To Sleep With Reindeer

by Justine Saracen

  She fell silent, and Maarit remarked, “So, that left me, their other half-breed.” She drew up one knee and began to unwind her leg band. Its colors were similar to those on the band Jova was currently weaving.

  Half-breed. Strange remark, for Maarit’s people had shown no sign of resenting her. But perhaps the tragedy lay in the other direction, that not only the reindeer were reduced in number, but also the full Sami. It was at least a change of subject. “Has it been difficult to live in two cultures?”

  “It has its challenges. On my best days, I feel doubly enriched, but on the bad ones, I sense I don’t quite belong in either.”

  “Like Aigi,” Alof remarked suddenly, and both heads turned toward him. He puffed his pipe leisurely, as if he hadn’t just heard the story of the death of his daughter and grandson.

  “How is it like Aigi?” Maarit asked.

  “He took the pipe stem from between his teeth. “Aigi was the unwanted child of two lands, but he was a hero.”

  Kirsten shifted her position to hear him, relieved that the evening’s conversation had shifted from lament to storytelling.

  “He was a witch’s son, with tainted blood, but chosen to challenge Hahtezan, goddess of dark things, and Stallu, eater of children.”

  “Stallu is the Sami boogyman,” Maarit explained softly. “Parents threaten children that if they wander off from the village, he’ll catch them and eat them.”

  Alof took a long puff on his pipe and continued.

  “It happened that Hahtezan, the fae who ruled the winter night, seized the magical waters of the six springs. She sent ghosts to guard them and to kill anyone who came near.”

  Kirsten threw a side glance at Maarit at the unfamiliar names, but Maarit seemed intent on the story. Perhaps there would be some character development.

  “Aigi was summoned to take back the magical water for Njavezan, the fae of light and summer. The boy was able to approach the ghosts because he was the son of a witch and knew some of the dark spells. But the brute Stallu captured him and tried to eat him. Stallu got only as far as eating one foot before the golden Arctic fox saved Aigi. But then Aigi was lame and had to rely on the golden Arctic fox to fulfill his calling, so together they found a strong reindeer to carry them toward the sun bridge formed by the first beam of spring.”

  “And he succeeded, didn’t he? The hero always succeeds,” Maarit remarked.

  Alof shook his head as he tapped out the ashes from his pipe and packed in fresh spruce bark. “Victory is momentary, but time is long. An old man knows this.”

  “So what happened?” Kirsten couldn’t help asking. The plot was already pretty complicated, and she couldn’t see its message.

  “Aigi freed the waters from Hahtezan and Stallu. Stallu was an eater of children, but time is the eater of all things, both defeat and victory. The six springs began to produce more magic water.”

  Mythology meets science, Kirsten thought. “So what did he do then?” she asked out loud. “Does the story end with the victory of Hahtezan and Stallu?” Myths were generally not so cynical.

  “No, my child. You were not listening. Time eats all victories, even that one. The waters became so coveted that Stallu poured them into a great vessel and tried to carry it away in a boat.”

  Waters in a boat. That’s a good one. It was beginning to sound like a fairy tale again.

  “But Aigi and the golden Arctic fox found the boat and dug a hole in its bottom, and it sank, and all its water flowed into the lake. The magic caused the lake to become beautiful, but the magic was never strong enough to be of any use to Stallu and Hahtezan.”

  “And the six springs? What happened to them?”

  “The legend does not say.” Alof relit his pipe and puffed at it, apparently terminating his narration. Jova had already packed up her kitchen and curled up on the woman’s side of the goahti, an additional signal that the day was over. Kirsten and Maarit exchanged glances that amounted to a shared shrug, then also lay down for the night.

  Kirsten dreamed about Aigi, but the waters didn’t belong to gods with impossible names. They belonged to her father Jomar, and the Germans had stolen them. And it was her task, like Aigi, to win them back. But that was the anguish that made the dream a nightmare. How could one rescue water? You couldn’t lift it in your arms and run away. And she couldn’t even approach the water anyhow, since she could barely walk.

  When she awoke the next morning, she lay for a few moments, recalling her failure and frustration.

  * * *

  In the second month of her sojourn, as shuffling became walking, and the pain in her ribs disappeared, she felt increasing shame and guilt. While she was injured, she was, in a manner, excused from service, but as soon as she was fit, she was duty-bound to return. Besides, Maarit had promised.

  While Maarit and Alof were away with the men on a wolf hunt, she examined her feet, as she did almost every day. They were still unnaturally pink but no longer swollen. On an impulse, she rummaged in her rucksack and pulled out her boots and tried to slide her feet into them. Her right foot fit easily inside, though the left one, that had suffered the sprain and the more severe frostbite, required a bit of force. Nonetheless, she stared triumphantly down at her feet, once again shod with her own boots. One more week, she thought. Seven more days for the left foot to recover, and it will be time to go.

  She glanced up to see if anyone had noticed her achievement, but Jova had dozed off over her weaving, and Gaiju was carving something. He often carved bowls and utensils for the family, but today he fashioned something on an antler, and she watched him with curiosity. When he finally noticed her gaze, he beckoned her to him. Intrigued, she stepped over to his side of the goahti and sat down next to him.

  He smelled strongly of burnt birch tobacco, but as she leaned away from him, he drew her back and placed a small knife in her hand.

  She stared at the knife, puzzled, until he added a three-inch length of reindeer antler that forked at one end. He’d already taken a slice from one side, creating a flat surface on the round antler, obviously for some marking. He showed her first the way to tilt the knife just slightly to achieve a narrow, barely perceptible groove. Then he pressed his thumb on one of the charred logs and smeared it over the cut. A brief wipe of the image with his palm revealed the soot-filled groove as the first line of a drawing.

  “Ah, so that’s how you do it.” Closing her hand over the antler fragment, she stepped back to her own side of the fire to work. Maarit wore such an antler amulet, and Kirsten liked the idea of having one. She already knew the image she wanted.

  Intent on her carving, she lost track of time and so was surprised when the wolf hunters returned. Intrigued, she stepped out to see if they’d succeeded.

  Two of them dragged a hand-sled bearing the carcass of the wolf. It was a large male, and she could see how he would have had the power to pull down a reindeer, even without the rest of his pack. It was a splendid beast; she couldn’t help but regret its death.

  Maarit must have noticed her glance. “Don’t worry. It took only one shot. Well, two. One to stop him and the other to finish him off. It was a more merciful death than his deer suffered.”

  “I know,” Kirsten said dully, as the hunters unloaded the carcass for skinning and butchering. That night, everyone ate wolf meat. It was tougher than deer meat, and eating it made her feel more detached than ever from civilization. Another reason to go home.

  As the evening wore on and the family began to doze, Kirsten leaned toward Maarit and spoke under her breath. “You know, I can walk again. We need to talk about going to Rjukan.” The thought of the trip across the wild vidda frightened her, but she had said the words, and now she was committed. It would test her to her limits, but she was in charge of her own life again.

  Maarit was silent, and Kirsten feared she would object. Without Maarit’s help, she was all but trapped. But Maarit nodded. “This is a good time. The reindeer have enough food for a while, and we won’t r
ound them up for castration and slaughter for a couple of months. But can you travel? You can play brave to me, but not to the wind and cold. You’ll have to ski for a day and a half and spend a night on the ice.”

  “It sounds ominous, I admit, but really, I’ve already pushed the boundary of cowardice by remaining here, coddled by the Sami for nearly two months. If I stay any longer, it’s desertion.”

  “I understand. Well, all right. I’ll tell Jova and Alof tomorrow. I’ve got loose ends to tie up, and we’ll have to adapt some Sami skis for you, but we should be able to leave in a couple of days.”

  “Well, then. It’s settled. By the way, while you were out hunting, Gaiju showed me how to carve on antler bone. It’s my first try and it’s pretty primitive, but…you’ll see.” She reached inside her jacket and pulled out an object, then dropped it onto Maarit’s palm. A piece of antler in the shape of a Y. On the surface, just at the bifurcation, she had scratched out a stick figure with four legs and two protrusions on its head.

  Maarit studied it for a moment, obviously pleased. “Well done! A reindeer. How appropriate.”

  “It couldn’t be anything else. The reindeer found me, after all.”

  “It’s beautiful. Now all you need is a cord to wear it.” Maarit crawled a few feet toward Jova’s “kitchen” and began pulling things from a box of household items: wooden utensils, a hammer and nails, knife handles. Finally, she found a length of leather cord. Tying it around the antler, she made a necklace of it and draped it over Kirsten’s head. Kirsten fingered it for a moment as it hung over her chest, then dropped it under her sweater. “I saw that you had one and wondered what’s carved on yours. I’ve been meaning to ask.”

  Maarit drew her amulet out from under her gakti and ran her thumb over the image. “It’s a fox. It’s supposed to make me clever.”

  “Well, it must be working. You managed to heal my feet, both the sprain and the frostbite. And without benefit of medication.”

  “You don’t need medication for those things. They heal by themselves.”

  “Don’t brush off a compliment. I’m trying to tell you, because of you, I can wear my own boots again.”

  “I’m so glad. Now, get some sleep, and tomorrow I’ll tell Jova she can have her shoes back.”

  Chapter Seven

  A search around the settlement produced a pair of old skis, and Gaiju’s wood skills made them serviceable again. Some days later, by the first light of the winter sun, they set out with a hand-drawn sled carrying supplies. In consideration of Kirsten’s limitations, they set up a rhythm they could sustain, skiing for two hours, interspersed with fifteen minutes’ rest.

  Because it would have been suicide to appear in Rjukan in British clothing, Kirsten had relinquished her two coats and exchanged them for an old Sami gakti. Like her shoes, it had belonged to Karrel in his younger days, and he had long outgrown it when he disappeared. Unlike his shoes, it was worn, and the ornamental braid was frayed and stained. It made her look like just another Sami woman used to sitting on the ground. All she had to do was take care to cover her red hair.

  She was energetic and optimistic, even a bit smug, until, during the sixth hour, the sky began to fill with clouds, and the wind increased. When the snow began, and the wind blew it into their faces, Maarit finally stopped. “I’d hoped we could reach the rock outcroppings just east of here, but we can’t make it. We’ll just have to shelter here.”

  Kirsten surveilled their surroundings, but all she could see was an endless expanse of snow and distant—very distant—mountains. She recalled her own largely successful efforts at shelter-building two months earlier, but her training in the Cairngorms had shown her other methods as well. “What do you think, a snow wall, a ditch?”

  “A little of both. I’ll give you the easier job, digging the pit. About two feet should do it. I’ll tackle the wall.”

  They’d had the foresight to carry along the small shovel that had been Kirsten’s splint, and once again, it proved useful. Under the heavy snowfall, she scooped frantically while Maarit rolled up large snowballs, as if for a line of snowmen. Three adjacent balls with snow packed into the crevices worked well as a wind block. Three more balls made an L shape, curving inward, that provided protection from the east. By then, Kirsten had managed a shallow pit some three feet wide and five feet long.

  “What about the other side wall?”

  “You’ll see. Help me unload the supplies,” Maarit shouted over the sound of the wind. “Lay the deerskins on the bottom, quickly.”

  Kirsten obeyed, and when the sled was empty, Maarit hauled it up on its side, forming the third wall of a loose triangle. By the last bit of visibility, she stretched the tarp over the top of the two snow walls and the sled, anchoring it with packed snow. Brushing flakes from her arms and shoulders, she clambered into the pit next to Kirsten. A third deerskin was left, and Maarit pulled it over their heads.

  Within moments, Kirsten felt the tarp sag as snow accumulated on it. But the narrow “roof” held and sheltered them against the wind in their triangular igloo.

  Satisfied with their construction, they lay down back-to-back on their deerskin flooring. On a whim, Kirsten turned onto her other side and pressed her forehead against Maarit’s back, which provided a soft place for her head and reflected back her warm exhalations onto her face.

  “Better?”

  “Yes, much. What about you? Isn’t your face cold?”

  “No. I’m breathing on my glove. Relax now. Let the warmth spread.”

  They weren’t exactly warm, but the reindeer skins and the thick gaktis they wore insulated them to the point where they didn’t shiver. Exhaustion helped them both sleep.

  As always, when she slept on snow, Kirsten was sure she hadn’t slept at all. But when she lifted the deerskin from her head, both wind and snow had stopped, and it was full night.

  Maarit turned to face her. “Ah, you’re awake. How are you doing?”

  “I’m all right. Though I can’t tell if I still have feet. How about you?”

  “Fine. It looks like the storm’s cleared up, so we should start out again.” She rose to a sitting position, throwing off the hide that had covered them. “I’ve packed enough kindling for one fire. After you’ve found your feet, why don’t you make a little fire and heat some water while I load the sled.” She hauled herself up from their sleep niche and stomped in a circle to warm herself.

  Kirsten rummaged through their sacks for kettle and twigs. Her hand brushed against their flint, which was just as important as the wood, and she gathered the wood scrap and moss into a small bundle. A single swipe on the flint ignited it, and she set the snow-filled kettle over the flames. The fire lasted just long enough to warm the snow water so that she could add a handful of ersatz coffee. By the time she’d thrown in a few chips of frozen meat, the brew was lukewarm, but against the bitterly cold air, it seemed luxurious.

  When they started off again eastward, the land looked much the same as before, only that the featureless surface that stretched out in front of them now held waves, like a frozen sea.

  Kirsten checked her compass. “Southeast is in that direction.” She pointed with her mittened hand.

  “I know the way. It’s right between those two ridges over there.” Maarit nodded toward a spot more toward the right.

  “If you say so,” Kirsten conceded. What was a compass against Sami geography?

  Both her feet ached now, as well as her knees and her buttocks and her shoulders. Upon consideration, she realized no part of her didn’t hurt. Even her teeth ached slightly from clenching her jaw. Staring down at her feet and sliding them one after another, she didn’t complain. She would have fallen down dead in her tracks before she would admit that her insistence on the journey was a mistake. But when she’d just begun to formulate a way to beg for a rest, Maarit stopped.

  Puzzled, Kirsten thought the landscape was unchanged, and then she saw the new feature. In front of them, the vidda continued, u
nbroken, for another two hundred meters, but at that line, the white stopped, and a dull gray-green strip crossed the horizon. They were looking at the edge of the plateau, and the strip of color was the tree-studded land on the other side of a great gorge.

  “That’s it! We’re here,” she exclaimed. “Rjukan is just below us.”

  “Don’t get too excited. It’s a long climb down.” They skied to where they could see over the sloping rim and down into the valley below. Some hundred tiny lights were scattered more or less along the bank of the Måna River. They were houses, seemingly forlorn in the dismal valley.

  “It’s just as I remember it. Dark all autumn, winter, and spring, even when there was light up on the plateau. The sun could never reach into the valley.”

  “Ah, so you know this place. And you never climbed up to the top?”

  “No. I was about ten when my mother moved us back to London. I saw Rjukan from halfway up the mountain for the first time when I returned in 1935, to study in Oslo. My father invited me to see the new hydroelectric plant.” She nodded toward another cluster of tiny lights from buildings on a rocky cliff on the other side of the gorge.

  “Your father worked for the Norsk Hydro Plant? You never mentioned that.”

  “I never mentioned a lot of things. Yes, he was chief chemical engineer.”

  Maarit studied her for a moment. “You have ties to the hydroelectric plant. It’s under the control of the Germans now. Everyone knows that.” She squinted as if that helped her think. “Your coming here, before you crashed, had something to do with the plant and the Germans, didn’t it? What do the British want to do with the plant? Use it? Destroy it?”

  “It’s better not to ask all those questions. Even if I were allowed to tell you, it would simply endanger you even more than you are.”

  “I believe we’ve had this conversation before. I appreciate your wanting to protect us, but I’ve brought you this far, so I’m already involved. Fatally perhaps. So tell me. Do the British want to destroy the hydro plant?”