Mårbacka/Part 5, Chapter 8
East of Mårbacka, beyond a wooded ridge, lies Gårdsjön, a little lake in which there is a fish we call slom. The fish is about two inches long, and so thin as to be almost transparent; but small as it is, it is edible.
In Lieutenant Lagerlöf's time, when everything was so much better than it is now, folks used to take this fish out of the lake in countless numbers. Its spawning time was in early spring, when the ice began to break and there was open water along the shores. One could stand at the water's edge and scoop the fish up with dippers and buckets. Certainly no one went to the bother of putting out nets for slom!
Slom was fished and peddled only at the spawning time; therefore, it was a sure sign of spring when a Gårdsjö fisherman came to the kitchen at Mårbacka with the first catch. The man, knowing he had brought a desired commodity, boldly lifted the latch (in those days there was no lock on the kitchen door) and walked in with an air of confident assurance. He did not stop just inside the door as on other occasions; without stating his errand, or even saying good-morning, he strode across the floor to the big table and deposited a small basket done up in a blue-checked cotton cloth. Then, stepping back to the door, he stood with head proudly erect, and waited for what was to follow.
If the housekeeper and the maids were the only ones in the kitchen, he could stand a long while unnoticed; for they would not permit themselves to show any signs of curiosity. But if Lieutenant Lagerlöf's little daughters chanced to be there, they were over by the basket at a bound, eagerly untying the cover to see what was under it.
And they found a little porcelain plate, edged round with a blue landscape, which they recognized as having seen every year at this season as far back as they remembered. On the plate was a small mound of slom—some forty or fifty fishes.
Now slom when properly prepared is a tasty fish, but for all that it is considered rather common food. At the other manors in the district it was looked upon as poor man's fare, but not so at Mårbacka. Lieutenant Lagerlöf was such a lover of fish he would hardly eat anything else the year round. After the eelpout had finished spawning, in February, he had to be satisfied with such things as stockfish, dried pike, salt salmon, salt whitefish, to say nothing of the everlasting herring! So every day now he wondered if the slom would be along soon.
The little girls had also learned to regard this fish as a rare treat, and were delighted when they saw what was in the basket. They called to the housekeeper and the maids to come and see. It was slom! Lasse had brought slom! Wasn't it great? Wasn't it wonderful? And there was general rejoicing in the kitchen. The housekeeper immediately went into the pantry and made a sandwich for the fisherman. When handing it to him, she condescended to ask him whether it looked as if there would be a good "take" that year. The fisherman, cocky and self-satisfied (for this was his big day), actually had the temerity to chaff the dignified old housekeeper. He said there would be more slom than all the riches of Lieutenant Lagerlöf could buy.
Mamselle Lovisa, wondering what all this talk meant, came out to the kitchen. Instantly she caught sight of the fisherman and the plate of slom she threw up her hands and exclaimed in despair:
"Good Lord! Is that awful stuff coming in now again!"
It was a great disappointment to the little girls that Aunt Lovisa did not share their delight. Still, she must have had some appreciation of the auspicious event, for she said something in a low tone to the housekeeper, who smiled and nodded approval. Whereupon the children and the maids were told not to let Lieutenant Lagerlöf know the slom had come; it was to be a surprise for his supper.
When the three little girls heard that, they were gladder than ever. Their father was their best friend and playfellow; there was nothing too good for him! They felt very important now, and not for anything would they leave the kitchen. They begged to be allowed to clean the fish, and knew from past years how it should be done: With one stroke you cut off the head, with another you drew out the "innards". The tiny fish had no scales or sharp bones. If you cut off the tail it was a sign you didn't know how slom should be treated. Even after the fishes were cleaned the children would not leave them out of their sight. They watched the housekeeper wash them, dip them in flour, and put them in the frying pan. It wouldn't do to throw slom in the pan just any way. The little fishes had to be laid down very carefully, one by one, close together, none overlapping, and fried hard, so that they all stuck together. Then, with a flip of the pancake-spade, they were turned over. When well browned on both sides, they were covered with a hard round oat-cake, and then turned out of the pan so that the slom lay on top of the bread. The housekeeper told the children that was the way their grandmother had fixed it. In the old mistress's time they used to set before each person at table a round of slom on an oat-cake, for in those days they were not so well off for plates as now.
All the while the slom was frying the children were on pins and needles lest their father should come into the kitchen. Every other minute they ran out in the hall and opened the door to the living room a wee bit to see whether he sat quietly reading his newspaper. When he got up to go for his usual evening walk, their hearts were in their mouths. Oh, dear! What if he should take a notion to go out by the kitchen way?
Later, at supper, the three little girls could hardly contain themselves. If they but glanced at their father they began to titter. It was hardest for the littlest girl, who had to say grace. In the middle of the prayer she gave a little chirrup like a sparrow when it sees a grain of corn. The Lieutenant was about to ask what had come over her when his eyes fell on the slom right by his plate. His face lit up.
"Thank the Lord we've got something to eat in the house once more!" he said, and actually meant it. For to him only fish was food.
The children after their long silence broke into peals of laughter.
"Oho!" charged the Lieutenant, shaking a finger at them. "So this is why you've been running in and out the whole evening and wouldn't let me read my paper in peace!"
It was an unusually jolly supper. The Lieutenant was always good humoured and talkative, but when he was especially pleased about anything he became quite irresistible. Then he fairly bubbled with amusing anecdotes and kept the whole table convulsed with laughter.
As for the slom, there was no more than the Lieutenant himself could have eaten; but he insisted that all must have a share of this "delicacy." And of course everyone marvelled that such a tiny fish could be so delicious.
"Now, doesn't it taste good, Lovisa?" he asked his sister, who was as fond of meat as he was of fish.
Even she had to concede that just for once like this it was not bad—but too much of it
When the Lieutenant folded his serviette before rising from table, he said very solemnly:
"Now, children, mind what I'm telling you: The King in his royal palace couldn't have had a better supper than we've had. So we must give God proper thanks for the food and not slur the grace."
Thus ended the first day of the slom season.
The next morning the Gårdsjö fisherman brought a whole pound of slom. He was well met, of course, and he asked twelve skillings the pound for his fish, which was considered a high price. The Lieutenant himself came out to the kitchen with the money in order to thank the old man for coming to Mårbacka with the slom, and request him to continue as he had begun.
"Now for pity's sake don't take it to the parson's or the founderer's!" he said.
This time, also, the little girls volunteered to clean the fish. And now they were repaid for their trouble. There was slom enough for the whole family at supper, and some left over for the Lieutenant's breakfast. But the serving-folk did not have any that day, either. It was too choice a dish for them.
The third day the fisherman delivered enough slom to fill a large earthen bowl. Slom was now served at the family table for both breakfast and supper, and in the kitchen it was set before the overseer, but not before the stableman or the farmboy.
The next few days folk from every little hamlet along the lake came bringing slom to Mårbacka. The Lieutenant bought from all. Soon every earthen vessel in the cupboard was filled to overflowing, and the fish had to be emptied into a huge copper kettle; when even that would not hold it all, it was dumped into a big vat.
But to clean such a lot of small fish was no light task! The housemaids had to leave off spinning and weaving to sit in the kitchen cleaning slom. The three little girls were no longer to be seen in the schoolroom. It was not for fun they cleaned slom now, but to help the grown-ups. Fru Lagerlöf and Mamselle Lovisa put aside their other work to give a hand. But it was a bit of a change for them all—a little departure from the usual routine.
The housekeeper did not help clean fish, she stood at the stove the whole day frying it. Before long she began to complain of the quantities of butter the fish was taking. The butter-tub had been full only a few days before, and she could already see the bottom. That was the first break in the general satisfaction.
The family had slom for breakfast and slom for supper; but thus far at dinner there was the usual Värmland midday fare—corned beef or pork, or herring-balls, or fried ham, or sausage, or whatever else there was on hand. But such fare was not to the taste of Lieutenant Lagerlöf. One day when he was served meat that had lain in brine since autumn, he lost all patience.
"I don't see why we should sit here and eat salt food when the pantry is full of nice fresh fish," he flung out. "But that's always the way of these fine housekeepers; they feed the homefolk on salt stuff and let the fresh things stand on the shelves and spoil—waiting for company."
That was a sharp rap at his sister. But Mamselle Lovisa took it calmly; she was too fond of her brother to be offended by anything he might say. She meekly answered that she had never heard of any one's setting slom before guests.
"I know, Lovisa, that you are too refined to eat slom. You have been out in the great world, and know how things ought to be. But I don't see why we back here at Mårbacka need bother ourselves about what they do in Karlstad or Åmål."
A light broke in on Mamselle Lovisa. "But surely you don't want slom for dinner, too!" she exclaimed, as if such a thing were unprecedented.
"Certainly I'll eat slom whenever I can get it. Why do you suppose I buy it every day, if I'm not to have any myself?"
After that, they had slom morning, noon, and night; which was not a happy thought on the part of the Lieutenant. There is no denying that slom is a nice-tasting fish, but it has an unpleasant odour. Not in the sense of being tainted; but it is evil-smelling from the moment it comes out of the water. However, all that disappears in the frying. But those who have to handle the raw fish cannot escape, for it is an odour that clings. Do what you will, it stays by you. Everything you touch smells of slom.
Soon all but the Lieutenant began to sicken of slom. They took smaller portions at each meal, and sighed as they sat down at table and saw the everlasting slom set before them again.
Lieutenant Lagerlöf, however, went on buying. The fisherman who had brought the first mess, true to his word, came faithfully every day, and sometimes twice a day. But his manner was noticeably changed. He now pulled the latch-string very gently, and came in with a meek and deprecating smile. He did not set the fish on the kitchen table but left it outside the door. Though he removed his cap and said Good-day, he had to stand and wait a good half-hour before anyone seemed aware of his presence.
Pleasant as it had been for both the maids and the children to escape for a while from the old routine, they were by now so sick and tired of cleaning fish they longed to get back to their regular tasks. None of them would so much as look at the fisherman.
"I say, Lars, you're not bringing slom again to-day, are you?" the housekeeper once asked him, as if he were offering stolen goods.
The man just blinked his eyes; he was too abashed to utter a word.
"We've got more fish now than we can eat," she told him. "I don't believe the Lieutenant wants to buy any more of that horrid stuff." However, she knew the Lieutenant was not to be trifled with in the matter of slom, so of course she had to go in and tell him the fisherman had come.
One day the Lieutenant was out when the old man appeared, so the housekeeper peremptorily ordered him away. All in the kitchen were glad, thinking that for once they would not have to clean any slom. But as luck would have it, the old man met the Lieutenant in the lane; and the latter bought his whole bagful of fish and sent him back to the house with it.
It went on like that for a couple of weeks. Everyone was weary and disgusted—except the Lieutenant. He chanted the praises of slom at every meal; it was wholesome and nutritious food. One need only look at the fishermen down in Bohuslän who lived upon fish; they were the strongest and healthiest men in the whole country.
One evening Mamselle Lovisa tried to tempt him with larded pancakes, a favourite dish of his. And no wonder! for such larded pancakes as the old housekeeper made you never tasted in all your life!
"The overseer and the men, I suppose, must have their fill of slom, so you want me to be satisfied with pancakes." The Lieutenant waved away the plate of nice hot cakes.
"Oh, no, that's not the reason," said Mamselle Lovisa. "The overseer and the men are so sick of slom we dare not set it before them."
Then the Lieutenant had to laugh; but, as he would not touch the pancakes, they had to fetch him his slom.
Toward the end of the second week the whole household was in open rebellion. The housekeeper raged about the inroads on the butter, and the servants declared they could not go on working at a place where they fed you on nothing but slom. It had reached a pass where the Lieutenant dared not show his face in the kitchen; for there the murmurs were loudest. Nor were things as they should be in the dining room. Joy had fled the board. The governess left her plate untouched and the little daughters of the house, who otherwise stuck by their father through thick and thin, even they began to pipe a few feeble protests.
Then at last Fru Lagerlöf came to the rescue. She conferred with Mamselle Lovisa and the housekeeper, and they all thought it time now to resort to the old tried and sure remedy.
At dinner there was boiled slom. Now, the very look of boiled slom is enough! There is a pallor about it peculiarly corpselike, and, besides, it is quite tasteless. Just the sight of it takes away one's appetite.
When the Lieutenant saw the boiled slom he looked as glum as the others.
"We are all out of butter," Mamselle Lovisa gave as excuse; "and since you will have slom at every meal we had no choice but to serve it boiled. For my part," she added, "I think it tastes no worse that way than any other."
The Lieutenant made no answer; so they all knew that Mamselle Lovisa had triumphed. He might easily have stepped into the pantry and seen for himself whether the butter was all gone, or ordered a fresh supply; but he did neither.
After that dinner he bought no more slom. What was the use, he said, when the womenfolk were too lazy to prepare the fish in the proper way,? No one contradicted him, though all knew he was as glad as they were to see the last of the slom.