Bjornsterne Bjornsen [1832-1910] won the Nobel for literature in 1903. ‘The Father’ is one of his short stories published in 1881. It tells the story of a peasant named Thord Overass who brings up his son with all the affection and luxury that he can afford. When the boy is born, Thord arranges a special baptism for him. The priest’s blessing on the occasion is: “God grant that the child may become a blessing to you.”
The child grows up as the apple of the father’s eye.
The father ensures that the boy receives the best of everything including
public attention. Finally when he grows up to be an eligible bachelor, the
father arranges his marriage with the richest girl in the parish.
The father and son were making the arrangements for
the marriage. One day they had to row across the lake. The father warned the
son to be careful because the boat’s thwart was not quite in good shape. Just
as the father warned the young man, an accident happened. The board on which
the boy was standing, rowing the boat, slipped and he fell overboard. And sank
into the water.
There rose some bubbles, and then some more. “For
three days and three nights people saw the father rowing round and round the
spot, without taking either food or sleep…” until he got the body of his son.
A year later he sold half of his property and donated
the money to charity. The parish priest accepted the donation and asked, “What
do you propose to do now, Thord?”
“Something better” is the old man’s answer.
The priest watched Thord and felt his profound grief.
The priest saw the old man’s heart. He said slowly and softly: “I think your
son has at last brought you a true blessing.”
Thord agreed. “Two big tears coursed slowly down his
cheeks.”
***
Just outside my home
Photo by Christina Matheikal
I read this story long, long ago. I reread it this
morning as a gentle drizzle pitter-pattered on the gravel in my yard. More than
a year has passed since a virus kept Maggie and me and a few million others
confined to homes. All our plans for the autumn of our life together lay
devastated by a virus whose vindictiveness shows no sign of relenting. As if
that was not enough, the last four days brought furious cloudbursts. People succumb
in hundreds daily to the virus. The rains wash away homes and cultivations.
Right outside my home the police have erected barricades
on both the roads. It’s over a week since I have stepped out of home. Life has
come to a halt. Sit down and contemplate, life seems to be telling us. Set your
boat in order. Something is amiss. Something has been slipping for too long. Isn’t
nature telling us that?
Is this halt going to be a blessing? That depends on whether
two big tears can course down…
What a beautifully reflective post this is. Thank you for sharing this poignant story.
ReplyDeleteEven though you talk about upheavals and storms, your post ends on a hopeful note--almost pleading us to open our eyes--if not now, then when?
Stay safe and keep writing.
Thank you. We can create a better world if we open our eyes. I hope this pandemic brings something good too.
DeleteBeautifully written.
ReplyDeleteStay well.
Thank you
DeleteIntrospection heals.
ReplyDeleteUndoubtedly.
DeleteBeautifully written article. Thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful post, set me thinking.
ReplyDeleteGlad it did.
Delete