ACT IV

A small hut in the hills. Two large stones covered with skins serve as seats. The low bedstead is also covered with skins. On the wall hang some poor, clumsy tools. In the slanting roof, a small window is darkened with snow. On the hearth, a low fire. Outside, a snowstorm. Now and then, snow comes whirling down the smoke-hole.

Kari is pacing to and fro, beating his arms. Halla sits silent. They are both dressed in skins.

Halla. Are you cold?

Kari. I don't know. (Halla rises and puts some faggots on the fire. Kari takes a stick from the wall; counts.) I need n't count the notches. This is the seventh day the snowstorm is raging without a break, and it is past Easter. How long do you think it can keep on?

Halla. It's no use asking me about it.

Kari (replaces the stick in the wall). If the walls were not frozen so hard, the storm would have torn down the hut long ago.

Halla. It is bound to stop sometime.

Kari. You think so? It's four years now since that terrible summer when the sun was red and dim from morning till night. (In secret awe.) There may come a summer when the sun does not rise at all.

Halla. It was the ashes that made the sun look so red that summer.

Kari. I could well live a whole summer without the sun, if I only had food. (Picks up a big knife.) This fellow has not tasted meat in a whole eternity. (A rapturous ring comes into his voice.) I remember a ram I once killed; he was so fat he

could hardly walk. (Plants himself in front of Halla.) If he stood there now, bodily, should you have strength enough to hold his feet for me?

Halla. I think I should.

Kari. We should have to take care not to be too greedy. If we could only hold back the first two days, we might eat as much as we wanted afterward. (His mouth waters; he swallows saliva.) You have seen a butchered sheep hung up to dry in the wind; its flesh is as tender as a young girl's. I feel as though I could fondle it; I could bite it.

Halla. We have promised each other not to speak of food.

Kari. And how do you think the heart would taste smoking hot from the fire? I could swallow it in one mouthful. I should feel as if I had eaten, if I could only smell warm

meat.

Halla. You will make me sick if you don't stop talking about food. Don't you think I am just as hungry as you are? And I hold my peace.

Kari. Yes, you hold your peace. (Puts down the knife.) If I did not see your eyes, I should think you were dead, and yet you are human and living like myself. Are you not? (Halla is silent.) Or perhaps you are a heathen image? Must I kneel down before you and pray for fine weather? Shall I build a fire before you and stain your feet with blood? What do you want?

Halla. I want to be left in peace.

Kari. You ought to be a tree, then you could wither in peace. Why don't you cry out like every living thing that suffers. You don't know how your calmness racks me. Even the trees cry and moan in the autumn gales - they wail!

Halla. I should wail too, if there was any one that could hear me.

Kari. I don't care whether anybody hears my screams or not. I'll scream; I'll yell. (Yells.)

Halla (stands up). Are you not ashamed of yourself? Kari (in a weak voice). This cannot last. I should have gone long ago. I ought to have gone at once, the first day the food gave out, but you thought every day that the morrow would bring fine weather. I know you said it to soothe me, but it was not right.

Halla. It was no use going to certain death.

Kari. I should never be afraid of getting lost. If the snowstorm is ever so dark, I find my way. (Raises his hand.) I know where I am by trend of the wind.

Halla. If you were so sure of yourself, you ought indeed to have gone long ago.

Kari (hardening). You say that?

Halla. Yes, I say that.

Kari. Take care! You have tempted me to stay day after day. Your believing and hoping palsied my will. You wormed your own fear into my heart and broke my courage. If we both die of hunger, the fault is yours, and yours alone.

Halla. Is it my fault?

the

Kari. You have lived in the hills for sixteen years, and you don't know them more than a child does. Perhaps you think the snowstorm will have pity? Won't you open door and bid the snowstorm be still? Why don't you? Halla. You say that it is my fault if we starve to death. Who was it that stole?

Kari (stands for a moment speechless). You are homely. I have never before seen how homely you are. Your face

makes me think of the head of a dead horse. (Reaches out his arms.) May I feel of your hair if it doesn't all come out?

Halla. Don't touch me!

Kari (lets his arms fall. An expression of sadness comes into his voice). I thought you were the only one who understood that I could not help what I did. Neither could you help what you have done, and yet you are bringing my misdeeds up against me.

Halla. Never before have I upbraided you for this, but you put the whole blame on me.

Kari. And you said it in such a hard tone. It was as if you struck me with stones.

Halla. My voice was no harder than yours.

Kari. It's becoming in you to chide me, as if not yourself urged me to steal many a time!

Halla. Since we became outlawed we have had a right

to steal. We had to do it to keep from starving.

Kari. I thought you had forgiven me, and then you have been hoarding your charges. For sixteen years you have kept them, and they have not been corrupted either by rust or moth.

Halla. Come now, don't be angry, Kari. I said it in the heat of temper.

Kari. I am not angry, but it hurt so! I thought that you would be my spokesman before the Great Judge. If you could forgive me, He might do it, too.

Halla. I did not mean to hurt you. I only said it to defend myself.

must

Kari (following up his own thoughts). There are stones in the hills that are blood-stained from my feet; you gather those and bring them before the Great Judge.

Halla. Won't you take to weeping, so I can gather up your tears and bring them before the Great Judge?

Kari. Are you mocking me?

Halla. Yes; I won't listen to your whining any longer. Now we shall sit down and hold our peace. (Sits down.)

Kari. You shall not be worried by my whining. (Takes the fur socks down from the wall; sits down and unties the straps of his shoes. Halla watches him in silence, while he puts on one sock.)

Halla. Are you going?

Kari. Yes.

Halla. You don't ask my advice?

Kari. No, this time I don't ask it.

Halla (rising). When you go out of that door, you need not think of me any more.

Kari. I know your voice when you are angry. You ought to thank me for going out in such weather.

Halla. Yes, you are brave. It is not that you have any hope of saving our lives. You will only lie down in the snow and die.

Kari. You can believe it if you like.

Halla (goes to him). I beg of you, let those hard words be forgotten.

Kari. It is not because of them that I am going. The worst that can befall me is to die in the snow, and that is better than sitting here.

Halla. First of all, we must use our common sense. The only thing we can do is to wait here until the weather clears.

Kari. And then the food will come flying in through the door!

Halla. Not that, but there will be means of help. We