By this it was so light that I could distinguish in some degree the outlines of the cell and, little by little, the heavy handle of the door. This diverted me; the monotonous darkness so irritating in its impenetrability that it prevented me from seeing myself was broken; my blood flowed more quietly; I soon felt my eyes close.
I was aroused by a couple of knocks on my door. I jumped up in all haste, and clad myself hurriedly; my clothes were still wet through from last night.
“You’ll report yourself downstairs to the officer on duty,” said the constable.
Were there more formalities to be gone through, then? I thought with fear.
Below I entered a large room, where thirty or forty people sat, all homeless. They were called up one by one by the registering clerk, and one by one they received a ticket for breakfast. The officer on duty repeated constantly to the policeman at his side, “Did he get a ticket? Don’t forget to give them tickets; they look as if they want a meal!”
And I stood and looked at these tickets, and wished I had one.
“Andreas Tangen—journalist.”
I advanced and bowed.
“But, my dear fellow, how did you come here?”
I explained the whole state of the case, repeated the same story as last night, lied without winking, lied with frankness—had been out rather late, worse luck … café … lost door-key …
“Yes,” he said, and he smiled; “that’s the way! Did you sleep well then?”
I answered, “Like a Cabinet Minister—like a Cabinet Minister!”
“I am glad to hear it,” he said, and he stood up. “Good morning.”
And I went!
A ticket! a ticket for me too! I have not eaten for more than three long days and nights. A loaf! But no one offered me a ticket, and I dared not demand one. It would have roused suspicion at once. They would begin to poke their noses into my private affairs, and discover who I really was; they might arrest me for false pretences; and so, with elevated head, the carriage of a millionaire, and hands thrust under my coattails, I stride out of the guardhouse.
The sun shone warmly, early as it was. It was ten o’clock, and the traffic in Young’s Market was in full swing. Which way should I take? I slapped my pockets and felt for my manuscript. At eleven I would try and see the editor. I stand a while on the balustrade, and watch the bustle under me. Meanwhile, my clothes commenced to steam. Hunger put in its appearance afresh, gnawed at my breast, clutched me, and gave small, sharp stabs that caused me pain.
Had I not a friend—an acquaintance whom I could apply to? I ransack my memory to find a man good for a penny piece, and fail to find him.
Well, it was a lovely day, anyway! Sunlight bright and warm surrounded me. The sky stretched away like a beautiful sea over the Lier mountains.
Without knowing it, I was on my way home. I hungered sorely. I found a chip of wood in the street to chew—that helped a bit. To think that I hadn’t thought of that sooner! The door was open; the stable-boy bade me good morning as usual.
“Fine weather,” said he.
“Yes,” I replied. That was all I found to say. Could I ask for the loan of a shilling? He would be sure to lend it willingly if he could; besides that, I had written a letter for him once.
He stood and turned something over in his mind before he ventured on saying it.
“Fine weather! Ahem! I ought to pay my landlady today; you wouldn’t be so kind as to lend me five shillings, would you? Only for a few days, sir. You did me a service once before, so you did.”
“No; I really can’t do it, Jens Olaj,” I answered. “Not now perhaps later on, maybe in the afternooon,” and I staggered up the stairs to my room.
I flung myself on my bed, and laughed. How confoundedly lucky it was that he had forestalled me; my self-respect was saved. Five shillings! God bless you, man, you might just as well have asked me for five shares in the Dampkøkken, or an estate out in Aker.
And the thought of these five shillings made me laugh louder and louder. Wasn’t I a devil of a fellow, eh? Five shillings! My mirth increased, and I gave way to it. Ugh! what a shocking smell of cooking there was here—a downright disgustingly strong smell of chops for dinner, phew! and I flung open the window to let out this beastly smell. “Waiter, a plate of beef!” Turning to the table—this miserable table that I was forced to support with my knees when I wrote—I bowed profoundly, and said:
“May I ask will you take a glass of wine? No? I am Tangen—Tangen, the Cabinet Minister. I—more’s the pity—I was out a little late … the door-key.” Once more my thoughts ran without rein in intricate paths. I was continually conscious that I talked at random, and yet I gave utterance to no word without hearing and understanding it. I said to myself, “Now you are talking at random again,” and yet I could not help myself. It was as if one were lying awake, and yet talking in one’s sleep.
My head was light, without pain and without pressure, and my mood was unshadowed. It sailed away with me, and I made no effort.
“Come in! Yes, only come right in! As you see, everything is of ruby—Ylajali, Ylajali! that swelling crimson silken divan! Ah, how passionately she breathes. Kiss me—loved one—more—more! Your arms are like pale amber,
