Not Dark Yet

by Berit Ellingsen

  A few doors down the hallway from the meeting room, a team of three doctors, two men and a woman in white coats, were waiting in a large space with three desks, three examination benches, and three exercise bikes wired to a rack of monitors. The winter sun blazed in through wide arched windows, the intense illumination barely dampened by translucent curtains. The room smelled faintly of disinfectant and soap.

  He and the other candidates started by signing a form which allowed the doctors to perform various medical and dental tests and that they consented to not being informed of the general results, unless the analyses indicated actual disease. He signed the document thinking that if he didn’t pass the current round of selection, he’d at least had a free and thorough health check. The doctor he had been assigned took his pulse and blood pressure, examined his heart and lungs with a stethoscope, looked inside his eyes, ears, mouth, and throat, measured and noted his

  height, weight, and percentage of body fat, and examined his spine and shoulders. Then followed several blood tests taken from his arm in small plastic tubes, and a urine sample, which he had to obtain in the bathroom next door and hand to the doctor in a small, closed cup. In the adjacent room, a general x-ray was taken of his chest and abdomen and another of his head and neck. Back in the large room, the doctor glued electrodes to his chest and neck and wrists and told him to lie down on the nearest examination bench to measure his heart function and rate at rest. After that he had to put on a nose clip and a breathing mask, which sent signals to the rack of monitors and consoles in the corner, and mount one of the exercise bikes to measure lung capacity and heart output during moderate exercise and at full load. He was very glad he had been training the entire fall, and was relieved when it took a while for his pulse to reach maximum rate during the final test. Finally, he had to go two doors down the hallway for a full x-ray of his mouth and teeth, and check-up with a dentist.

  He had expected even more invasive medical tests, but they were probably more costly and might therefore not happen until the final round of selection. When the candidates returned to the hotel it was almost dark. That close to the sea the dusk turned blue before it fell to black, and large, wet flakes of sleet wafted down into the slowly beating waves.

  At dinner the atmosphere was quiet and subdued, despite most of the fifty candidates being present and filling nearly all of the small white-clothed tables in the hotel’s restaurant. It was as if their chatter and laughter dissipated into a vacuum beneath the high, molded ceiling and the mint-green walls decorated with naturalist drawings of local plant species. In the draft from the tall, narrow windows the meticulously prepared dishes cooled too quickly, and the light from the multi-colored blown-glass chandeliers from the southern parts of the continent seemed

  much too bright. The sound of the waves that hissed ashore slowed their hearts and stilled their thoughts. For a while the only noises in the room were the clink of silverware against porcelain, the scraping of chairs as someone sat down by a table or left one, and the waiters’ footsteps on the shiny, lacquered floor.

  “Seems it’s getting colder tonight,” one candidate said, breaking the chilled silence.

  “That’s the problem with January,” another candidate replied. “After Christmas and New Year’s there’s nothing to look forward to except spring, and that never arrives fast enough.” There was a flurry of laughter in agreement, then nothing but cutlery against plates was heard for a good while.

  He attributed the silence to people being hungry and sleepy after three days of testing, and in particular, the exercise load of the medical examination. His own legs were sore after the biking, because he hadn’t dared take the time to warm up before going on the bike, or stretch properly when it was done. He had wanted to, but it had seemed so self-important and delaying, especially since neither of the other two candidates testing at the same time had warmed up or stretched. Now feeling the minor but definite pain in his thighs and calves, he regretted not having asked for the time after all.

  “I wonder what they’re going to put us through tomorrow,” someone muttered.

  “I’d rather like to know which of us are going to the next round,” another replied.

  “You think they’ve already made their choices?” a third said.

  “Yes, of course, don’t be naive.”

  “Isn’t it always so? There may be ten suitable applicants for a position, but the leadership has already decided, even if the position is advertised publicly.”

  “And if not, then there’s always one or two who stand out right from the start and the others haven’t really got a chance.”

  The candidates glanced around, some more openly than others, to find out who might be familiar to the space organization already, or had distinguished themselves during the tests, but since, with the exception of the medical examinations, all the testing had been done electronically and without adjudicators, no one had any facts to base their considerations on, and consisted only of impressions and guesses.

  He wondered too, but shifted his focus back on the sole of halibut in morel and sweet wine sauce on his plate, cutting it deliberately, and chewing even more slowly.

  “You can’t mean that,” one candidate finally said. “They wouldn’t have invited all of us here and paid for the tests and the hotel if just a handful of us were proper astronaut material.”

  “Take it easy,” another replied. “This isn’t a talent show on TV. They will have to analyze and compare the tests first; it’ll take them weeks at least, or even months.”

  “No, the representative told me herself this morning who would be called in for the next round of tests.”

  Silence, then laughter, incredulous, yet a little nervous.

  “That’s rubbish.”

  More laughter around the tables.

  Cut, skewer, swish, chew. Fingers getting cold and thighs aching on the seat of the chair. Draft from the windows chilled the back of his neck.

  “I suppose you’re right. It will take them weeks to sort through the data. But think about it, each of us might be looking at their crew mates to the moon, or even to Mars!”

  They looked at one another.

  Someone snickered, high and thin, but quickly fell silent.

  32

  AFTER THE SUBDUED DINNER HE EXPECTED A mass retreat to the rooms, but instead most of the candidates gathered in the hotel bar, clearly seeking the warmth of human company and friendly conversation from the deep leather chairs around the crackling fireplace, while the heads of several unfortunate ungulates glared at them from the hunting lodge decor on the walls. The rest of the applicants huddled on the roof-covered steps at the main entrance, sending the stench of cigarettes and snippets of talk into the foyer every time someone moved too close to the doors and made them slide open.

  He sat for a while in the bar, chatting with a few of the other candidates while ordering peanuts and salt sticks instead of drinks, then excused himself early.

  “I’m going upstairs,” he told his roommate, Wameeth, an outgoing, broad-shouldered father of two who hailed from the northeastern region of the southern continent.

  “Not staying longer?” Wameeth said. “It’s the last night after all.”

  He shook his head. “I’m worn out. But please stay for as long as you’d like.”

  “All right, see you later, my friend.”

  Upstairs in the room he turned off the lamps, pulled the thin curtains aside, and pushed the nearest windows open. Wet snow flakes speckled the air and dusted the garden and driveway with white, but didn’t seem cold enough to remain. He thought he could hear the snowflakes hiss as they reached the black surface of the water and melted into it, but he could neither see nor hear the surf.

  When it grew too cold, he shut the window and went to bed. Before the testing started, he had worried about the white light and wondered if it would flare up in him, but the white-outs had stayed away, perhaps because he spent all his mental and physical energy on the tests. Th
us, instead of collapsing from seizures, he stopped breathing in his sleep. He couldn’t say what he was thinking of or dreaming about when it happened, only that he woke up because he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt his body draw breath. It was a surprising and strange sensation, but not one that elicited fear. When it happened, it felt natural and appropriate, something that simply should be allowed to take place without his interference or opinion, just like the white light and the sensation he had had in the summer of vanishing into it. He had read that some experienced practitioners only needed to draw their breath once or twice an hour, deep in meditation. Since the silence that preceded and followed the spontaneous breath-hold was meditative and calming, he assumed he was experiencing something similar.

  He expected to fall asleep quickly, but that didn’t happen. Despite the feeling of exhaustion, he lay staring into the darkness while listening to the clangs of the elevator further down the hallway as it started and stopped, footsteps in the corridor, muted sounds from the floor above, water gurgling in the pipes. An hour later he was roused from a light sleep by the sound of laughter right outside the door and voices he thought he recognized. The last disturbance before he fell solidly into dreams was that of Wameeth opening the door from the lit hallway and then closing it quickly.

  The next morning he rose as soon as the alarm clock integrated in the headboard of the bed rang, had a quick shower, shaved, dressed, then packed his small backpack and carried it downstairs to the luggage room in the reception. The space organization representative had informed them that their rooms would be paid, but that they had to check out themselves, so that the hotel could confirm how many of the reserved rooms had been used. He did so at the front desk and handed his key in before he entered the restaurant for breakfast. As with the previous mornings, there were no warm dishes, not even porridge, but instead, a wide variety of cereals, bread, sliced meat, jams, fruits and vegetables, and steaming coffee and tea, which had been set out on a long table in front of the windows. He took a plate and a glass from the stacks at the head of the buffet and helped himself to some rye bread, smoked ham, red chili, and mini cucumber.

  Outside, the lawn and hedges that lay in shadow were covered in a spotty layer of wet snow, but where the sun’s rays had reached the vegetation was bare and the rest would likely melt long before noon. The sky was bright and the ocean a clear, calm blue. It looked like a beautiful day in the beginning of spring instead of in the winter. He hoped the fields at the cabin were growing fast and well.

  After breakfast, the chartered coach that had shuttled them the previous days took them to the astronaut training center for the last time. Now familiar with the building, the candidates rolled their suitcases, carried their backpacks, and lugged their bags through the hallways to the large meeting room.

  “Today you have until lunch to finish up and revise any test that you haven’t yet completed,” the space organization’s representative said. “If for some reason you need more time to finalize all your tests, let me know and I will see what I can do. Those of you who wish to leave earlier for the journey home may do so, but please notify me before you go so I know you have left and aren’t simply missing.”

  Most of the candidates had only parts of a test or two to complete, and a few left within the hour. But the majority seemed to have scheduled their return trips to the afternoon and said they preferred waiting at the astronaut training center than at the airport or the train station. One of them collected their names, email addresses, and internet profiles, and promised to set up a group online for those who wished to stay in touch.

  The candidates who had completed their tests drifted off to the cafeteria for a bite to eat. The representative said she couldn’t offer them food tickets that day, but that the prices in the cafeteria were highly subsidized, so she recommended buying lunch there before they left.

  Several of the candidates, especially those who lived near one another, or had attended the same university, or had been stationed at the same military base, exchanged personal addresses and phone numbers. The week of testing seemed to have resulted in several new friendships and a few romantic connections. He gave his email address to a few others, including Wameeth, without expecting to hear much from them, but nevertheless looked forward to chatting with them as part of the group online.

  During their final lunch together in the cafeteria the candidates also organized shared transport to the airport and the train station. When the meal was over they picked up their luggage in the meeting room, and followed the representative one last time to the foyer.

  “Best of luck to everyone and I hope to see you again for the next and final round of selections,” the representative said, smiling at them. “It’s been such a pleasure to meet you all and to get to know our future explorers.”

  He traveled with the smallest group, which was headed to the central train station.

  “Looking forward to going back to the mountains?” Wameeth asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “Are you familiar with the place?”

  “Passed through it once or twice on the way to my company’s ski cabin. It’s a beautiful place, but cold.”

  “It’s gotten warmer,” he said. “It’s still beautiful, though.”

  “Warmer?” Wameeth said. “Isn’t there a lot of snow?”

  “No snow so far,” he said, “but it’s my first season there, so it might just be the strange weather this year.”

  “Yes, the weather has been so weird,” Wameeth said. “I wonder when it’s going to turn back to normal. When I heard you lived up there I thought you were staying at the resorts.”

  “No,” he smiled. He hadn’t seen any ski slopes or hotels. They must be further up in the mountains.

  “So you’re not a ski bum? Why do you live there then?”

  “I bought a cabin,” he said.

  “And then the snow disappears. Isn’t that typical?”

  “Yes,” he laughed and avoided mentioning that snow had had nothing to do with his moving there.

  By the time he stepped onto the platform on the moor and started on the path to the cabin, it had been dark for hours and he had to put on his headlamp before he entered the heath. The densely quiet darkness closed around him and almost swallowed the faint beam. He imagined that he was traversing the bottom of the deep sea or the surface of a barren, distant world.

  33

  AFTER FOUR DAYS SURROUNDED BY PEOPLE, COMING back to the cabin was strange. He had expected that being among so many people would be hard after a long time in the mountains, but it seemed instead that it was solitary existence which required acclimatization. Clearly, humans were pack animals, not soloists like octopi, or even social by circumstance like tigers seemed to be, but true pack animals that not only wanted, but needed to be social. He’d read somewhere that if a person grew up without interacting with other people, she or he would not become a true human being, and lack language, empathy, and all other forms of social skills. He wondered about that. Kaye had said that empathy, the ability to sympathize with and care for another being, preceded humans, was older than humanity itself. It was a trait shared by many mammals, might even be the characteristic that defined mammalian behavior, caused by the need to rear the young for a long while, and to do it with great care, often inside a complex social structure.

  “Did empathy evolve to strengthen the social structure, or was social structure a result of the empathy that evolved?” he had asked the assistant professor once.

  “That, I nor anyone else can say with certainty,” Kaye said, smiling. “We don’t know which appeared first, empathy or complex social structure, perhaps they did so simultaneously. But after they first appeared, each affected the evolution of the other greatly, and today they may be inseparable.”

  The silence in the cabin was interrupted only by the occasional whistle of wind from beneath the door, the gurgle of water when he opened the tap in the kitchen, and the crackling of fire as the logs burned in t
he hearth. The quiet filled his ears the same way the newly fallen snow had dampened all sounds in the restaurant at the last dinner during the testing. He welcomed the stillness and sat inside it while the residue of the other candidates’ presences and voices, the sights and smells of the past week, played themselves out in his mind and slowly faded.

  As he had expected, it had been difficult to sleep well in a shared room, not to mention shared with someone who snored loudly for most of the night. The energy required to answer the tests accurately and quickly, to keep abreast of the multiple conversations that had been going on around him, and to connect the right names to the correct faces, had been considerable. The first night back in the cabin he slept for twelve hours, and for ten hours on the second night.

  In his dreams he met Eloise and half expected her to provide him with a progress report about the project. Instead, he found himself describing a place high up in the mountains for her. As he did so, he remembered the site from earlier dreams and what he had done there the previous times. It was one of his recurring dream-places, although he rarely felt the need to see it again. But now the memory of that imaginary landscape pulled at him, even inside the ongoing dream, and he realized why he kept returning to it, like a bird on oneiric migration.

  “Take the train north to the highest stop, cross the road, follow the trail past the houses and the grove, and you’re there,” he said. But as he registered his own words, he felt a sting of regret for having revealed the information of how to reach the location to someone else, even just the dream-representation of another person. He also recalled how worried he had been the first time he discovered the still, dark face of the lake, and the barren, crater-like sides that grew steeply out of it and rose to jagged crags. It was like the fountain in the park, a place in his dreams which upon discovery revealed itself as an often visited, but hidden memory. Perhaps that was what made the lake frightening: uncovering a recurring, but forgotten dream-location, and wondering how many more existed in his subconscious which he couldn’t remember.