‘Did Unn say anything about coming here?’
‘No.’
Her father came up and said sharply, ‘That’s enough now! Siss is not to be pressed any more.’
The leader came, too, and said quickly and decisively to the questioner, ‘Siss has told us what she knows.’
‘I think so, too,’ said her father.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the questioner, retreating. ‘I meant no harm.’
Siss gave the two stern men a grateful look. The leader said, ‘We’ll go over it all once more. There are so many chasms she could have fallen into – if she came here, and decided to climb.’
Nobody denied it. They set to work. The unfamiliar ice palace exerted a tremendous fascination, and they were the right ones to be open to it and to allow themselves to be bound by it, in their state of mind.
Over it again.
Once more Siss stood at the foot and watched the ice palace coming alive. The men approached it from all sides again. The lanterns spun around in the disordered crannies, up between the pinnacles and through the tracery. It was not just a palace; it resembled a palace illumined for a feast, even though the lights were on the outside.
Siss drank in the night scene, in a state of exaltation, because she had been allowed to come, in a state of shock because it was on account of Unn. She cried a little, but nobody saw. She could not help herself.
She was going to hold out whatever happened, she thought. They were not going home again from here. From the palace they would follow the river to the place where it was swallowed up by another frozen lake. It was not so very far. The waterfall lay almost exactly between the two big lakes.
The men continued to search. They had life and light on their side. They were visiting an unknown fortress, and it looked like the fortress of death. If one of them struck the wall with his stick it proved to be as hard as rock. The blow recoiled and vibrated in his arm, Nothing opened up. They struck all the same.
3
Before the Men Leave
They are not leaving. They are waiting. They cannot free themselves.
The ice construction rises above them, enigmatic, powerful, its pinnacles disappearing into the darkness and the winter cloud drift. It seems prepared to stand eternally – but time is misleadingly brief, it will fall one day when the floods begin.
Tonight it holds the men fast. They are staying longer than they ought, considering their errand. Perhaps they are unaware of it. They are tired out but cannot make an end of it, with no will to choose whether they are to finish or not. The closed ice palace has life in it.
They themselves have lent it life; light and life to the dead block of ice, and to the silent time that follows midnight. Before they came the waterfall had been roaring, despondent and unconcerned, and the colossus of ice had been merely death, completed and mute. They did not know what they had brought with them before they were ensnared by the play between what has been and what is to come.
But it’s not that either.
There is something secret here. They bring out what sorrows they may have and transfer them to this midnight play of light and suspicion of death. It makes things better, and through it they fool themselves into enchantment. They are dispersed in the angles of ice, the lanterns shoot transverse gleams, meeting the lights from other cracks and prisms – quite new beams are illuminated and just as quickly extinguished again for good. They recognize it so well that they tremble. It is unsafe, but they wish to do it, they have to take part in it. If there is an opening it is only because there appears to be one.
The men are forced to leave, but they do so reluctantly.
The men are lost in the game at the ice palace. They seem possessed, searching feverishly for something precious that has come to grief, yet involved themselves. They are tired, grave men, giving themselves over as sacrifices to an enchantment, saying: It is here. They stand at the foot of the ice walls with tense faces, ready to break into a song of mourning before the closed, compelling palace. If one of them had been impetuous enough to begin, all of them would have joined in.
Siss, the young girl, stands watching them open-mouthed and realizes that there is something. She sees that they are ready to join in. She sees her father standing ready; he would have joined in. Siss would have stood shivering and listened, waiting for the walls to fall asunder. She stands appalled at grown men.
But there is no one impetuous enough, so the song does not begin. They are loyal searchers; they manage to keep their secret thoughts under lock and key.
The leader says, ‘Go over it once more.’ He is caught up in it himself and could do unexpected things. They know time is precious. Laboriously they climb on the slippery ice and the snow-covered roof, finding nothing. The water, with its hidden depths, slides away from under the palace and onward. They, too, must go on. The leader says, ‘We must go.’ He, too, could have joined in the heart-rending song.
4
Fever
Unn was standing in the doorway, looking in.
But wasn’t Unn lost?
No. Unn was standing in the doorway, looking in.
‘Siss?’
‘Yes? Why don’t you come in?’
She nodded and entered the room.
‘What is it, Siss?’ she asked, but in a different voice. She changed and was not Unn but Mother.
Siss was lying in bed in her little room, but everything else was vague. She saw Unn, and then it was Mother. She was tossing about in a mist.
‘You’re not well, Siss. You have high fever.’
Mother spoke in her patient tone of voice.
‘It was too much for you out in the woods last night,’ she explained. ‘You came home ill, you see.’
‘But Unn?’
‘Unn hasn’t been found, as far as I know. They’re out searching. And you came home ill early this morning.’
‘Then I was with them all night!’
‘Yes, you were, but you weren’t up to it.’
‘We were at the big pile of ice and down by the river, too – but then I don’t remember any more.’
‘No, you weren’t up to much when your father brought you home. At least you managed to walk somehow. Then the doctor came and –’
Siss interrupted. ‘What’s the time now? Is it evening?’
‘Yes, it’s evening again.’
‘And Father? Where is he?’
‘Out with the search party.’
He must be stronger than I am after all, thought Siss, pleased with the idea.
‘The rest of the class have been out today, too,’ continued Mother. ‘The school’s been closed.’
That sounded strange. Closed. It had been closed. She lay playing with it.
‘It was so like Unn standing in the doorway. I don’t think she can be far away.’
‘None of us can tell. But she wasn’t in the doorway. You’ve been seeing a lot of things today. You’ve been talking about them, at any rate.’
What did that mean? At once she felt naked and pulled the bedclothes up higher.
‘What have I been doing?’
She had to cover it up somehow, had to start talking about something. ‘Unn isn’t dead!’
Her mother answered patiently, ‘No, I’m sure she isn’t. They’ll find her soon. They may have found her already.’ She looked tentatively at Siss, ‘And if there’s anything you …’
Siss fell asleep as fast as she could.
But after a while she really did sleep. When she awoke the fever must have improved. She saw nothing in the bedroom except what ought to have been there. She roused herself a little – and at the first sound her mother came in again.
‘You’ve been asleep for a long time. It’s late in the evening. A deep, quiet sleep.’
‘Late in the evening? Where’s Father?’
‘Out searching.’
‘Is there no news?’
‘No. They’ve found nothing, and no one can give them any guidance. Her aunt knows nothi
ng. They don’t know what to do, Siss.’
Here it was again, the thing that would destroy her. She was in its hands, defenceless. She knew nothing that could be of any help.
‘Father came in just now while you were asleep. He wanted to ask you about something, but we didn’t want to wake you. It was important, he said.’
Her mother can have had no idea how near the breaking point she was.
‘Do you hear me, Siss?’
It was no use going to sleep again now. What have I said without knowing it? Have I said anything?
‘Siss, try to remember what you and Unn really did talk about. What she said to you.’
Siss lay gripping the blanket, feeling the approach of something unfamiliar. Her mother continued, ‘That was what Father said he had to know. Not just Father but all of them searching want to know if you can give them some hint.’
‘I told you, it was nothing!’
‘But are you sure, Siss? While you were feverish you said a good deal that goes against you. You talked about the strangest things.’
Siss stared at her in fear.
‘It’s better for you to tell us. I don’t want to threaten you, but it’s important. All this is being done for Unn’s sake.’
Siss felt the unfamiliar thing just above her, felt it take hold of her.
‘But when I say I can’t tell you anything, I can’t do more, can I?’
‘Siss –’
At once everything began to go dark, at once everything seemed strange and sinister. Her mother hurried to her. Siss shouted, ‘She didn’t say it, I tell you!’ And the darkness was complete.
Her mother stood appalled and tried to rouse Siss. Siss lay contorted and wailing.
‘Siss, we shan’t do anything to you! … Do you hear? … Siss, I didn’t know …’
5
In Deepest Snow
Then where was Unn?
A reply seemed to say, Snow. Blindly and meaninglessly. Blindly all the long day. It was no longer cold, but it snowed unceasingly. Then came the evening and with it the urgent question: Where is Unn?
Snow, came the reply from hearth and home. It was real winter. And Unn had vanished into it. In spite of all their searching not a trace was to be found. It was as blind around Unn as in the blinding snowstorms.
People had not given up; there was some form of search taking place continually. But it was no use wading about the woods in the deep drifts. They kept watch and investigated in other ways.
In a trice everyone knew about Unn, the unknown Unn. There had been pictures in the newspapers; people had seen an enquiring photograph of her taken that summer.
The great lake was a silent expanse, no longer detonating, non-existent. The splendid broad outlet, where the water flowed placidly between softly rounded banks, was still there, but no one went there any more. Somewhere further along the hidden ice palace stood, too, losing its shape below the rising drifts. No one ploughed his way there, his skis sinking deep into the snow.
But the one night there in front of the ice walls had fixed itself in people’s memories and had turned into a legend about Unn: they were certain that Unn had climbed up there, fallen into the river and been carried away.
They were still dragging the river, downwards from the waterfall where there were pools. The ice-coated dragging poles stood in the snowdrifts at night, pointing upwards. All roads led to Auntie’s house. Everything collected there, all lines of communication met in this lonely woman, Unn’s sole anchor. The blind lanes crossed there at a clear, tearless point of intersection.
‘I see,’ said Auntie. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It can’t be helped.’
Unn’s anchor in life.
An enquiring picture taken last summer. Unn, eleven years old. It was at Auntie’s, standing on the table.
She was given reports by those who had taken their turn with the dragging that day. Their poles stood outside while the tired men recounted their day to Auntie, who was always cordial. Others looked in at daybreak the next morning. It had snowed all night. It would be a winter with plenty of snow.
Auntie listened to the reports from the second, larger group, the one that was trying to find out whether Unn was still alive. There was no news.
‘I see. Very well. Thank you very much.’
She also had to receive people who looked in to question her about everything that might throw light on the matter. She had no information to guide them. They found an elderly, cordial woman. There must have been a great difference in age between her and Unn’s mother. They looked at the picture that everyone had seen.
‘It was taken last summer, wasn’t it?’
Auntie nodded. She was tired of this.
The expression taken last summer had made the picture compelling from the very first. It was meaningless, but it had happened. It was impossible to guess what kind of enchantment the face was given by it, but it had gained something. Taken last summer. They looked at it and would not forget it.
They looked enquiringly at Auntie, too, who was forced to submit to all this. She did not look very strong; but they realized that she was immensely strong in her imperturbability.
She had to answer one question which was unavoidable: ‘What was Unn like?’
‘I was very fond of her.’
That was all.
Those who heard this testimony from Auntie herself felt it was the finest that could be given. It bore no trace of the many times it had been said, They felt they had to look at the picture a little longer.
‘She looks so enquiring, in a way, doesn’t she?’
‘Yes, what of it?’
What of it? Nothing.
‘She lost her mother in the spring. She was all that she had. So she had something to enquire about, don’t you think?’
Outside the window the snow fell, blotting out all traces.
6
The Promise
Promise in deepest snow from Siss to Unn:
I promise to think about no one but you.
To think about everything I know about you. To think about you at home and at school and on the way to school. To think about you all day long, and if I wake up at night.
Promise at night.
I feel you are so close that I could touch you, but I daren’t.
I feel you looking at me when I lie here in the dark. I remember it all, and I promise only to think about that at school tomorrow.
There is no one else.
I shall do so every day, as long as you are gone.
Solemn promise one winter’s morning:
I feel you standing in the passage, waiting for me when I go out. What are you thinking about?
I promise you it shan’t happen again, what happened yesterday. It wasn’t important! There’s still no one but you.
No one, no one else.
You must believe me when I tell you so, Unn.
Renewal of the promise from Siss to Unn:
There is no one else. I shall never forget what I have promised, as long as you are gone.
7
Unn Cannot Be Blotted Out
So Unn could not be blotted out. This was something that came about in Siss’s bedroom. There the dearly bought promise took shape.
After a week she was able to get up. A week of driving snow against the window-panes and many wakeful hours at night, with the knowledge that it was snowing harder than ever – because everything about Unn had to be snowed under. Blotted out. It was to be emphasized that she had gone for good, that it was useless to search.
Then resistance rose up strong and shining. Then the promises took shape. They took shape, too, when she heard how the reports from the search parties petered out; when it all seemed futile.
She won’t be lost. She shan’t be lost. Siss determined it in her room.
Nobody came to bother her with questions any more. Somebody had put a stop to that. She dreaded going to see Auntie. She would have to go as soon as she got up; it was the very first thing s
he must do.
If they had perhaps expected Auntie to come here to question Siss then they were grateful that nothing came of it. There was no sign of her. But as soon as Siss was allowed to get up she would have to go there, she was told.
The radiant image from the nights when she had had fever: Unn, not lost, not dead, standing there as she had done that time in her own room.
Hallo, Siss.
Then Siss was up. Tomorrow she was to start school again and dreaded it. Today she was to go to see Auntie, now left alone. There was no question of avoiding it. She set out from home.
A bright winter’s day. Mother had asked somewhat cautiously whether she should go with her to see Auntie? Going there might be difficult in many respects. It looked as if Mother was uncertain about sending Siss.
‘No, you mustn’t,’ said Siss hurriedly.
‘Why not?’
‘Nobody is to come with me.’
Then Father interfered. ‘Mother had better go with you today, Siss. Don’t you remember how it was when you were asked about one thing and another?’
Mother said, ‘She’ll have to ask you about Unn.’
‘No.’
‘She will. She’ll ask about everything. Unn may have told you. She won’t ask so much if someone else is with you.’
‘Nobody is to come with me,’ said Siss, afraid.
‘All right, if you insist,’ they said, and gave in. ‘You must do as you wish.’
Siss knew that she should have let her mother go with her. Her parents were hurt. They did not know that she had to be alone with Auntie.
Siss walked quickly to the solitary house. The trees around it were bent with the weight of the snow. It looked empty, but the path leading to the doorstep was cleared. It must have been done by a man. Auntie could not have managed it so well. Somebody must be concerned about her and coming to clear the path for her. Perhaps she was not alone after all? Siss walked in, full of dread.
Auntie was alone.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said as soon as Siss opened the door. ‘How nice of you to come. Are you well again? I heard you were ill after that trip to the river.’
The Ice Palace Page 7
