The Prophets of Eternal Fjord Read Online Free

wanders over the bastions and crosses the Langebro bridge that swings open whenever a ship has need to pass. He returns in an arc to Christianshavn across the dyke from Amager. A troupe of entertainers has erected a booth on the square in front of the orphanage. He remains standing to see if the strongman Karl Johan von Eckenberg will appear. Von Eckenberg always attracts large audiences, dandies, fine ladies in crinoline who shade beneath parasols, wealthy traders from the merchant houses, ship owners, sea captains, sailors, officers and enlisted men, right down to such inmates of the correctional facility as have been granted parole. And with good reason. Von Eckenberg is splendid.
    Morten is fascinated by the strongman. He knows his repertoire inside and out, yet never tires of watching him. His feats are an expression of something true and profound, he feels, not simply of dexterity and skill. What this profundity consists in, however, he is unable to pin down. And for this reason he continues to attend the man’s performances.
    He is fond of three feats in particular.
    First drum roll. Karl Johan von Eckenberg ascends a wooden construction, some ten ells in height. He positions himself upon a cross-beam and gives a signal to his assistants on the ground by means of a near-imperceptible nod. Beneath him now are brought forward a horse and two liveried riders onto a platform with a rope attached to each corner. Von Eckenberg takes hold of the other end of this rope, winding it around his forearm and wrist, and with one arm he lifts the platform with horse and riders one foot from the ground, while with the other hand he puts a postal horn to his lips and trumpets a fanfare.
    Second drum roll. Karl Johan von Eckenberg, now descended from his platform, places himself between two chairs, his body extended horizontal, one ell above the ground. Whereupon eight good musicians, dressed in red double-breasted jackets, tricorne hats, knee-length stockings and shoes with polished buckles of brass, clamber one by one onto this sinewy and scantly muscular, though very long, body that is supported only by its neck and heels. Balancing on von Eckenberg’s chest, stomach, hips and legs, they now proceed to perform a minuet by Brentner, while von Eckenberg himself stares up into the sky with brown, mournful eyes and resembles one who is thinking back upon his child­hood, his blessed mother or a love of his youth.
    Third drum roll. Karl Johan von Eckenberg’s third feat is performed between the same two chairs, though after his having risen, accepted due applause and enjoyed a moment’s retreat inside his wooden booth. Refreshed and ruddy-cheeked, he returns, his brown eyes now sparkling. He bows and positions himself once more between the chairs, where­upon two assistants place a solid stone slab upon his stomach. A third assistant, dressed like a smith or perhaps an executioner, steps forward with a sledgehammer, raises it above his head and hesitates. In the name of Jesus, strike! von Eckenberg commands in a loud and melodious voice. The hammer falls and the slab is broken into two parts that drop away at each side. Karl Johan von Eckenberg rises and bows to his audience. A boy goes round with a hat while acrobats caper. Coins are thrown onto the cobbles from windows above.
    But one day the strongman is no longer there. His booth on the square is dismantled and removed, and there is no trace of the troupe of acrobats. Morten asks around with the street traders and they say von Eckenberg has injured himself during a performance and was carried away in a state of weakness. He can find no one who knows what has become of him.
    Occasionally, Morten allows himself the luxury of hiring a carriage to one of the city gates and paying the driver a supplement to take him a couple of land miles into the countryside, to some outlying village: Gladsaxe, Husum, Ordrup, Herlev. Here he alights, sends the carriage home