‘Natan smiled and made a bow, and it was then that I noticed his hands. They were very white, like a woman’s hands, and his fingers were as slender as birch twigs, and as lengthy. No wonder they called him “long-fingers”. He said he was pleased to meet us both, and wasn’t it a fine day? He started to ask us if we were enjoying the celebration, but I interrupted him, and said that he hadn’t yet given us his name. María scoffed, but Natan always liked those who had a tongue in their heads, as he told me later. He said his name was Natan Lyngdal. There was a glitter in his eye.
‘María asked if he wasn’t actually Ketilsson, and Natan replied that yes, indeed he was also Ketilsson, and that he had a great many more names besides, though not all of them were fit for our delicate ears. He was easy in his address, Reverend. He always knew what to say to people; what would make them feel good. And what would cut the deepest.
‘We didn’t speak for long. Worm summoned Natan, and he made his farewell, but not before he murmured that he hoped he would see more of us at a later time when he was not so called upon.’
Reverend Tóti ran a finger around his gums, dislodging a dreg or two of tobacco. He wiped his fingertip on his trousers, and couldn’t help but notice the small, unremarkable shape of his own pink hands. He felt a snag of envy in his chest.
‘When did you see Natan again, after that?’
Agnes paused to count her stitches before casting off. ‘Oh, that same day,’ she said. ‘María and I were kept busy all afternoon, running errands for Worm’s wife, and keeping the children from underfoot, but we were given the evening to celebrate the harvest in our own way. It was a fine delicate sort of twilight, and all the servants sat outside to watch the night fall down. One of the hands was telling a story of the hidden people, when a cough was heard and we saw Natan standing behind our group in the shadows. He apologised for sneaking up on us, but told us he was fond of stories, and would we humour a stranger by allowing him to join our festivities? One of the servant men said that Natan Ketilsson was hardly a stranger, especially amongst the women, and most laughed. But one or two of the men and also a number of the workmaids looked away.
‘María made room for Natan next to her. I was on the outer of the group, not being as popular on account of my having a certain way of talking to people, but Natan walked right past María and sat down next to me. “Now, we are all ready,” he said, and he looked over to the man who had been speaking, and he invited him to continue his tale. We all sat into the night telling stories and looking at the stars, until it was time to sleep and that was that.’
‘Why do you think Natan chose to sit next to you?’
Agnes shrugged. ‘He told me afterwards that he’d been watching me all day, and could not read me. I misunderstood him at first, and said, well, no wonder, for I was a woman, not a book. And he laughed, and said that no, he could read people too, although some seemed to be in a script he couldn’t comprehend.’ Agnes gave a slight smile. ‘Make what you will of that, Reverend. But that is what he said.’
THE REVEREND IS SURELY WONDERING at what we were to one another. I watch him and know that he is thinking of Natan and I, letting the thought roll through his mind, savouring it, like a child sucking the marrow out of a bone. He might as well be sucking a stone.
Natan.
How can I truly recall the first moment of meeting him, when the hand I felt press my own was merely a hand? It is impossible to think of Natan as the stranger he was, once, to me. I can picture the way he looked, and recall the weather, and the play of light across his stubbled face, but that virgin moment is impossible to recapture. I cannot remember not knowing Natan. I cannot think of what it was not to love him. To look at him and realise I had found what I had not known I was hungering for. A hunger so deep, so capable of driving me into the night, that it terrified me.
I did not lie to the Reverend. That night of stars and stories, and the warm pressure of his hand on mine, happened as I told him. But I did not tell Tóti what followed when the servants went to bed. I did not tell him that María went with them too, sending me a reproachful glance. I did not say that we were left alone, and that Natan urged me to stay with him in the half-light. To talk, he said. Only to talk.