Nilas visited the bathroom downstairs first and began to read the morning news, a ritual for him. Then he went to the kitchen to get some coffee. Coffee? Why do I have this urge to suddenly drink coffee? It didn’t matter. If coffee was what his body desired, coffee it would get.
Once the machine had sputtered to life and produced its first frothing cup of coffee of the day, Nilas sat at the kitchen table, and continued to read the morning paper. He wouldn’t have to go to work for another few days—an extended leave of absence due to bereavement. He’d never thought he’d ever end up in this situation. Even after Casper’s stroke, the prospect of ending up alone had never really crossed his mind. Yet there he sat, at his kitchen table, as he had countless days before, reading the news before going to the nearest streetcar station to get to work.
In the past fourteen years, since Casper had stopped working at the university and had begun writing his crime novels, they’d slipped into a comfortable routine, of Nilas waking up early, getting ready for work and leaving the house while Casper was still asleep. When Nilas arrived home after five in the afternoon, Casper would be sitting in the office, waving at him, greeting him with one of his smiles as he walked through the gate and into their garden to walk the few steps from the fence to the front door.
Even after the stroke, when Casper had stopped writing, he’d still often sit in his office, in front of his computer, corresponding with his publisher or the film studio, or just reading up on current events. It had been such a comfortable routine. Yet, as Nilas contemplated this, he realized many things had indeed changed, again and again, and not just after the stroke.
When they’d first met each other, they’d both lived in tiny studios, dorm rooms, really, then the apartment in Göran’s house, later their first bigger apartment south of Stockholm, with routines changing every year or so, as one then the other of them graduated and began to look for work. Then followed the move to Gothenburg, and until Nilas had found work, it had been vice versa, with Casper leaving early in the morning and Nilas being the one to greet him in the late afternoons when he’d come home from the university. For a while, they’d both worked, leaving the house empty all day long.
But no matter their external circumstances, they would always return home, eat dinner, and spend the evening together. Go to bed together. That was the constant, the red thread running from their first encounter thirty-four years ago to yesterday. No, the day before yesterday. Oh, no, it’s already been forty-eight hours. Fresh tears welled in Nilas’s eyes as he grappled the concept of time’s ticking cruelty. Never again would he come home to Casper sitting behind the office window. Never again would he accidentally bump into Casper’s feet in their bed at night. Never again would he make love to the man who’d been his faithful companion for almost two-thirds of his life.
Probably woken by her son’s tears, Inga came into the kitchen and hugged him from behind, without saying a word. She held him until his tears and the heaving of his body to the sobs had stopped, just hugging him.
Finally, she spoke in a soft voice. “Morning, son. Did you get any rest?”
Nilas nodded. “Yeah, Mom, I did. Elin’s little helpers did the trick.”
“Good. Just don’t get hooked on them. They’re addictive.”
“I know. It’s so strange to be in the bedroom by myself. In all those years, I don’t think we spent more than a week or two apart. There were a few conferences that Casper went to, and a night here or there for film premieres in Stockholm, Copenhagen, or Oslo, but that was it. I usually tagged along.”
He turned to face her. ”Coffee?” he asked but was immediately consumed by his thoughts again. “It’s this feeling of being abandoned, helpless. What am I going to do, alone in this huge house? Do I just carry on with my life as if nothing ever happened? Go to work in the morning and come home at night? Tjidtjie, I’m only fifty-five years old. I have another twelve years to work before retirement, at least, and another twenty or thirty before I, too, kick the bucket. Am I going to be alone from now on?”
“I don’t know, son. But I don’t think you’ll ever be alone. You have us, you have your sister, her family. You have friends, and while you may not believe it, I think Casper is still with us, all around us, watching over you, protecting you. Don’t rush into thinking about the future. Not yet, not now. I think you need to grieve for Casper, grieve the loss of the love of your life and the life you two had together. That is important. Don’t move on too quickly. Take your time. Take your leave slowly, properly. Celebrate and honor the life you had together.”
“I will, Mom, I promise. I don’t think I can even imagine a life without him, not right now.”
“I know, I know. But in time, why don’t you talk to your jyönna. He’s never been as fortunate as you have. He’s always been alone. He never found love, yet he isn’t unhappy. Quite the contrary. And he’s eighty years old. Next time you come to see us, talk to him about it, how you can be happy all by yourself, find that happiness within yourself.”
“Thanks, Mom. I think that’s a good idea.”
She put her arm on his shoulder and smiled. “Did you mention something about coffee?”
Nilas rushed to the machine and pushed the button and placed a cup under the nozzle, watching as the precious brown liquid dripped, quickly filling it. The aroma flooded the kitchen. He placed the cup in his mother’s hands and refilled his own. She marveled at the sight.
“For fifty years you’ve been drinking tea. Why the sudden change?”
“I don’t know, Mom. It’s just reminding me of him, you know? In a tangible way. The coffee, the smell, it’s him somehow. Am I going crazy?”
“No, of course not. Whatever helps you to remember him is fine. Just as long as you don’t punish yourself. Have you thought about the memorial service?”
Nilas shook his head. “No, not really. But I need to inform his family. I’ve put it off long enough. Even though they haven’t spoken for years, they deserve to know.”
Inga nodded. “I just can’t understand that family. I don’t understand how any mother, or father, for that matter, can treat their child like that. I can’t imagine not being a part of yours or Anna’s life. It would’ve been my death. As difficult as it may have been at times, particularly when we first learned about you being gay, and the AIDS epidemic… Those were difficult times. The fear of losing your child… They always say that no parent should ever have to bury their children, and I finally understand why. Casper may not have been born from my womb, but I never saw him as anything but my child, and no…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Clearly, she’d been trying to be strong for Nilas, but her grief was as deep as his. As tears began to roll anew down their cheeks, they hugged each other, letting another one of those moments pass.
***
Over the coming days, the teary moments became less frequent, although every friend who came by to express their sympathies and every phone call brought back raw emotions all over again. Jon-Anders volunteered to call Roland, to tell them about Casper’s passing, but the phone line had been disconnected. They got a hold of Elisabeth’s number, and Jon-Anders called her, learning that Roland had succumbed to Alzheimer’s and had been admitted to a care facility a few months ago. His condition was such that he wouldn’t understand his son had died, and Elisabeth didn’t express any emotion. She merely thanked Jon-Anders for the call and hung up. She showed no interest in Casper’s memorial service.
The autopsy results had also come and confirmed that Casper had died from a massive stroke in his sleep. It had been quick and painless. After the hospital released the body, it was cremated, and the urn was sent to the funeral home until arrangements for the burial had been made.
Nilas decided he wanted to celebrate Casper’s life in the one place where he had been the happiest, and invited everybody he knew and cared for to the house for an open afternoon. Inga and Jon-Anders helped him organize the event, and during the day, a good hundred p
eople came by: former students, faculty members at the university, famous actors, producers, and film crew, along with half the publishing house staff, all made their way to Gothenburg to pay tribute to Casper Jonsson. But even though Jon-Anders had called back and informed Elisabeth of the funeral arrangements, no one from that side of the family made an appearance. On Nilas’s side, Anna and her family had flown down to attend, even jyönna Lars-Sjul had made the long journey by bus and train to be at his nephew’s side.
Nilas and Lars-Sjul had a long conversation about life alone, and where to find enjoyment and happiness in solitude. At the end of that conversation, Lars-Sjul put his hands on Nilas’s shoulders and said, “You know, boy, I’ve always been envious of you and Casper, what you had together, the happiness you shared, the safety in having each other. When your mother called me two weeks ago, that was the first time in my life I was glad to be single, and that I would never have to endure what you’re going through right now. I’m not sure I could live with such a loss…” Teary-eyed, he hugged Nilas.
“Thank you, jyönna, I appreciate your words. And you’re right, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. It’s as if part of me died right along with Casper. It’s like I have this void inside me, this gaping wound, right here!” Nilas pointed to his chest.
Jon-Anders joined them and asked, “Have you made any decision as to the burial?”
“Yes, Dad.” Nilas nodded. “I think I’ll spread Casper’s ashes in the mountains, back home.”
“Are you sure?” Jon-Anders questioned. He’d heard of outsiders trying to scatter ashes in the mountains in the past, and the Sami had never allowed it. Nilas was one of their own, and through marriage, so was Casper. But among the Sami, cremations were unusual, and most people opted for a traditional burial. Sami beliefs bequeathed that the body of someone who died should be buried near the migration path of the reindeer, together with their hunting spear and other personal items to help them on their own migration to the afterlife, where the reindeer would always be well fed.
The Sami buried their dead so they would be able to hear the familiar and soothing clicking sound of the reindeer’s ankles as they walked nearby. After the arrival of the Swedes, and the mandatory membership in the state church, they had been forced to bury their dead in official cemeteries. To cremate someone and spread their ashes was not a traditionally Sami ritual, even though it had occurred in a few, very rare instances.
“Yes, quite,” Nilas responded. “There really isn’t much that ties us to Gothenburg, and I don’t think I want him in one of the local graveyards. It’s not who I am, and I have this odd sensation that Casper would be lonely here, whereas in the mountains, he’d be everywhere, and I’m always there, too, at least in my mind and my heart. I am Sami, I am part of Sápmi.”
“Son, if that is how you feel, you should definitely talk to Katarina. You know that you’ll also need the permission of the county administration, right?”
“I know, Dad, I know.” Making this decision had been an important step for Nilas. The prospect of having a grave to visit didn’t appeal to him, and to merely have his ashes buried in the graveyard’s nameless memorial plot wasn’t an option, either; nor was scattering the ashes at sea. While they’d lived on the West Coast all their lives, and had really enjoyed their honeymoon and their scuba diving, neither of them were water people. It was the mountains, the lakes, and forests of Gávtjávrrie that were home, to both Nilas and Casper, and that was where Nilas needed Casper to find his final resting place.
* * * * *
The End…
“Are you ready?” Inga said, as Nilas prepared to leave the house. Today was the day Nilas would be spreading Casper’s ashes in the mountains he called home. He would do so alone, and nobody would know where he’d gone. He had a long trek ahead of him, and therefore left the village early on. His father drove him all the way to the end of the road, where Mikael—a family friend and an old pal from the tiny elementary school in Gávtjávvrie—was waiting for him.
Mikael would take him by boat, across Lake Givnjuo, from where he’d proceed on foot, north, and up the valley to a small mountain lake he’d chosen, Ravrrajávrrie, after consulting with his old school friend who was working in eco-tourism in the area. It was one of the many small lakes where the reindeer would calve in the spring and then spend the summer there, with their young. It had always been one of Nilas’s favorite places as a child. Soft grass grew there, and there were several cold springs in the area, their waters known among the Sami for their health properties. The reindeer felt at peace, and in the background towered Skiebllie, tall and impressive.
Nilas had received permission by the county and the tribe to scatter Casper’s ashes in the mountains, and when he finally stood there, to say a final farewell to his late husband who had passed away four months ago, he felt at peace. Around him, reindeer were eating grass, and the small calves were jumping around, playing. Mother Nature celebrated life here, and it was a beautiful sight to behold.
Nilas held the small brass urn in his hand. He’d carried it in a backpack all the way up here, and now it was time for this final act. He’d been okay after the memorial they’d held at their house back in Gothenburg. His parents had stayed a few more days before making the journey back to Gávtjávvrie, together with Lars-Sjul. Anna and her family had only stayed over the weekend and had flown back to Umeå early on Sunday.
Nilas had returned to work, and in an odd way, routine enveloped him. Days had turned to weeks, and weeks had turned to months. He was mostly okay, yet every now and then, the smallest thing could trigger a relapse into sobs and tears. Not the coffee, Casper’s preferred brew, but the sight of a photograph, or an e-mail addressed to Casper, a letter, a smell, a scent, a random object, anything really.
Though fairly frequent in the first weeks, they’d begun to fade, and Nilas wasn’t sure if he was just getting used to being alone or if his heart had truly begun to heal.
He unscrewed the lid of the urn and started to scatter the ashes in front of him, onto the shore and the calm waters of the lake. He didn’t say anything, but he prayed to his gods, to help Casper with the transition to the afterlife, where they would eventually be together again. He watched as the remains of Casper fell to the ground, some into the water, some sticking to small mountain flowers or tender grass straws, the tiniest particles carried away by the faint summer breeze gently stroking across the mountain plateau.
When the urn was emptied, Nilas got up and looked out across the small, almost round lake in front of him.
“Casper, my love, you are home now, forever. Home and one with the mountain, the water, the heavens, one with Sápmi. Thank you for everything. Månna iähtsáb duv, and I promise to always find my way back here, home, to you.”
* * * * *
2017
…Or Maybe Not…
Nilas looked out over the valley below him. He was sitting in a patch of fresh green grass behind the top of Njieries, the local mountain above Gávtjávrrie, village and lake. At 2,400 feet above sea level, it was not a very tall mountain, but nevertheless, the view was spectacular. Sápmi’s mountains weren’t tall, at least not compared to those of the Andes, Alps, or Himalayas, and the trees reached almost all the way to the top, slowly growing higher and higher for every decade the world was warming.
Njieries was home to a ski lift in the wintertime, and in the summer, the scars in the landscape from the ski runs were painfully visible. This mixture of tundra and alpine landscape was so fragile in the face of humanity’s interventions. As a Sami, Nilas knew that, and his people had always lived in harmony with nature, with the land, the waters, the forest, only taking what they needed, leaving what they could.
Gávtjávrrie was beautiful this time of year. Nilas had never been able to make up his mind about whether he preferred the summers or the winters up here. The tender greens of the aspen, the birches, the herbs, and the grass, against the dark greens of pines and spruces, the many
hues of blue of the lakes, rivers, and the sky in the summer, or the eternal white of the long Sápmi winters, albeit that there wasn’t much sun to be had this close to the Arctic Circle. But they often got to see the Northern Lights, something that had enthralled Nilas ever since he’d been a little boy.
On the other hand, summer days were extremely long, and although Gávtjávrrie lay approximately one degree south of the Arctic Circle, and the sun would always set, if only for a very short while, it never really got dark at the height of summer; dusk simply turned to dawn. Even the falls were stunning, as short as they were, but when the birches turned, and their yellow color contrasted against the dark green of the pine or spruce, and when the lakes resembled a mirror during a wind-still and sunny day, his Gávtjávrrie was as close to perfection as any place he’d ever been.
Nilas had come back, for a few weeks, to relax and just be. He was alone on the mountain; his parents had stayed behind in the house. Trekking was no longer something they were able to do at their age, and Nilas really looked forward to some time alone. Just him, the forest, the mountains, and the landscape. For the first time in months, his first thought in the morning hadn’t been Casper.
Instinctively, he touched his left ring finger, rolling the simple golden wedding band around the finger. Yes, he missed Casper. Missed him terribly, but he was able to breathe freely again. He intended to trek all the way up to the little mountain lake Ravrrajávrrie, where he had scattered Casper’s ashes a year ago. He’d never told anybody where he’d scattered them. Nilas knew that his family respected his need for privacy, and they shared his belief that Casper was in the afterlife, waiting for them to join him, and that his essence was one with Sápmi, and thus everywhere, always near.
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