Blessing

 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…