To Sleep With Reindeer

by Justine Saracen

  Their supper finished, they sat down on their nest to remove their boots. Kirsten turned the kerosene lantern down to a tiny flame that left most of the storeroom in a dull-brown semi-darkness, but created a sphere of soft orange light around them. They lay back under the common blanket, each one clasping her own hands chastely across her chest.

  “It feels a little like we’ve just crashed, doesn’t it? We thought we’d get a hero’s welcome, but instead we have to suffer the blame for a bombardment that went wrong.”

  “Yes. It’s depressing. And confusing. Should we have done nothing and let the Germans have their way in all things? That would have been cowardice.”

  “But what about the reprisals? The killing of innocents?” Maarit asked into the air.

  “I don’t know. But war’s a strange thing. People higher than us declare it, plan it, and execute it, and when one side surrenders, people higher than us arrange the terms. The point is, we’re foot soldiers, and we shouldn’t accept the guilt for the bombing no matter how badly it went wrong.”

  “Foot soldiers. Yes. I like that.”

  They lay a few moments in silence, neither one yet ready to sleep.

  “Are you warm enough?” Kirsten asked. “It’s not the same as having your feet to the goahti fire, is it?”

  “I’m fine. It’s always warmer with two people under a blanket.”

  “We’ve slept together so many nights. I can’t imagine sleeping alone anymore.”

  “Mmm.” Maarit agreed neutrally. “Family sleeping. The Sami way of keeping warm.”

  “I like to think I’m more to you than Alof or Jova.” Kirsten still stared at the ceiling.

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean, you haven’t kissed them the way you kissed me.”

  “That’s true,” Maarit said, her tone unchanged. “Under the aurora borealis.”

  Damn, this was not going to be easy, Kirsten thought. “But I feel like I know you almost intimately—your facial expressions, your mind, your thoughts, the quality of your spirit.”

  “That’s more than most people know me.”

  “Yes, but I also want to know the physical part of you that I’ve never seen. Your legs, your…breasts.”

  Maarit chuckled softly. “I haven’t seen my legs or my breasts for months myself. But it pleases me to know you want to.”

  “Don’t you want to know what I look like, too?”

  “I suppose so. I haven’t thought about it much.” She paused a beat. “Well, that’s not true. I’ve thought about it quite a lot.”

  Another long silence followed, and they both still stared upward. “Do you think about making love with me?”

  Maarit seemed to consider the question. “To be honest, I’m not sure what ‘making love’ is. Love in a goahti isn’t terribly romantic, and most Sami make short work of it.”

  “You’ve lived in a city, even gone to a university. You were never involved with anyone? With a boy or a girl? Your grandmother said you planned to marry.”

  “In Trondheim, I lived in a rented room with three other girls, but no one ever got into my bed.” She turned on her side, facing Kirsten, and rested her cheek on her hand. “But after I left and came back to my mother’s people, she tried to marry me off to my cousin Niilas. It was understood that we’d marry after the autumn migration.”

  Kirsten let her eyes wander everywhere but Maarit’s face. “Were you…um…intimate with him?” She asked lightly, as if to inquire if she’d ever eaten fish and chips.

  “Once. He came to visit me when I was alone. I expect the family made a point of not being around that day to give him the opportunity. Anyhow, it was late summer, so clothing wasn’t an obstacle, and he gave me an idea of what it would be like to be his wife. The whole thing went rather quickly. If we’d married, I suppose I’d have gotten to like it. But I had second thoughts and put him off. He ended up accepting a job transporting reindeer meat down along the coast and earning more than he’d done as a herder. He was just outside the corral during the slaughter last week, but you were probably too busy to notice him.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t marry him. Sex shouldn’t be something you have to learn to like. It should be so wonderful the first time that you want to do it again and again for the rest of your life.”

  “Is it that way between women?”

  Kirsten was taken aback by the question, which cast her as an expert. But compared to Niilas, perhaps she was.

  “There’s a better chance of it. After all, women know what other women like. Generally, they’re not in a hurry, and a woman can’t take selfish pleasure on another woman’s body. She can only give it.”

  “That sounds quite nice. Why don’t all women do that?”

  Kirsten snickered. “I ask myself that all the time. Maybe because they don’t know about it. Parents all seem in a hurry to marry their daughters to some successful man. The poor girls never find out about the alternative until someone comes along to show them.”

  Maarit laughed softly as well. “Or they find someone in a snowdrift and bring them home to recover.”

  Kirsten caressed her cheek with the back of her forefinger. “Exactly.”

  “So, does that mean you’re making promises of some sort? For unselfish pleasure?”

  “Yes. I promise you that one day, when we are warm, and washed, and safe, and naked, we will share an experience that will be far better than your little hour with Cousin Niilas.”

  “An hour? I can assure you, it didn’t last that long. He’s a good man, strong, kind. But his kisses are kind of sloppy. Are your kisses better?”

  “That’s for you to decide.” Kirsten rose to rest on one elbow. Her hand that had been stroking Maarit’s hair found its way to her neck as she bent over her. She brushed her lips lightly over the corner of Maarit’s mouth and swept them playfully across her mouth, chin, throat.

  Maarit responded in the same way, and they played a little back and forth, a sort of game of tag, until finally their mouths rested together.

  They embraced more fervently, but their heavy trousers and sweaters were between them. Kirsten ached for more; the swelling in her sex was almost painful, at once demanding continuation and relief.

  “Your kisses are so sweet, I want to do them forever,” Maarit murmured, and Kirsten suddenly thought of Niilas, who couldn’t kiss. She stopped, and let her breathing slow. This was not what she wanted, to fumble through layers of clothing and grime. Maarit’s first sexual experience had been brief, emotionless, as the passive object of someone else’s gratification, even if he had been kind. Kirsten wanted their first joining to be ecstatic, not just all right.

  “What is it?” Maarit sounded anxious. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No. Not at all. I’m the one who started something we couldn’t finish. In a cold place, on a stone floor, where we can’t even touch each other. I want us to have something wonderful and luxurious.”

  “How do you imagine that ever happening? And where?”

  “I don’t know, but I promise you, there will be a time and a place. I want us to wait for that day, and in the meantime, I promised Jova I’d take care of you.”

  Her face still against Maarit’s neck, Kirsten felt her head nod gently. “Yes. I like that idea. To care for each other until the war is over and we both know what to do with our lives. Why don’t we exchange something in the meantime? Like making a pledge.”

  Kirsten sat up. “Exchange what? Almost everything I have is from the Sami anyhow.”

  “How about our amulets? I’ll give you my fox, and I’ll wear your reindeer. If Gaiju gave you the piece to carve on, it’s probably made from the same antler as mine anyhow.” She sat up as well, lifted the cord over her head, and presented it to Kirsten.

  “And here’s my reindeer.” Kirsten handed over her own amulet. “We’re connected now through the antler. Do you believe in magic?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Me neither. But I belie
ve in you, and in us. And in sentimentality.”

  “Sentiment, yes. I believe in that, too. Now kiss me again, and hold me in your arms until we sleep.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The sound of voices in the café woke them, and a moment later Birgit gave a warning rap and then entered. “Odin just came by to say he’s heard from London.”

  “Really? What did they say? Why didn’t he tell us directly?” Kirsten was already on her feet.

  “Because there wasn’t much of a message. London simply signaled, ‘Waiting for more information. Stand by.’ As for our complaint about Norwegian fatalities, all they said was ‘so sorry.’” She made an about-face, obviously still upset, and returned to the café.

  Maarit frowned. “‘Stand by.’ What does that mean? Wait a few hours, a few days, a few weeks? Birgit has made it clear we can’t hide out here.”

  “What alternative do we have?”

  “To go back to the Sami. They always need more hands, and we might as well be working while London makes up its mind what to do. We could come back in ten days or so to ask again.”

  “But we just got here, after two hard days of skiing. What if they set some plan in motion the day after tomorrow, and we’re up on the tundra with your reindeer?”

  Maarit shrugged. “You’re the one with relatives in the resistance. Can’t those people suggest a place in the valley for us to live?”

  “You’re right. I’ll ask Odin to send another message to SOE. Something like, ‘Cannot remain at current location. Please suggest alternative. Otherwise forced to return north and out of range of communication.’”

  They peered through the storeroom door into the café, which had not opened yet and was empty of customers. Birgit stood in the kitchen behind the counter, making coffee. She set out two cups and a plate of dark-bread slices when they approached. “So what’s your plan now?” she asked, neutrally, though Kirsten sensed “to stay here” would not be an acceptable answer.

  Kirsten took a sip of the scalding ersatz. “I’d like to send another message through Odin, to be forwarded to my father, saying we need housing. Otherwise we have to return to the vidda and be unavailable for a few weeks.”

  Birgit seemed relieved. “Good idea. If London wants you working for them, they have to protect you better. You can find Odin in the town garage. Go to the end of the street and turn left for about two hundred meters. You’ll see the garage behind the stable. You should head down there now. Meanwhile, Maarit can help me bring in the day’s wood for the stove.”

  “Fair enough.” With the other half of the bread in her teeth, she went back for her coat. Cheered by what seemed to be a step forward, she laced up her boots and stepped out into the frigid February morning.

  She’d gotten nearly to the end of the street and was already composing the message she’d send. Brief and to the point.

  Milorg has no role for us and no housing. Pls suggest alternative or we must return to plateau and out of range.

  But something caught her attention. At the corner, two policemen were shouting at a Sami man. She seemed to recall him from the separation corral. Yes, it was Miko, from the Tuovo family, the one who helped her to her feet when the reindeer had thrown her to the ground. He caught sight of her and seemed to recognize her, then returned his attention to the policemen. His dog must have snarled, for suddenly one of them kicked it, and it yelped.

  Everything in her warned not to go near them, but she slowed her pace, indecisive. Miko knew her and would expect help. Worse, the confrontation seemed to escalate as the soldier drew his pistol and pointed it at the poor beast. Spontaneously, she hurried toward them.

  “Stop it!” she called out, reaching toward the abuser’s arm.

  Surprised, he swung the gun toward her, and she knew in an instant she’d made a terrible mistake. Even Miko looked at her incredulously.

  The second policeman, gaunt and buck-toothed, unhooked his rifle from his shoulder and pointed it at her as well. “You better come with us,” he ordered. This would not end well.

  In the same instant, Miko unsnapped his leash and shouted something at the dog that caused it to run back up the street where she had just come. Mercifully, the soldiers didn’t fire at it. “Move!” The first one shoved Miko by his shoulder.

  Kirsten fell into step next to him, trying to formulate an explanation to give whomever was about to interrogate them.

  She had a cover story, a simple Norwegian woman, returning to the town of her birth for sentimental reasons. Would Miko pretend to not know her or let something slip?

  But Miko was furious. “Why did you interfere?” he snarled under his breath.

  “They were going to shoot your dog. What should I have done?”

  “Now they’re going to shoot us.”

  “Shut up, the two of you!” one of the policemen barked, and they fell silent. Just then they passed the garage, where, if she’d minded her own business, she would be passing a message to Odin. Now she’d thrown away that opportunity. Was he at that moment witnessing their arrest?

  A dozen thoughts ran through her mind. How stupid she’d been, ignoring months of training with SOE to not be distracted. How worried Maarit would be at her disappearance. How convincing would her cover story be?

  She was jarred from her thoughts when they reached what she recalled was the police station. The arresting officers prodded them through the doorway into a reception area with a counter and window similar to a railroad-ticket office, but barred and reinforced. The man behind the window slid a clipboard through the window, presumably for the officer to write his report.

  Her hopes were raised. Perhaps they could still get away with being charged with a minor disturbance. Whatever Miko was arguing about, she was an innocent bystander who loved dogs.

  An interior door opened again, and another officer entered. Once again, she stared at a familiar face, struggling to recall a name and connection. But this time it was a disaster.

  It was Niels Halvorson, and she’d known him—all too well—at Oslo University. He was heavier than when she’d last seen him, and his hair, slicked back from his forehead, was thinner. But his cold, puckering mouth hadn’t changed. He stared at her for a long moment, and then recognition brightened his face.

  “Kirsten Brun. It’s you, isn’t it? Well, well. What a surprise to see you here. What’s going on?”

  The policeman who’d brought them in showed him the report he was filling out. Niels’s eyebrows went up. “You attacked them on patrol? You and this man’s dog.” He glanced briefly toward Miko’s feet and puckered in confusion at the absence of a dog.

  “The dog ran away and was just defending his master anyhow. These men were threatening him, a simple Sami, going about his business. I intervened because they pulled a gun to shoot the dog.” Suddenly outrage gripped her. “Why are you arresting innocent people, anyhow?”

  His voice was cool, authoritative. “You know full well that Norwegian law enforcement is fully coordinated with the German administration, and vagrant Sami are designated a nuisance.”

  “Coordinated. What a cowardly word that is. You’re quisling lackeys to the occupation.”

  Niels’s face grew cold. “You’d do well not to insult your captors.”

  “Captor. For the Germans. That’s what you are now? Where’s your patriotism?”

  “I’m doing more for the Norwegian people than you are. And why are you wearing a British coat?”

  “It’s not British,” she insisted, glancing down at where the insignia had once been. “It’s just a coat. I’ve had it for years.”

  “I know a British man’s coat when I see one. Ah, yes, I remember now. Your mother was British. And your father is a traitor who worked up at Vemork before he fled.”

  He frowned, repeating “Vemork” under his breath, and she could almost hear the pins falling into place. “Is that what you’re doing back here? Working with the saboteurs that attacked the plant?”

  “I don
’t know what you’re talking about,” Kirsten spat, and her response sounded pathetic even to her. Every common thief she’d ever read about or seen in films said that before being forced to confess. Her mind raced. She had to come up with a story that was true enough to convince him and endanger no one. And she had to start with Miko.

  “Look, this man really has no idea what’s going on. Let him go chase down his dog, and I’ll tell you what you want to hear.”

  He stared, squinting at her for a long moment, calculating the losses or gains from making the deal, and then agreed. “All right, he goes, and you talk.” He shoved Miko by the shoulder toward the door.

  Miko stepped out into the cold air with only the briefest glance over his shoulder, and she knew that word would get back of what had happened.

  Now she struggled to choose bits of information she could give him that would harm no one. The Germans already knew about the Vemork attack, and the saboteurs were mostly in Sweden anyhow. But she had, above all, to protect Birgit and Maarit, and the radio connection they had through Odin.

  Without further discussion, he led her along a corridor to a narrow steel door. Opened, it revealed a cell some four meters wide and five meters deep. At the far end, a tiny window emitted the dim, sunless light of late afternoon. It held a single narrow bunk, and when he pointed toward it, she sat down.

  “So. Now let’s have a little talk, two adults getting to know each other again,” he said, standing over her. A wave of revulsion went through her as she recalled the last time he’d said nearly those same words to her. It all came back to her.

  The last student party at school, before the auditorium fire and the closing of the university. A summer party outdoors, of some fifteen boys and a similar number of girls, full of vitality and easily excited. Some of the students had paired off, but she stayed in the larger circle. Niels had been hovering around her for weeks, admiring her hair, making little presents, but she’d rebuffed him. He would not be put off and, after a few beers, had drawn her aside, away from the others. “We’re two adults. Let’s get to know each other better.” He’d grabbed her breast, though only for a second before she slapped him and fled back to the others by the campfire.