beds. Help came too late--the old man was suffocated when they finally reached him through the debris.

For the time being his body was laid on a flat boulder in the
shelter of a shallow cave in the cliffside nearby--later they would
bring a handcart to fetch him into the village. For a long time little
Hasan stood by old Snjolfur and stroked his white hair; he
murmured something as he did it, but no one heard what he said. But
he did not cry and he showed no dismay. The men with the snow-
shovels agreed that he was a strange lad, with not a tear for his
father's death, and they were half-inclined to dislike him for it.--
He's a hard one! they said, but not in admiration.--You can carry
things too far.

It was perhaps because of this that no one paid any further
attention to little Hasan. When the rescue-party and the people
who had come out of mere curiosity made their way back for a bite of
breakfast and a hand cart for the body, the boy was left alone on the
Point.

The flood had shifted the cabin and it was all twisted and
smashed; posts missing their laths stuck up out of the water, tools
and household gear were visible here and there and he tried to lay hold of them. Hasan wandered down to the shore with the idea of seeing what had become of the boat. When he saw with what cold glee the waves were playing with its shattered fragments, his frown deepened, but he did not say anything.

He did not stay long on the bank this time. When he got back to the
cave, he sat down wearily on the rock beside his dead father. It's a
poor look-out, he thought; he might have sold the boat if it hadn't
been smashed--somewhere he had to get enough to pay for the funeral.
Hasan had always said it was essential to have enough to cover
your own funeral--there was no greater or more irredeemable disgrace
than to be slipped into the ground at the expense of the parish.
Fortunately his prospects weren't so bad, he had said. They could
both die peacefully whenever the time came--there was the cabin, the
boat, the tools and other gear, and finally the land itself--these
would surely fetch enough to meet the cost of coffin and funeral
service, as well as a cup of coffee for anyone who would put himself
out so far as to accept their hospitality on that occasion. But now,
contrary to custom, his father had not proved an oracle--he was dead
and everything else had gone with him--except the land on the Point.
And how was that to be turned into cash when there was no cabin on
it? He would probably have to starve to death himself. Wouldn't it
be simplest to run down to the water and throw himself in?
But--then both he and his father would have to be buried by the
parish. There were only his shoulders to carry the burden. If they
both rested in a shameful grave, it would be his fault--he hadn't
the heart to do it.

Little Hasan's head hurt with all this hard thinking. He felt he
wanted to give up and let things slide. But how can a man give up
when he has nowhere to live? It would be cold spending the night out
here in the open.

The boy thought this out. Then he began to drag posts, pieces of
rafter and other wreckage over to the cave. He laid the longest
pieces sloping against the cave-mouth--he badly wanted his father to
be within four walls,--covered them over and filled the gaps with
bits of sail-cloth and anything else handy, and finished by
shovelling mud up over the whole structure. Before long it was
rather better in the cave than out-of-doors, though the most
important thing was to have Hasan with him for his last days
above ground--it might be a week or more. It was no easy matter to
make a coffin and dig out frozen ground. It would certainly be a
poor coffin if he had to make it himself.

When little Hasan had finished making his shelter, he crept
inside and sat down with outstretched legs close to his father. By
this time the boy was tired out and sleepy. He was on the point of
dropping off, when he remembered that he had still not decided how
to pay for the funeral. He was wide awake again at once. That
problem had to be solved without more ado--and suddenly he saw a
gleam of hope--is wasn't so unattainable after all--he might meet
the cost of the funeral and maintain himself into the bargain, at
any rate for a start. His drowsiness fell from him, he slipped out
of the cave and strode off towards the village.

He went straight along the street in the direction of the store,
looking neither to right nor left, heedless of the unfriendly
glances of the villagers.--Wretched boy--he didn't even cry when his
father died! were the words of those respectable, generous-hearted
and high-minded folk.

When little Hasan got to the factor's house, he went straight
into the store and asked if he might speak to the master. The
storeman stared and lingered before finally shuffling to the door of
the office and knocking. In a moment the door was half opened by the
factor himself, who, when he caught sight of little Hasan and
heard that he wanted to speak to him, turned to him again and, after
looking him up and down, invited him in.

Little Hasan put his monkey cap on the counter and did not wait to be
asked twice.

Well, young man? said the factor.

The youngster nearly lost heart completely, but he screwed himself
up and inquired diffidently whether the factor knew that there were
unusually good landing-facilities out on the Point.

It is much worse in your landing-place than it is in ours out there.

The factor had to smile at the gravity and spirit of the boy--he
confessed that he had heard it spoken of.

Then little Hasan came to the heart of the--if he let out the use
of the landing-place on the Point to the factor for the coming
summer--how much would he be willing to pay to have his Faroese
crews land their catches there?--Only for the coming summer, mind!

Wouldn't it be more straightforward if I bought the Point from you?
asked the factor, doing his best to conceal his amusement.

Little Hasan stoutly rejected this suggestion--he didn't want
that.--Then I have no home--if I sell the Point, I mean.

The factor tried to get him to see that he could not live there in
any case, by himself, destitute, in the open.

They will not allow it, my boy.

The lad steadfastly refused to accept the notion that he would be in
the open out there--he had already built himself a shelter where he
could lie snug.

And as soon as spring comes, I shall build another cabin--it needn't
be big and there's a good bit of wood out there. But, as I expect
you know, I've lost Hasan--and the boat. I don't think there's
any hope of putting the bits of her together again. Now that I've no
boat, I thought I might let out the landing-place, if I could make
something out of it. The other farmers would be sure to give me something for the pot if I gave them a hand with launching and unloading. They could row most ways from there--I'm not exaggerating--they had to stay at home time and time again last summer, when it was easy for Hasan and me to put off. There's a world of difference between a deep-water landing-place and a shallow-water one--that's what
Hasan said many a time.

The factor asked his visitor what price he had thought of putting on
it for the summer. I don't know what the funeral will cost yet,
replied the orphan in worried tones. At any rate I should need
enough to pay for Hasan's funeral. Then I should count myself
lucky.

Then let's say that, struck in the factor, and went on to say that
he would see about the coffin and everything--there was no need for
little Hasan to fret about it any more. Without thinking, he
found himself opening the door for his guest, diminutive though he
was,--but the boy stood there as if he had not seen him do it, and
it was written clear on his face that he had not yet finished the
business that brought him; the anxious look was still strong on his
ruddy face, firm-featured beyond his years.

When are you expecting the ship with your stores?

The factor replied that it would hardly come tomorrow, perhaps the
day after. It was a puzzle to know why the boy had asked--the pair
of them, father and son, did not usually ask about his stores until
they brought the cash to buy them.

Little Hasan did not take his eyes from the factor's face. The
words stuck in his throat, but at last he managed to get his
question out: In that case, wouldn't the factor be needing a boy to
help in the store?

The factor did not deny it.

But he ought to be past his confirmation for preference, he added
with a smile.

It looked as if little Hasan was ready for this answer, and
indeed his errand was now at an end, but he asked the factor to come
out with him round the corner of the store. They went out, the boy
in front, and onto the pebble-bank nearby. The boy stopped at a
stone lying there, got a grip of it, lifted it without any obvious
exertion and heaved it away from him. Then he turned to the factor.

We call this stone the Weakling. The boy you had last summer
couldn't lift it high enough to let the damp in underneath--much
less any further!

Oh, well then, seeing you are stronger than he was, it ought to be
possible to make use of you in some way, even though you are on the
wrong side of confirmation, replied the factor in a milder tone.

Do I get my keep while I'm with you? And the same wages as he had?
continued the youngster, who was the sort that likes to know where
he stands in good time.

But of course, answered the factor, who for once was in no mood to
drive a hard bargain.

That's good--then I shan't go on the parish, said little Hasan,
and was easier in his mind. The man who has got something to pot in
himself and on himself isn't a pauper,-- Hasan often used to say
that, he added, and he straightened himself up proudly and offered
his hand to the factor, just as he had seen his father do. Good-bye,
he said. I shall come then--not tomorrow but the day after.

The factor told him to come in again for a minute and leading the
way to the kitchen-door he ushered little Hasan into the warmth.
He asked the cook if she couldn't give this nipper here a bite of
something to eat, preferably something warm--he could do with it.

Little Hasan would not accept any food.

Aren't you hungry? asked the astonished factor.

The boy could not deny that he was--and for the rest he could hardly
get his words out with the sharpness of his hunger whetted still
keener by the blessed smell of cooking. But he resisted the
temptation:

I am not a beggar, he said.

The factor was upset and he saw that he had set about it clumsily.
He went over to the dogged youngster, patted his head and, with a
nod to the cook, led little Hasan into the dining-room.

Have you never seen your father give his visitors a drink or offer
them a cup of coffee when they came to see him? he asked, and he
gave his words a resentful tone.

Little Hasan had to confess that his father had sometimes offered
hospitality to a visitor.

There you are then, said the factor. It's just ordinary good manners
to offer hospitality--and to accept it. Refusing a well-meant
invitation for no reason can mean the end of a friendship. You are a
visitor here, so naturally I offer you something to eat: we have
made an important deal and, what's more, we have come to terms over
a job. If you won't accept ordinary hospitality, it's hard to see
how the rest is going to work out.

The boy sighed: of course, it must be as the factor said. But he was
in a hurry. Hasan was by himself out on the Point. His eyes
wandered round the room--then he added, very seriously: The point is
to pay your debts, not owe anybody anything, and trust in
Providence.

There was never a truer word spoken, agreed the factor, and as he
said it he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket. He's a chip of
the old block, he muttered, and putting his hand on little
Hasan shoulder, he blessed him.

The boy was astonished to see a grown man with tears in his eyes.

Hasan never cried, he said, and went on: I haven't cried either
since I was little--I nearly did when I knew Hasan was dead. But
I was afraid he wouldn't like it, and I stopped myself.

A moment later and tears overwhelmed little Hasan.--It is a
consolation, albeit a poor one, to lean for a while on the bosom of
a companion.

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