Free The Boat in the Evening by Tarjei Vesaas Page A

top of his voice, abusing the object he can see out there.
    The man with his nose above water lifts himself up as far as he can and frees his mouth. They greet each other in angry or possibly unpleasant terms, filling the valley with this hostile language.
    The drifter has excited himself far too much, beyond his strength. In the middle of a howl he collapses once more, and gets a ducking. He has enough to do paying attention to more immediate matters.
    The dog falls silent and disappears.
    The journey continues as before. The drifter survived the latest ducking too, but is down in a trough of misery where even the provocative mirrors mean nothing.
    What now?
    It is evening.
    *
    It is the onset of evening at the end of this wearying day. A warm, fine evening.
    The traveller has not gone very far. He has not yet come to any villages. The current allows itself ample time to exert its pressure.
    A beautiful evening for those who could appreciate it. A drifter in the current like himself is not among them. He is floating southward as a part of the hopeless tangle, as a damaged consciousness.
    But he is in contact with the dog.
    After the first skirmish things go more gently. It turns out that the dog is keeping up with him behind the bushes, as the patient crow is keeping up with him still from tree to tree. The crow has not yet lost its faith in a meal.
    The dog has other, hidden motives. Contact with man. The howl told of a web of things known to the dog that the drifter in the current took up blindly and can answer.
    Perhaps it is this that sustains him through the struggle when he is about to give up. He does not sink; he has the thought of the dog.
    At each promontory the dog meets him and gives a short, sharp bark, no longer hostile. It waits for an answer and gets one. ‘Woof!’ comes the reply from out on the water, muffled or loud, according to his strength. He growls in dog fashion, quite taken up with this unfamiliar language and concentrating on it with all his might.
    At every little promontory the dog stands waiting.
    The echo that sang out with them has finished. The valley sides have taken on a different shape and do not send sounds back. They are frothing with the ripeness of late summer, but keep silent.
    The evening is stealing on. The sun that once was reflected in the mirrors has gone; no one will be bewitched by it now. The twilight is setting in, and will bewitch instead. The dog has fallen silent, like one who has come home and forgotten everything out of doors. The crow disappears and will have to go hungry to bed. Evening is evening. It will probably find him tomorrow.
    The drifter feels that much has gone. He appreciated his splendid retinue. He tries out his newly-acquired language again and brings out a weak ‘woof’ a couple of times, without getting any answer. It did not carry far enough.
    The lack of an answer upsets him, making him angry and depressed. He lies on his back with his mouth open ready to call should he have the strength, and in any language. The water is so still that it does not splash over his gaping jaws. He does not move a muscle—that time is past. He clings tightly to the log with his arm, his eyes wide open to the cloudy sky. The sky became cloudy just after sunset. The man lies looking at a darkening ceiling without thinking about it. Gaping at it. Nobody sees this. It is the kind of moment that nobody witnesses.
    He is still afloat on the strength of the contact with the dog. He moves his lips slightly.
    *
    Immediately afterwards the back of his head knocks against something hard. He is drifting head first.
    Perhaps it hurt a little, but he does not know what pain is any more and it makes no impression on him. But it stops his forward movement. The restless current swings his body slowly towards solid ground. There he lies without coming any further.
    Shortly afterwards a large bird shoots over.
    The drifter, who is gaping up into the evening sky and