A Norwegian on a rainy night

A short story

Jakob had been on his way to his mother’s apartment when he met the man. He had only meant to stop by a corner store to get some hot coffee and hopefully a birthday present for mom. He entered, shook the rain off his umbrella, set it in the bucket with the other umbrellas, and served himself a large cup with two creamers. Then as he sipped it he perused the colorful aisles, looking for maybe some chocolates or tea or something else that didn’t obviously look like some last minute purchase at a corner store. Then he noticed someone looking through the umbrellas by the entrance, who took particular notice of Jakob’s.

The man pulled it out and held it in the air. “Whose is this?” He said to the few patrons in the store. “This green and white one with the Dartmouth logo?” He pronounced it “Dart-mouth,” as if he’d never heard the name pronounced before.

What was Jakob to do? He didn’t want to talk to the man but he also didn’t want him to walk off with his umbrella. He was old, heavy-set, white with a bushy grey beard, and wearing an ancient yellow rain coat with holes in several places. Possibly homeless and possibly looking for something to keep him dry in the rain. On a good day Jakob might have been more generous and would be perfectly willing to part with the umbrella. What would it matter to him? He could easily buy another if it meant helping a destitute old man. But as it was, he was only wearing his wool coat, and he was just starting to accept that he was not going to find anything good for mom here and would have to walk around the city to find some sort of boutique, which he certainly didn’t want to do without an umbrella.

“That is mine,” Jakob said, putting the most subtle emphasis on “mine” to signal that it was his and only his and he certainly wouldn’t want to give it away.

The man looked at him with wide eyes. Then he lowered the umbrella to his side, held his other hand out to Jakob in a pleading gesture, and began walking towards him. “I would like to buy this from you,” he said.

Jakob smiled politely. “I’m sorry, but it’s not for sale. I’ll be needing it.”

“You’ll need it, of course. I understand. But please, we can walk to wherever you are going and once you arrive you can sell it to me. That way you get where you need to be all nice and dry and then I can use it to get back home myself.”

“I’m in a bit of a hurry, unfortunately. You might see if someone else can sell theirs to you.” He nodded towards the bucket, where there were several other umbrellas.

“You’re in a hurry. Of course. Where to, might I ask?”

Jakob knew that the longer he talked the more the man would press him to sell the umbrella. “To my mom’s place,” he said. He held a hand out for the man to give him back his umbrella. The man did not react.

“To your mother’s. And why is it important that you’re on time for your mother?”

Jakob sighed. “It’s her birthday. I said I would meet her at 7:00. It’s already 6:45 and I still have to find a gift for her.”

“A gift! Well, this is perfect. You see, I’m a bit of a craftsman myself.”

“Oh really? Well, that’s nice. I’m sure I’d be interested in seeing what you make another day but as it is now I suggest you see if someone else would like to sell you their umbrella.” He reached for the umbrella again but the man prevented him from taking it.

“No no, you see, I’m not just some crackpot selling junk and calling it art. I’m a real craftsman. Woodworking. I make beautiful things. Your mother would love it. Really. Let me show you some pictures.”

The man pulled his phone out of his pocket and started scrolling through the camera roll. Jakob began to formulate lies in his mind to explain why he did not want to buy the junk this man made. She doesn’t like to have a whole lot of things. She prefers things like chocolates or concert tickets. That could work. That would certainly be better than telling this man that he didn’t like what he made.

But then the man finally found a picture to show him. His phone was old and the picture quality was poor. Yet what the picture showed was actually quite nice. It was a replica of a Viking longship, with intricately carved figureheads at either end and tiny shields and oars on either side of the hull. The man scrolled to the next picture, which showed a likewise intricately carved jewelry box depicting a moose on the lid and two swans on the front. The man kept scrolling to reveal more trinkets and household items he’d made, all of them masterfully carved. It was amazing to Jakob. Of all the things the man could have shown him, artisanal Norwegian woodworking was the best possible gift he could give mom. He felt stupid for not having thought of it for all of the birthday and Christmas gifts he had given her before. She was proud of her Norwegian heritage, like Jakob’s late father, and had tried all her life to pass that pride down to Jakob. Jakob, meanwhile, certainly found Norwegian culture interesting— the history of the Vikings especially so— and he’d enjoyed Oslo when he’d visited for a few days just out of college. But he wouldn’t go as far as to say he was proud of his heritage. The whole concept of ancestral pride seemed a bit dubious to him. He was American, he lived and worked in America, everything he’d learned and every friend he’d made was American. The reality was he had no real connection to Norway and did not feel the need to flaunt that heritage in any way. “It is our people,” mom would say to him. “It’s nice to know we have a people we come from.” Well, he could meet people on his own, and he’d never had his Norwegian heritage help him in finding friends.

And yet here was someone of Norwegian descent. Jakob had to admit there was a warm feeling about it, meeting a stranger who shared something in common with him on a cold rainy day.

“You made these?” Jakob asked.

“My workshop’s just down the street. I was just on my way home,” the man said. “You can see all of these pieces in person.”

But hold on a sec, he had to be careful here. There was no proof this man actually carved these items. It seemed strange for an artisanal Norwegian woodworker to be dressed so poorly, without an umbrella to keep him dry. This could be some ploy to lure Jakob in before revealing that he was no master craftsman and only sold some worthless items made of string or soda cans, as he’d seen homeless people trying to sell on the streets before. Say he arrives at whatever miserable shack this man calls a workshop only for him to pull this trick on him. The man begs for the umbrella and how is Jakob supposed to say no to someone so pathetic?  Then he’d be out in the rain with no umbrella and still no present for mom.

“Well, my mom doesn’t like to keep a whole lot of things,” Jakob said. “She’s somewhat of a minimalist.”

“I bet you she has jewelry though. Look at this jewelry box. That’s solid teak I carved that out of.”

“I’m sorry but I’m just not an interested buyer.”

“You’ll pay with your umbrella. It’s a bargain. I’m willing to shake on it.”

The man put his phone away and held his hand out to shake.

“Surely those are too nice to trade for an umbrella.”

“It’s not just for the umbrella. It’s for helping me. Please, I would be more than happy.”

The man was too convivial. You can’t say no to someone so nice. Jakob tilted his head left and right, thinking of a way to get out of this. But even his silence seemed as rude as saying no— and he was just starting to consider— what if this man wasn’t lying? What if this really would be a great gift for mom?

Hesitantly, he shook the man’s hand. “Alright, well, I suppose she might like a jewelry box.”

“Oh she’ll love it. I’m quite proud of this piece.”

“I’ll just pay for this first,” Jakob said, referring to his coffee, which he promptly paid for before meeting the man by the door. The man opened the umbrella and held it up for himself and Jakob. To keep dry, they had to walk close together, as if they’d known each other a long time. A flashing ambulance splashed through the wet road beside them.

“I’m Gunnar, by the way,” the man said when the ambulance had passed, smiling up at Jakob. “And you?”

“Jakob.”

“Well it’s good to meet you, Jakob. You’re not Scandinavian by any chance? You look Scandinavian.”

“I am.”

“You are? Which part?”

“Norway.”

The man looked at him with his mouth slightly ajar. “You’re kidding. Well this is perfect. Your mother’s Norwegian?”

“She is.”

“This is wonderful news. Why didn’t you say so earlier? It’s a pleasure to have Norwegian clients. I mean, I like selling to everyone— anyone who will give me money, to be honest— but especially Norwegians. You know why? Because with Norwegians it really means something to them. It’s a connection to their heritage.”

There was that same exalted attitude about heritage that his mother always expressed. It bothered Jakob but not enough to say something about it. Whatever. Mom will appreciate the present, assuming this man actually made what he claimed to make.

“I’m so embarrassed to be caught without an umbrella,” the man said. “It was all clear in the morning and then these clouds came out of nowhere. All I had was this miserable raincoat I found in some forgotten corner of the shop. Thank you for this, really. This is a beautiful umbrella.”

The man was already talking as if the umbrella was his. “You’re welcome,” Jakob said.

“Here we are,” the man said, stopping by an iron gate. He keyed it open and then opened the door behind it. They entered into a staircase that smelled of old wood and the old man stomped up the stairs as Jakob followed. At the top, they entered the workshop. In the small foyer there was a table and upon that table was the unmistakable form of a penis standing two feet tall, intricately carved out of wood.

The man shuffled right past it and turned on the lights to the workshop. Jakob paused in front of the phallus. The man did not notice for a moment until he saw Jakob was no longer behind him.

“Oh, that,” he laughed. “I totally forgot about that. Can you believe it, I just walk by it as if it weren’t there?”

Jakob nodded but didn’t say anything.

“It was a little joke my friends played on me a while back. For my birthday they told me they were getting me a piece from a master craftsman from Italy. We were all at dinner and I unwrapped the present to see this splendid item waiting for me. I just put it there as a joke. Usually clients don’t actually come here unless they’re my friends.”

Jakob nodded. He understood the joke but he didn’t find it very funny. It was harmless, he knew that. But it was just one more weird thing in an already weird situation.

“You don’t like penises?” The man asked him, laughing. “Do they make you uncomfortable.”

“No no, it’s just weird is all.”

“Of course, I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed! You must think I’m some crazy person. Here, come look at what I have for your mom.”

The man shuffled into the depths of the workshop. Jakob looked back at the door and the umbrella standing beside it. That would be ridiculous to leave, wouldn’t it? Running away all because of some little penis? That would be ridiculous. He followed the man into the shop.

It was cluttered and musty and the floor was covered with sawdust and shavings of wood. But on the shelves there really were a variety of items inspired by Norwegian folklore. An ashtray with the figure of Thor, hammer raised into the air, carved into each corner. A collection of model longships. Salt and pepper shakers in the form of the norse runes for “s” and “p.” These really would be great for mom. Thank God. Why had he been so paranoid earlier? What had been the point of all that useless quibbling over whether this man really was some craftsman or some trickster? He had been so stupid. Here he was, surrounded by gifts for mom. Why couldn’t he just relax and go with the flow and not be quibbling, constantly quibbling all the time.

“Here we are,” the man said, approaching Jakob with the jewelry box he had seen earlier on the man’s phone. “This will be perfect for your mother.”

“Oh but this is way too big, isn’t it? You could probably sell that for a lot. I just gave you an umbrella. These salt and pepper shaker will do. You don’t need to give me that.”

“You helped me keep dry in the rain. I’m greatly appreciative of that. I’m more than happy to part with this piece if it goes to an old Norwegian mother.”

“But no, I…” What was the matter with this man? Why was he so nice? “I can’t take this.”

“Why not?”

“I…” What could he say? “I don’t deserve it. I haven’t paid you the money it’s worth.”

“If I cared about money I would have quit this woodworking business a long time ago. Please, take the piece. I will hear nothing more of whether or not you deserve it.”

The man shuffled away and sat in a cushioned armchair in the corner of the room. Then he suddenly stood up again. “I forgot, we must take you to your mother’s. You’ll need the umbrella for that and then I can go home.”

“No please, take the umbrella. I can call an Uber.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. You’ve been more than kind enough already. You just go on home.”

“Okay then.”

Jakob called the car. Then he looked at the man. “Thank you, really. This is special. My mom is going to love this.”

“I’m glad. I hope she has a happy birthday.”

“And you too— or, have a good night, I mean.”

The man smiled and nodded. The Uber arrived and Jakob went down the stairs to meet him. He got into the backseat, which was nice and warm and dry. He held the jewelry box in his lap. He passed his finger along the carvings. It really was beautiful.

He thought he should maybe say something to the driver but he had no idea what to say. And then for no apparent reason he realized he was on the verge of tears, which was stupid and not warranted for the situation, and then before he could control them they all came rushing out.