The pastor was welcoming Andersen when his phone buzzed to say he had received a text message.
By the time Voldbakken had read and responded to the message, the other members were in their seats. It wasn’t a bad turnout. There was Kari Gaustad, a councillor who attended on behalf of the municipality. The pastor admired her work ethic but was aware that some members just didn’t like her. Sitting as far away from Ms Gaustad as possible was Morten Espelund, who sometimes represented Vesterheim hotel and sometimes represented himself, depending on the topic or his mood, or how bad his arthritis was.
Finn Andersen filled the space between Espelund and Agnes Tvete, a retired school-teacher who would probably have said that she represented the silent majority, but who nevertheless talked a lot of sense. She was doctrinally a little unorthodox, perhaps the legacy of a couple of years teaching in a mission school when she was younger, though more likely the result of decades of living and working in Oslo. But at least she was a practising Christian, which differentiated her from most of the others in the group. As a bonus she was prepared to take the minutes.
Frederik Voldbakken opened the meeting by thanking everyone for finding time in their busy schedules. “And I’m sure you will join me in welcoming our new member, Finn Andersen from Espedalen Activity Company.” He gave them a moment and then continued, “We are expecting one more person, Geir Osmo, who will lead the discussion on our main agenda item. He has just sent me a text message to say he has been delayed but will join us soon.”
Then, while the members were sorting through their papers, Voldbakken said, “As some of you will already know, Vesterheim Mountain Hotel was vandalised last night. Elin Olsen, the hotel owner, discovered the damage early this morning. The people responsible seem to have been protesting against our sports weekend so I think it’s appropriate for us to spend a few minutes discussing the incident.” He turned to Morten Espelund. “Morten, I understand you were involved in cleaning up the damage and so I wonder if you would tell us more about it.”
Espelund cleared his throat. “Let me start by asking you to excuse my appearance. I don’t usually attend meetings in my working clothes, but I’m running late today. The situation at Vesterheim is that some hooligans painted anti-immigrant graffiti on the building. They wrote the words Ut and Utøya and the number 77.”
The old man waited for the murmuring to subside. “We know that the incident happened after ten-thirty last night. I was in the hotel until then. When I left – at the same time as the barman, who locked up behind him – there was no sign of damage. And as there were no footprints in the snow this morning, the incident must have happened before three o’clock, because according to the weather station that is when the snow stopped falling. The vandals probably came into the hotel grounds on a footpath, for Elin Olsen is convinced she would have heard anyone coming along the main drive. They disabled the security light by putting a bag round the sensor, and then they painted their slogans.”
He paused and then said, “They also placed the head of an elk on a ski-rack by the door and fixed a flag of Norway to it. The flag had been soaked in something, possibly the animal’s blood.”
Agnes Tvete looked up from her note-book. “References to Anders Breivik’s massacre on Utøya island? The Norwegian flag used as a symbol? It seems to be an educated sort of vandalism.”
Espelund nodded. “I should also have mentioned that the elk’s eyes had been removed. So if you are looking for symbols you could also add that the elk, Norway’s national animal, has been blinded.”
The councillor, Kari Gaustad, said, “Okay, so we’ve got a crude piece of ultra-nationalist nonsense. Norway is blindly letting immigrants take over the country and it will all end in bloodshed? It’s not clever stuff. Even a toddler could come up with Ut. Utøya.”
“True, but a toddler couldn’t kill an elk,” Espelund said pointedly. “And not many people are allowed to get away with killing them outside the hunting season.”
Kari Gaustad glared at him. “Allowed to get away with killing them. And what do you mean by that?”
“I mean that when animals are shot illegally around here - like this elk, and like several of my wild reindeer - the culprit is usually Håkon Skaugen, a.k.a. ‘Hawkeye’. And it would be nice to see your police force taking a harder line with him.”
Kari Gaustad said, “I’m sure that if the police obtain any firm evidence about Mr Skaugen – as opposed to wild accusations – then they will act appropriately. And it’s not my police force. I liaise with the police on a small number of issues, but I can’t give them instructions. All I can do with regard to Vesterheim is speak to the Chief of Police and make sure she is aware of any community concerns. But I expect she already is. I would also like to say that the police now get many instances of anti-immigrant vandalism, and in the great majority of cases the matter is quickly resolved.”
There was perhaps a note of mischief in Agnes Tvete’s voice when she spoke. “You just said the police now get many instances of anti-immigrant vandalism. Would you like me to record that in the minutes?”
When the councillor shook her head, Agnes Tvete drew a conspicuous line through her notes and said, “The reason I asked is that, as we all know, Geir Osmo has put an item about a possible centre for asylum seekers on this morning’s agenda. If people are prepared to mutilate an animal and paint disgusting slogans just because a few foreign children plan to come to our valley to ski for a couple of days, I wonder what they will do if we build a facility for asylum seekers? Can we expect many instances of anti-immigrant vandalism to result from that?”
The room fell silent. The pastor took his chance. “That brings us back to our agenda. For the benefit of our new member I should say that Mr Osmo’s item relates to a disused building that he owns near Slangenseter. It was once run as a tourist hostel but he would like to apply to the authorities for a change of usage. He wants to use our meeting today to gauge the level of local support - or opposition - to his project. While we’re waiting for him to arrive I suggest we proceed to matters arising from the last meeting, under which I’d like to update you on the more successful aspects of our sports weekend.”
He glanced round the room. “But before that, I would like to remind the meeting that Mr Osmo’s agenda item was put forward when I asked you all to suggest topics that the group should consider. And Mr Osmo’s item was the only one received. So I’d like to try again now, and see if we can come up with some topics for our next meeting.”
He gave everyone a chance to look guiltily down at their papers before continuing. “Vidar, you told us at the last meeting that at Tronablikk hotel you sometimes accommodate personnel from a mining exploration company. Would you be prepared to talk about that and perhaps suggest how the mining company might present an opportunity for other local businesses?”
Vidar Lien said, “I can try, though I’m not sure there’s much to say. The mining people will be at the hotel for a staff get-together this weekend, and Finn, our new member, will be doing an activity programme with them. So I suppose that shows there are some opportunities for other businesses. However the exploration company is very small; and until it actually discovers some mineral deposits I don’t think there is a lot of scope. But I’m happy to talk about it.”
The pastor nodded his thanks and pressed on. “Morten, would you be willing to tell us about your wild reindeer and how they might help in the regeneration of the area? Educational studies perhaps?”
Espelund smiled. “As you know, I’m always happy to talk about the reindeer.”
Before the pastor could ask her, Kari Gaustad volunteered. “I would be happy to give an update on progress with our bid for Unesco World Heritage status for the canyon at Helvete. I assume that is what you were going to ask?” When Voldbakken nodded she said, “But only on condition that Mr Espelund has no objections and that he will promise not to disrupt my presentation, as happened once before.”
“My objections to the Helvet
e project are well-known”, Morten Espelund said wearily. “All it will do is attract day-trippers who will contribute nothing to our local economy - except litter. And if we are not careful they will scare away the miners that Vidar has just been talking about.”
“So now mineral extraction is regarded as beneficial to wild reindeer?” Kari Gaustad asked, gratuitously.
Espelund replied, “Wild creatures don’t have an aesthetic for scenery. In Oslo city you will find falcons nesting on the ugliest buildings, as long as they are high enough. The reindeer will get used to mineral extraction because the work is predictable and keeps to a defined area. But if you bring in day-trippers then you also bring in dogs and traffic, and people who want to rush around on mountain bikes. And that is why I am totally against the idea of making Helvete into a big tourist attraction.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “However, we live in a free country and I don’t mind if Miss Gaustad wants to talk about it.”
Voldbakken could see that Agnes Tvete was getting it all down. That was good. He would be able to post the minutes on the parish website this afternoon, before anyone had second thoughts about speaking. When Agnes stopped writing he said, “Finn, I realise you may not feel ready to contribute yet, but if you do have anything to say, I’m sure we would all be interested in hearing it.”
Finn Andersen said, “Yes, I would like to say something. I know it will be controversial, but I’d like to talk about snow-mobile routes. I want to propose that we ask the local authority to allow us to have a route that starts here in Espedalen and then goes over the hills to the resorts at Fefor and Gålå and Skeikampen. I’m aware that many skiers will be against it, but we need to do new things to attract people to the area. I used to make my living from our skiing visitors, like many local businesses used to do. But over the years their numbers have declined - ”
Agnes Tvete interrupted. “That is precisely the same argument that Geir Osmo will make about his asylum seekers centre. Any kind of economic development is acceptable, as long as it brings in money. Don’t worry about the other consequences.”
Finn Andersen said, “Miss Tvete, I know you are a keen skier and I understand your concerns about snow-mobiles, but my view is that we have to change with the times. Otherwise we will end up with nothing. And I think you are right to make the link to Geir’s proposal. It’s another example of the same thing, the need for the valley to change or die. And there are plenty of other examples. For instance, we’ve all heard that the local school is probably going to close down, because there are no longer enough pupils. As a former teacher yourself, would you rather it was empty, or filled with the children of asylum seekers?”
Agnes Tvete was just about to speak when the door opened and Geir Osmo burst in. He had obviously been rushing.
“I am very sorry to be so late,” Osmo said breathlessly. “But when I drove round to my hostel this morning I discovered that someone had painted slogans on the walls.” He slumped on to a chair. “I don’t know how to tell you about the other awful things they have done.”
“I don’t think you need to,” the pastor said. He was already on his feet, heading for the coffee.
Chapter 10
It was only eleven o’clock when Cally brought her little group to a halt beside a forest road. They had reached Slangenseter. Apart from one or two houses there was no sign of a village, but the smell of wood smoke told them there were other buildings among the tall conifer trees.
Since leaving the bottom of Vesterheim’s piste, Cally had stopped just once, to check the map at a junction. After that the route had been straightforward, and all she needed to do was keep Olstappen lake on her right-hand side, and keep a line of power cables on her left. Richard and Neep stuck to their promise and let her make the decisions. They seemed confident in her ability with map and compass, probably because she had always been such a diligent attender of the ski club’s navigation workshops, held in one of Aberdeen’s city parks. She had enjoyed those sessions and she had learned quickly, though she had always been aware that her performance would get worse as the day wore on - and her thoughts turned to what she would have to endure before getting home to Crombie.
Today the terrain had made for easy skiing. After a flat section along the side of the lake the Scots had climbed steadily into a forest, and had then enjoyed a long descent where they’d been able to stop pushing with their poles and let gravity do the work for them. Then it had been flat again. So it had been an undemanding morning. Even so, Cally was glad to unclip from her skis and to take off her rucksack for a few minutes. And she was glad that she had heeded Richard’s advice about paring down her load, though previously she had sighed at his fussiness. He had even produced a list of group equipment: One first aid kit, one small toothpaste tube, one small bottle of shampoo, one toilet roll, one bag containing candles for the cabins (plus matches and cigarette lighter), one set of ski waxes and cork, and one snow shovel.
Last night he had said they should leave their mobile phones at the hotel, because Elin had told him there was no signal in the mountains. But then he had made up for the small weight-reduction by making them all take a set of climbing skins from the hotel’s rental stock. If they fancied climbing any steep hills they could stick the skins on to the bases of their skis and walk straight up the slope, rather than zig-zagging. Their rucksacks could have been a lot lighter, but - again on Richard’s advice - they had brought sleeping bags, in case the cabins were busy and they were obliged to sleep on the floor.
Cally was rummaging for her thermos when she heard the sound of a vehicle on the road, the first motor she had heard since leaving Vesterheim. A big tractor was coming along. Its wheels, as tall as herself, were wrapped in sturdy metal chains. The driver waved a greeting as he clattered past. He was clearing ice, using the wide bucket that jutted from the front of his machine to scrape the surface. High banks of snow at the sides of the road suggested that an even bigger vehicle had ploughed it earlier in the day.
Neep took a sequence of photographs of the tractor. He seemed full of admiration. “I like it here,” he said. “It’s like Scotland done properly. Take away the lake and this could be Glen Dye - and we could be on our way up Clachnaben. Except that in Scotland a hill road like this would be shut for half the year: snow, fog, high pollen-count. But the Norskies just get on with it, even though it must cost a fortune for all the machinery. And it’s not just the roads - think about our hotel. When you take account of the track-cutting machine and the poma lift for the downhill piste, as well as the building itself, there’s a lot of capital tied up in just one business. So Elin needs a lot of guests just to break even. And judging by the number of empty tables in the dining room this morning I’d be surprised if she’s doing much more than that.”
When Neep finished speaking he seemed embarrassed at having let his professional side show through, when they were supposed to be on holiday. As if to make amends he fished in his rucksack and held out a bag of sweets. “Who’s for a jelly baby?”
Richard said, “You’ve brought jelly babies?”
“Two bags thereof. They’re supposed to give you a quick sugar hit when you’re having strenuous exercise.”
Richard took one. “Thanks. But I feel a bit of a fraud. It’s not really been that strenuous so far, has it?”
“I’ll have one, just to try it,” Cally said. “Though I’m not a lover of sweets.” As she chewed the rubbery blob she shook her head. “I see what you mean about the sugar.”
“Well, don’t worry,” Neep said. “Because even if you don’t like them you can still have a lot of fun. It says on the packet that the different-coloured babies have different names. So if we run out of things to talk about in the cabins, we can play at Guess that Baby. I like to think that Scott of the Antarctic played games like that on his way to the South Pole.”
He had settled back into his daft persona. Cally thought he looked the happier for it.
“You might have chosen a luckier r
ole model,” Richard said. “Scott and his men died on the way back from the Pole. Their bodies are still out there, frozen in their tent and buried under a mound of snow.” He had crouched down and was studying the little thermometer that hung from his rucksack. “The wind changed a little while ago and the temperature has gone down a couple of degrees, so I suggest we put on some more wax to help us over the next section. We’ll need a bit more grip, now that the route is going to start climbing - if the leader agrees with my recollection of the map?”
Cally nodded. “We go left, alongside this road, for a few minutes and then branch on to a smaller track. It looks like it climbs pretty steadily through the forest. Once we’re out of the trees the cabin isn’t far. We should be there well ahead of the guidebook time.”
She stopped, distracted by another motor. She looked along the road until she realised this was not the sound of a tractor but the deep, thumping roar of a helicopter. Then she saw the aircraft, a blue and white machine, moving just above the trees.
It slowed almost to a stop and then hovered beside the power cables that were now just a short distance away, close enough for Cally to see the two crew members. One was holding a kind of pole, and was spraying fluid over the top section of a pylon. The other was controlling the helicopter - and that was obviously a skilled job. The aircraft had a tendency to drift, even in the light wind, and the tail would swing alarmingly close to the cables. The pilot seemed to have to make constant corrections.
“It must be Elin’s expensive boyfriend”, Neep said.
“You’ve met him, then?” Richard asked.
“Not exactly. But we saw him this morning as he was leaving the hotel.”
“I met him yesterday morning,” Richard said. “Then I skied past the helicopter later in the day, when I was on my way back from the canyon at Helvete. If he earns a lot of money I don’t grudge him it. These cables are live, and if he gets things even slightly wrong then he has had it.”
The Red Mitten Page 6
