The Ice Palace

by Tarjei Vesaas

  But she had come in, after all?

  No use thinking like that. It was not in, it was out now – and that was another matter, she thought confusedly. The fissure through which she had entered was naturally not to be found when she wanted to leave again.

  No use calling. The roar drowned it. A hollow of tears was ready waiting in front of her. She could plunge into it, but she could not drag herself so far. She had finished with that elsewhere.

  Was someone knocking on the wall?

  No, nobody would knock on the wall here! You don’t knock on walls of ice. What she was looking for was a dry patch to stand on.

  At last she found a corner where there was no moisture but dry frost. There she sat down with her feet tucked under her, her feet which she could no longer feel.

  Now the cold began to stiffen her whole body, and she no longer felt it so keenly. She felt tired and had to sit down for a while before she began looking seriously for the way out and an escape – away from here – out to her coat and out to Auntie and out to Siss.

  Her thoughts became gradually more confused and vague. She distinguished Mother for a while, then she slid away, too. And all the rest was a mist, threaded with flashes, but not so as to hold her attention. There would be time enough to think about it later.

  Everything was so long ago, it receded. She was tired of all this running about in the palace, in all this strangeness, so it was good to sit for a while, now that the cold was not troubling her so much. She sat squeezing her hands together hard. She had forgotten why. After all, she was wearing her double mitts.

  The drops began to play to her. At first she had heard nothing besides the tremendous roar, but now she could distinguish the plim-plam of the falling drops. They oozed out of the low ceiling and fell on to icicles and into puddles – and there was a song in it, monotonous and incessant: plim-plam, plim-plam.

  And what was that?

  She straightened up. Something was flooding over her that she had never felt before, she began to shout – now she had a deep black well of shouts if she should need them – but she did not let out more than one.

  There was something in the ice! At first it had no form, but the moment she shouted it took shape and shone out like an eye of ice up there, confronting her, putting a stop to her thoughts.

  It was clearly an eye, a tremendous eye.

  It grew wider and wider as it looked at her, right in the middle of the ice, and full of light. That was why she had shouted only once. And yet when she looked again it was not frightening.

  Her thoughts were simple now. The cold had paralysed them little by little. The eye in the ice was big and looked at her unblinkingly, but there was no need to be afraid, all she thought was: What are you looking for? Here I am. More hazily a familiar thought in such situations came to her: I haven’t done anything.

  No need to be afraid.

  She settled down again as before, with her feet drawn up, and looked about her, for the eye was bringing more light, the room was more distinct.

  It’s only a big eye.

  There are big eyes here.

  But she felt it looking at her from up there, and she was obliged to raise her head and meet the eye without flinching.

  Here I am. I’ve been here all the time. I haven’t done anything.

  Gradually the room filled with the plim-plam of the water drops. Each drop was like a fraction of a song. Beneath played the harsh, incessant roar, and then came the high plim-plam, like more pleasant music in the middle of it. It reminded her of something she had forgotten a long time ago, and because of that it was familiar and reassuring.

  The light increased.

  The eye confronted her, giving out more light. But Unn looked at it boldly, letting it widen as much as it would, letting it inspect her as closely as it wished; she was not afraid of it.

  She was not cold either. She was not comfortable, she was strangely paralysed, but she did not feel cold. Hazily she remembered a time when it had been dreadfully cold in the palace but not now. She felt quite heavy and limp. She really would have liked to sleep for a little, but the eye kept her awake.

  Now she no longer stirred but sat against the wall with her head raised so that she could look straight at the light in the ice. The light became increasingly brighter and began to fill up with fire. Between herself and the eye were the quick glints of the falling drops as they made their monotonous music.

  The fiery eye had been merely a warning, for now the room was suddenly drowned in flame. The winter sun was at last high enough to enter the ice palace.

  The late, cold sun retained a surprising amount of its strength. Its rays penetrated thick ice walls and corners and fissures and broke the light into wonderful patterns and colours, making the sad room dance. The icicles hanging from the ceiling and the ones growing up from the floor, and the water drops themselves all danced together in the flood of light that broke in. And the drops shone and hardened and shone and hardened, making one drop the less each time in the little room. It would soon be filled.

  A blinding flood of light. Unn had lost all ties with everything but light. The staring eye had burned up; everything was light. She thought dully that there was an awful lot of it.

  She was ready for sleep; she was even warm as well. It was not cold in here at any rate. The pattern in the ice wall danced in the room, the light shone more strongly. Everything that should have been upright was upside-down – everything was piercingly bright. Not once did she think this was strange; it was just as it should be. She wanted to sleep; she was languid and limp and ready.

  Part Two

  SNOW-COVERED BRIDGES

  1

  Unn Vanishes

  Was it only a strange dream? Was it Unn and me yesterday evening? Yes!

  When her uncertainty had been dispelled the truth was clear: it had happened. In astonishment and joy.

  Today all she felt was renewed longing for Unn. She must go straight to school to meet her. She could do it today, now things had changed.

  Siss had to lie for a while thinking about all that was going to be new from now on. She made herself feel solemn by thinking: I am Unn’s friend for ever. She made it as precious as she could.

  Mother and Father asked her no questions today. Not a word about her rather unusual homecoming the night before. They would probably wait for a bit. For one day or two. Then they would ask as if inadvertently. That was how they managed to find out about most things.

  But not this! This was the limit. Not a word about Unn would they get out of her. Whatever it was shining in Unn’s eyes was much too delicate to be talked about.

  The morning was like any other morning. Siss dressed herself warmly against the cold, took her satchel and set off for school.

  Who would get there first? Unn’s path did not join hers until just before they reached school. They had never seen each other on the way there.

  Will Unn be embarrassed today? she thought.

  The frost felt keener than ever. The sky above the delicate silken twilight shimmered blue as steel. Today there was nothing frightening at the sides of the road; the morning darkness was pleasant as it dispersed, gradually and surely. Strange that one could get into a panic about it at night.

  What is the matter with Unn?

  She’ll probably tell me again some time. I shan’t think about it. I just want to be with her. She needn’t tell me. It’s something that hurts; I don’t want to know what it is.

  Unn had not arrived when Siss hurried into the warm classroom. Several of the others were there. Some of them said casually, ‘Hi, Siss.’

  She did not say a word about yesterday’s meeting. They probably expected it, because of the exchange of notes, but they contained themselves. They were probably waiting to see what would happen when Unn turned up. Siss had it all worked out: as soon as Unn appeared in the doorway she would go to meet her so that everyone should see how things stood. The idea made her so happy that she tingled all over.
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  Had she altered already? A girl from the old group asked straight out, ‘What’s the matter, Siss?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Could they already see that she would leave them and go to Unn as if rejoicing? Were their eyes so sharp? Oh well, it made no difference. In any case it would soon be no secret. In spite of awkwardness she would have to do it: go to Unn shining with friendliness.

  Wasn’t she going to come soon out of the twilight? Like something new?

  There was no sign of her. Soon nearly all of them had come except Unn. The teacher came. Time was up,

  The teacher said good morning.

  But wasn’t Unn coming?

  It was immediately verified from the charge desk: ‘Unn’s missing today.’

  They began the lesson.

  Unn’s missing today. A calm statement of fact. Siss, who was watchful, thought she heard slight surprise in the teacher’s voice. Others would certainly have heard nothing. Sometimes one of them was missing, sometimes another. No fuss was made. It was noted in a thick register that Unn had not come to school today. That was all.

  Siss sat nervously at her desk.

  She had noticed that Unn never played truant from school, so it must have been something special today. And Siss connected it without hesitation with their meeting in her bedroom yesterday evening. Did Unn simply not want to meet her today? Was she so embarrassed?

  In the break Siss tried to behave as usual. Nobody said she didn’t, so she must have succeeded. Nor did anybody mention Unn, who was missing; she was an outsider after all.

  The school day proceeded. The late winter sun rose and shone as best it could on the window-panes. Siss simply waited for the sun to go down and the day to end, so that she could get away and ask after Unn. The day felt long.

  Shortly after noon the sun went in. Before it began its brief downward course it became veiled in mist, a mist that soon turned into thick, grey cloud.

  Up at the charge desk the voice was saying: ‘The weather report said there’d be a change this afternoon. They’re expecting snow.’

  Snow.

  The first time this year.

  Brief, but full of meaning: snow.

  It had a special ring. Everyone in the room was so very well aware of what the word stood for: an important part of life. Snow.

  The voice up there continued: ‘So the cold weather will probably break, too.’

  And again: ‘But then the snow will cover the ice.’ For a moment each one of them thought of something sad: funerals or something similar. That was what it sounded like. The lake was black and shining like steel for the last time. There had been a cold, but marvellous skating season for a long time. Today it would end, today the snow would come.

  When they went out of doors after the next lesson the ice had already begun to whiten.

  Here in the schoolyard the ground was still bare, but the air was grey and you could feel a few invisible flakes on your face if you lifted it. The enormous expanse of ice was already white. The flat surface of the mirror had no resistance, collecting the snowflakes long before anything else.

  Extraordinary how quickly a thing can be destroyed. The ice was flat and white and dead.

  And then it came at last, when they were called in to the next lesson: ‘Does anyone know why Unn isn’t here today?’

  Nobody could have seen the start it gave Siss. It was over already. They looked at each other; nobody indicated that they knew anything.

  ‘No,’ came the reply finally, in all sincerity.

  ‘I’ve been half expecting her to come all day,’ the teacher said. ‘It’s not like her. But I suppose she must be ill.’

  They realized that Unn was of more importance than they had normally reckoned. Perhaps they had always known. They must have heard how bright she could be. But she stood over there keeping out of things. On the rare occasions when she did join in she would break off as soon as it was over, and then she would stand there just as before, looking superior or whatever it was.

  They looked innocently up at the charge desk. They realized that Unn was being praised. The teacher looked up and down the rows: ‘Isn’t there anybody who’s friends with Unn and knows whether she might be ill? She hasn’t stayed away for a single day all the autumn.’

  Nobody replied. Siss sat on tenterhooks.

  ‘Is she so lonely?’ asked the teacher.

  ‘No, she’s not!’

  Everyone turned towards Siss. It was she who had said, or almost shouted it. She sat scarlet at her desk.

  ‘Was that you, Siss?’

  ‘Yes, it was.’

  ‘Do you know Unn?’

  ‘Yes?’

  The others looked sceptical.

  ‘Well, do you know what’s the matter with her today?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her today.’

  Siss looked so unlike her usual self that the teacher felt he should go into this more than he had intended. He came over to her. ‘You said that -’

  ‘I said that I’m Unn’s friend,’ burst out Siss before he had time to finish. Now they know, she thought.

  One of the girls sitting near her looked as if she wanted to ask: Since when? So she added defiantly, ‘I was her friend yesterday evening. So now you know!’

  ‘My dear child!’ said the teacher. ‘What have we done, Siss?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘So Unn was all right yesterday evening?’

  ‘Yes, she was.’

  ‘I see. Well, in that case perhaps you’d call in on her on the way home and find out what’s the matter. I know she comes to school a different way, but you don’t mind the extra walk, do you?’

  ‘No,’ said Siss.

  ‘Thank you.’

  The others looked at Siss in astonishment, and asked in the last break, ‘What do you know about Unn?’

  ‘Don’t know anything.’

  ‘We don’t believe that. We can see you know something. The teacher could see it, too.’

  They were rather cross. They were unable to swallow the fact that Siss seemed to have gone over to Unn all of a sudden. They could tell she knew something she didn’t want to talk about.

  ‘We can see you know, Siss.’

  She looked back at them helplessly. Suddenly there existed some extraordinary thing about Unn which only Siss knew.

  They were on their way home. Above them the sky thickened. As yet there was only a sprinkling of snow. Siss went on ahead with several of the others. She could see that they were thinking. What does she know about Unn? They came to the place where Siss had to turn off the road. They all came to a halt in an odd way. They were offended. Siss was to blame.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked sharply.

  They let her go.

  She hurried as quickly as she could down the path to the little cottage. Then – there it came: the snow.

  The snow was released. The air had turned mild now that darkness was falling; now real snow could come. It showered down over a frozen landscape. Hard earth and frozen hillsides. It happened just before Siss reached Auntie’s house. When she got there the yard was already white.

  Not a soul to be seen.

  What do I know about Unn?

  They think there is something. There is, too, but it’s for Unn and me. And perhaps for God, she added, to be on the safe side, staring out into the driving snow.

  An important little pause on the way.

  Through the driving snow she saw Auntie come out as soon as she entered the yard. Whatever did that mean? Now she realized that she was uneasy in advance – and there was Auntie coming out as if she had been on the watch for her. Why should she be doing that?

  Siss took several big leaps through the sifting snow – the first to set foot in the fresh carpet. Auntie waited, small and lonely, looking sad through the tattered snowflakes.

  ‘Has something happened to Unn?’ she half shouted before Siss reached the doorstep.

  ‘What?’ gasped Siss.

  This puzzl
ing little knocking.

  She had to turn everything around. It had been standing on its head.

  ‘I asked why you’ve come and not Unn?’

  So all she could do was release the horror. ‘But surely Unn’s at home, isn’t she?’

  At once the dark shutters flew gaping wide. Flustered questions on both sides. A hasty search of house and woodshed to no purpose.

  Flustered running. No telephone in the house, but there was one not far away. Auntie left to phone around.

  ‘It will be dark before we can do anything,’ she said as she began running.

  Siss ran home to Mother and Father. Now she needed them, needed anything they might say. The snow sifted down, and the first darkness began to appear.

  Again Siss ran along the road. Now in the fresh snow it seemed dazzlingly new. She met no cars; there were no tracks. She did not think about the sides of the road, only about coming home, giving warning.

  2

  Vigil

  Unn has vanished.

  It’s getting dark.

  It mustn’t!

  But the early darkness would not be delayed by haphazard, desperate wishes; it continued to fill up and thicken rapidly.

  People had now been warned over a wide area and had gathered to make a search. There were too few lanterns, and the evening and the driving snow turned the search into flustered confusion. Lantern light and prolonged shouts for Unn were drowned in snow and the growing darkness. People walked in lines – and a wall of night confronted them. They intended to break the wall down. They did not give up either and broke it down as best they could.

  Unn had vanished.

  If only this snow had come yesterday, said the searchers, there would have been tracks. Now it has come just too late and made matters worse.

  Siss was part of the tumult. Nobody bothered about her to begin with. She ran with a lump in her throat. There had been a hard struggle at home before she was given permission.

  ‘I am going, Father!’

  ‘We’re not having youngsters rushing about in the night and the storm,’ said her father as he hurriedly got himself ready.