Halla. Are you cold?
Kari. I don't know. (Halla rises and puts some faggots on the fire. Kari takes a stick from the wall; counts.) I needn't count the notches. This is the seventh day the snowstorm is raging without a break, and it is past Easter. How long do you think it can keep on?
Halla. It's no use asking me about it.
Kari (replaces the stick in the wall). If the walls were not frozen so hard, the storm would have torn down the hut long ago.
Halla. It is bound to stop sometime.
Kari. You think so? It's four years now since that terrible summer when the sun was red and dim from morning till night. (In secret awe.) There may come a summer when the sun does not rise at all.
Halla. It was the ashes that made the sun look so red that summer.
Kari. I could well live a whole summer without the sun, if I only had food. (Picks up a big knife.) This fellow has not tasted meat in a whole eternity. (A rapturous ring comes into his voice.) I remember a ram I once killed; he was so fat he could hardly walk. (Plants himself in front of Halla.) If he stood there now, bodily, should you have strength enough to hold his feet for me?
Halla. I think I should.
Kari. We should have to take care not to be too greedy. If we could only hold back the first two days, we might eat as much as we wanted afterward. (His mouth waters; he swallows saliva.) You have seen a butchered sheep hung up to dry in the wind; its flesh is as tender as a young girl's. I feel as though I could fondle it; I could bite it.