The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1928-12-21
CHAPTER 1
The Vikings Story

selves nowhere, returning each time
10 the tall lean figure of his son. The
boy was stufling pickerel for their
dinner. Over his old dungarees, faded
and scraped thin at the knees and
elbows, he wore a woman's blue apron.
Gustaf observed it, scowling. II was
his wife's apron. She had been dead
six days.
Norman deftly bent the slim body of
the pickerel to fit the square baking
dish and slid the pan into the oven.
AS he opened the iron door heat
slapped out into the room. Sweat
rose on his forehead at the edge of
his straight blond hair. He walked
TO a narrow shelf under the window
and poured two dippers of water into
q tin basin.
His father regarded him critically,
Norman's hands distressed old Gustaf.
They were too slender. The fingers
were too thin and too long. Their
suppleneSs irritated the old man, just
as the comfortable way Norman wore
the apron irritated him. Somehow the
hands and the apron suggested the
land. and the womanish ways of lands
men.
A salty anger arose in Gustaf Err
ickson, anger at his son, at youth,
at the passive and secure content of
all men who did not thirst for the sea.
"How long yet you goin' to work
on that wagon job?" he asked. His
voice had windy flavor. as if ii had
been tuned and broken against the
resonant chorus of mighty storms.
Norman took his serious blond face
from the roller towel He looked at
his father before he answered.
Il figured on going back tomorrow"
he said at length. "Hans gave me as
long off as / needed. | was staying
at home on account of things here.
"That amt what I'm asking. How
long yet you going to waste time driv-
ing around on a wagonW
1.-Two months more, anyway :"
Gustaf tapped the arm of his chair
Will IbC SuOIlY hhOllCus ObNC SopoOiC
fingers of his broad right hand.
His eyes, which had habit
of widening or screwing shut accord
ing to the heat Of his temper, regard.
ed his son with emphatic disapproval.
"Tell 'em you're quitting" be said.
He spoke slowly. He pronounced his
words firmly as he always did when
there was malice in him. you've
rode around enough on land. I'm
takin' you partners"
"In the boatT Norman asked Gus.
tat thought that he WINGED.
"Sure, in the boat Tomorrow"
Norman turned without comment to
the window. He knew that argument
was futile. He could no more dispute
the verdict of his father than he could
stop the rush of water in Lake Michi-
gan. He stared out at the lake re-
belliously, conscious of his fathers
eyes boring hard at his back. He did
not wish to fish. Since the frs. day he
could remember, another day of storm
and disaster on the coast, that vast
heaving water had Knocked him. 1t
had cOmbated him. 1t had tainted
him and dared him to hate it.
And he could not hate it. His re-
sentiment against deep water was
cooled often by another sensation, a
strange tugging at his heart. particu-
larry on quiet days when it rolled with
a slow oily tempo. If the lake were
kin to old Gustaf II must be kin to
him. His father love,' it more than
he did wife or child, more than life
itself.
Whole-souled old Gustaf offered the
disdainful waters passionate and
flaming devotion. His brittle heart
softened when he thought of those
wet, unresponSive wastes. Their buff
fets only endeared them to him, their
repulses stimulated his hot desire,
their austere resistance stirred him
Quer.
Norman understood this in his IA.
Their. Old Gustaf played the part OF
passionate lover to Lake Michigan.
His little black-eyeG mother had
known that Certainly she had moi
loved such rival. She had not be-
longed here on the beach in the wind
and spray. She had died yearning
for a farm. dozen times In these
six days Norman had blamed the cold
compassionless waters Tor her hard
life. her lonely death.
It's time you learned to fish," Gusta1
growled Been enough wearin' oil
aprons and spadin' around on lane
and drivin' folks wagons for any boy
O. mine I'll make a man o. you now.
He arose jerkily from his chair and
crossed to the door. His back was
bent. just as his arms were and his
legs. He once had been 'aller than
his son was now. Age had shrunk
him, pinching his flesh and bones
He slammed the door behind him and
sat down sullenly upon the step He
was ashamed his son.
sIn learn him to SAIL" he grum
bled, 'lelrn hin now ]"
His shoulders were hunched as he
sat on the kitchen step. His attitude
gave him. somehow, the appearance
of great strength. He knew what the
people in Madrid Bay thought of him
They believed him worn out He ha6
sensed that, the way they ptied hin
the day of his wife's funeral. They
were mistaken. He wasn't worn out
He could still conquer his son. The
strength was there. hidden deep dOwr
In his body that was wasting under
the heartless inroads of the years
His tired old hands were capable still
of immense feats Of lifting, shOrl
bursts of terrifying toll. His bis
fists were hard He held them locked