by Agnes Ravatn
Thirty metres into the forest, Bagge stopped. We lowered the ladder onto the forest floor.
Here, he said.
The pine tree was tall. The forest around wasn’t too dense.
Do you want to, or shall I?
You, I replied.
He tied the rope around the box. We lifted the ladder up, balancing it against the tree trunk, then he picked up the end of the rope and started to climb. I held the ladder for safety. I saw how the damp rubber soles of his boots could slip on a rung, my stomach churning as I watched him sail through the air and hit his head on—
Allis! You need to let go of the rope!
Of course. Sorry.
He carried on climbing. He was three or four metres above me.
Isn’t that high enough?
My heart slammed all the harder, sick at the sight of him so high above me.
Five metres, he called to me. I stared straight ahead at the tree trunk in front of me, gripping the ladder so firmly that my knuckles turned white. The ladder juddered in my hands with every step he took.
Now, Allis!
I looked up. He was balancing on one of the topmost rungs, more than half of his body hovering unsupported above the ladder, one arm wrapped around the trunk for balance.
Send the box up!
I reached for the box without letting go of the ladder, terrified of stumbling over something, the thought putting me off the task at hand. He started to pull the box up with his end of the rope. He was a tiny speck above me in the pine tree. I couldn’t watch as he started securing the box to the tree. The ladder shook, rocking back and forth, and I leant up against it with all of my weight, trying my best to stabilise it. It stopped shuddering. I looked up. He looked down at me with a peculiar expression.
He said nothing.
I gazed up at him.
What is it?
He let go of the tree and stood there, balancing on the fourth rung from the top.
I’m going to jump.
You need to be higher for anything like that! I cried impulsively.
He started to laugh, surprised by my outburst.
You’re right about that.
He climbed down. When he reached the ground, he put his arms around me. I had broken out in a quivering, cold sweat.
He stroked my hair, chuckling softly, then let go and pointed upwards: This time next year you’ll have an owl for a neighbour.
You know the tawny owl’s call is considered a death omen?
Yes, death to the mice, he replied.
We walked through the forest together afterwards. I was keen to see if the first wood anemones had emerged. He followed me.
A white light glittered in a clearing in the distance, and we walked towards it. As we got closer, I realised it was the same area I’d stumbled upon the previous year, the open clearing in the middle of the forest where I had found the black circle. He stopped as I approached it. I turned to face him.
What happened here?
Here?
There must have been a fire.
Perhaps you’re right.
I crouched down. He walked towards me. I ran both hands over the ground until I found something, picking it up.
A nail.
Yes, he replied.
I searched again, finding two, three, four more. Each was black with soot.
Somebody must have burned some old building materials here.
He stood there, silent.
There are more nails over here.
They’re not just nails, Allis. They’re copper boat nails.
Copper boat nails?
They’re used for fastening planks together on boats.
I looked at him with astonishment, saying nothing as I waited for him to continue. He didn’t appear to have anything weighing on his mind. I stood up.
Your wood anemones are over here, he said, pointing at a small mound of earth bathed in sunlight, white amidst the surrounding green. They were wet with dew, I crouched down and picked a small bunch. A tangible silence had come between us.
Shall we head back?
Wait a minute, he said.
I stopped. He was standing in the middle of the black patch of earth, flecks of sunlight and shadow on his face.
It’s the boat. He turned to look at me. I burned my boat here.
But, why?
He said nothing.
Because of the accident?
He nodded.
But how did you get it all the way up here?
I dragged it.
Dragged it? Through the whole forest?
He shook his head.
Up through the garden.
What?
Up the steps, through the garden and then here.
I don’t believe you. A boat? It’s too heavy.
He said nothing.
Why did you do it?
He gave no reply.
Why did you burn the boat?
I didn’t want it.
Was this long ago?
Just after the accident.
You pulled it up here all by yourself?
He nodded again.
But wasn’t there an enquiry, after the accident, I mean? Didn’t anybody come to investigate the scene?
I burned it after they came.
We both remained rooted to the spot.
You do too many strange things, I said. It frightens me.
He said nothing. Out of the corner of my eye his expression seemed distorted. He pulled the zip of his knitted pullover all the way up to his chin then stood there, composed and steadfast before me.
If I were as strange as you are, then maybe…
He turned around.
But I’m not. I’m actually quite normal.
His face softened.
Oh, he murmured. You’re not normal.
I am, actually. I’m sorry if I’ve led you to think otherwise.
You and me, Allis, he said, smiling at me. Everything is different. You are here.
His tone was suddenly mild and carefree.
Shall we head back to the path?
I followed him through the forest, away from the site of the fire.
And what about after?
After what?
After you burned the boat, what did you do then?
He wrapped an arm around me and grasped my shoulder in his large hand.
I remember so little, almost nothing at all. Everything just fell apart. Before I knew it, years had passed.
What happened?
I woke up a year ago and looked around me. I had let the house fall into disrepair. I looked outside. Nor loved that garden but suddenly it was dying, just like she was. Even so, I couldn’t bear to touch it, I would only have made matters worse there, too. I worked on fixing up the house inside and out, doing what was needed, but the garden was always just there. When I visited her, I told her about all of the plants that sprouted and grew there, thought that for as long as there was life in the garden, there might be life in her, too. But none of what I said was true. And gradually her condition worsened. So I sought help.
I felt a stab of guilt. Some help I was. If I had known, I might have made a more wholehearted attempt at honing my skills.
He stopped. Turned to look at me.
But then you came.
Exactly, I thought darkly, and what had I achieved since my arrival?
I’d had a feeble dig around before engaging all of my efforts in running after Bagge.
He stroked my cheek, holding my chin for a moment before letting go. We carried on walking.
But that didn’t help, he said. He took a deep breath.
That night of the eclipse, Allis. I’m so sorry about what happened.
Don’t think about it.
I just felt as if I needed to get you away from me. As if it wasn’t safe for you here, as if I’m the kind of person who destroys others.
You knew that I’d find my own way back.
No! he said. I was glad you’d manage
d to get away.
Don’t say that.
He held me close and kissed the top of my head, gently blowing my hair.
We walked out of the forest with the pathway between us, strolling through the heather and down the bank to the garden. The spring sunshine lay low over the mountains, the sky pale yellow, the air perfectly clear.
You can’t manage on your own, I said.
No.
The roasted joint rested on the kitchen bench. He was standing by the stove making a red-wine sauce.
If things are going to be like this… I began.
Yes?
If this is to be a household, I mean. Then we need to talk about certain things.
He nodded.
How we’re going to get by.
He looked over at me.
For instance, I began, do we have any money?
You’re the only outgoing.
You haven’t paid me since August last year.
You haven’t submitted any invoices, he replied, whisking in the tiny saucepan.
I was under the impression this was an under-the-table arrangement.
I set the meat to one side and poured the juices into his saucepan.
Perhaps I should look into going back to work. I have to, sooner or later.
Must you? he asked. I thought you worked for me now?
Oh ha ha – there’s work and there’s work.
Just how long does a scandal really last? I wondered to myself. Not long nowadays, people have enough of their own problems to worry about, and they move on so quickly, one scandal isn’t enough, people need more, these things need to be topped up, the appetite for fresh shame is insatiable. This country is so tiny that nobody really dares to destroy anyone, not completely, anyway, just in part, because they know only too well that it could so easily be them instead.
Do you have any form of income? I asked.
He took the sieve from the drawer and strained the sauce into the gravy jug, saying nothing.
What do you actually do?
I can’t say, he replied, a smooth trickle of deep-red sauce flowing into the gravy jug, and it was impossible to judge whether he found the entire conversation amusing or was being deadly serious.
Is that right?
He set down the saucepan and the sieve and cast me a long, contemplative look, one eyebrow raised, as if he doubted that I would understand what he had to say. Ex-military, perhaps, or a spy, the thought had occurred to me on occasion, something to do with the intelligence service, maybe. Suddenly it made me anxious, the fact he wouldn’t share it with me.
Come on, just tell me! What is it, are you in a witness protection programme or something?
He locked eyes with me. A moment later his face cracked and he burst into laughter. I had read about witnesses getting cosmetic surgery, having their teeth extracted and all manner of things, all just to make themselves unrecognisable, and I had already conjured up an image of his real appearance, but now there were only near-silent peals of laughter, his head thrown back in mirth, before he eventually managed to suppress his amusement.
I’m sorry, he said. I’m only teasing you.
Well stop it.
I’m just afraid you’ll lose interest in me once the mystery is finally solved.
I avoided eye contact. Part of me felt offended, but I’d often thought the same myself: what if it’s the mystery that draws me to him? I forced myself to look up at him.
Idiot, I said.
Allis, he said, his tone grave. He set the gravy jug down on the table. You asked for this. It’s your own fault if you’re disappointed.
That’s fine.
He inhaled.
I’m a joiner.
I looked at him. He gazed back at me with a solemn expression.
A joiner?
He nodded slowly.
Something swelled and sank within me all at once. Yes, if it were true then the mystery was over, but the shock was so great, the notion hadn’t occurred to me even once. A manual labourer? What about his aristocratic air? Was I really standing face-to-face with a joiner, a humble joiner? It felt as if the dark sky above him paled as the hazy uncertainty that had lingered there faded away. But perhaps that was just as well. Only the gods knew how long I might have continued to tread on eggshells around him, terrified of making some obscure error or another. But now that he was a joiner, things were clearer, though I barely knew what that actually meant in practice; wasn’t it some kind of carpentry? It was as if his status sank, I was forced to face up to the fact. I was better educated, a public persona, while he … Oh dear, no. All of the good food I’d made him, all of the hours spent on homemade stock, convinced that I was preparing a meal of for some sort of nobleman, an earl, maybe, a man born with good taste, a man who would instantly be able to distinguish a bought stock from – ugh, all of my past efforts suddenly seemed so wasted. He had simply consumed whatever he had been presented with, no questions asked.
Are you surprised?
I had no idea, I said, trying to compose myself. I just hadn’t ever seen you … doing that. Not since I arrived here.
No, he said. But tomorrow we’ll tackle those raised beds for the vegetable garden.
I told myself that I would embrace this new, less enigmatic version of him, that I’d be happy. After all, now he could teach me woodworking skills, we could go fishing together, work in the vegetable garden, have our own greenhouse, get a boat, set out nets, do everything it would take for us to get by out here.
I carved the meat and placed it on the table.
I did have work, he said, but after she fell ill, I needed a break. It was only supposed to be for a short while, but things didn’t quite go to plan. Now that Nor has gone, maybe I can move forward somehow, get back to it, or…
For a moment I caught a glimpse of her, lying on the jetty in her bikini, slim-figured, her hair curled in a knot at the nape of her neck. I had to acknowledge that there was a certain consolation in doing so, a sense of security in knowing that he had been married; he must be OK, in spite of everything, the kind of man a woman could be with. I wasn’t the only one to allow myself to be tricked into this, I didn’t simply have low standards – he had been approved by an independent third party. Even so, when comparing myself with imaginary women, I tended to come off badly.
He gazed at me between the candlesticks. Could he tell when he looked at me? Did he realise just how superficial I was? That bizarre, frank realisation that you’re quite suddenly living a normal life. But when it came down to it, perhaps there was nothing better. Wasn’t that – exactly that – what I wanted? And wasn’t it that which would be my salvation, the purest thing of all – an ordinary life without social ambition, a life of housework and gardening and reading, perhaps even starting a family? I looked at him. Here I was, I thought, as good as married to a joiner, a big, beautiful, brooding widower, a man of the forest with practical skills. It was a miracle.
A man of the forest, I said. It doesn’t get much more erotic than that.
Exactly. Come here.
What?
Come and sit here.
I stood up and sat on his lap. He placed an arm around me and I breathed in his scent, burnt wood, rough sea, burying my nose in his hair, pressing it to his neck, his stubble scratching my cheek. A man of the forest.
I’ve wondered about you, he mumbles into my hair.
Wondered about me?
I was like stone before you came.
You were like stone long after I came, I said.
He smiled at my ear.
And you still are, I thought.
But then, he said.
Yes, what actually happened?
I wondered the same thing myself. Suddenly things were different. I wanted to be with you. Standing there in the kitchen, always there, even when you shouldn’t have been.
Yes, I said. Yes. Wasn’t that how it started? Suddenly you were there, you were with me.
That’s right, he said, stro
king a hand up and down my back.
There was something, I thought, a vague sensation that something wasn’t quite right, but what was it exactly? I had been standing there chopping vegetables, adding fish to our bowls of soup, sprinkling herbs on top, all as he waited at the table. The realisation hit me like a cold, hard slam to the stomach. The blue book. The recipes. The smell of his wife’s cooking.
Allis.
The food will stay warm for a while yet, I said.
He lifted me up.
Strange. So strange how anything is possible, I thought, as I floated across the room.
He came up from the boathouse as I watered the vegetable garden. The sun was searing; it had been dry for weeks. I was afraid the heat would finish off everything in the garden, and I watered the plants several times a day. He had a strange look about him, happy, carefree, he put an arm around me and kissed me. His hair was damp with sweat, his shirt clinging to his body.
Are you ready for lunch?
He nodded.
I picked a few salad leaves and some tomatoes and made us sandwiches in the kitchen. I baked bread every week. There still hadn’t been anyone who’d come to take over the shop, but it made no odds, we took the bus into town whenever we needed anything. I had started reading up on keeping chickens and rabbits, seriously imagining the possibilities of meeting our needs in the long run, at least as far as meat was concerned.
We sat under the cherry tree. I had applied linseed oil to the chairs and table just a few days beforehand. The grass tickled the soles of my feet, the sun warming my legs.
It’s too hot to work, I said.
Yes, he replied. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, his skin tanned, his face glistening.
Are things going well down in the boathouse?
He turned and looked at me, shading his eyes from the sun with a hand and smiling.
I just finished, actually.
Really?
He nodded, looking pleased with himself.
Can I come down and see?
Tomorrow, he said.
Why tomorrow?
There’s just one more small thing that needs to be done.
Alright then, I’ll wait.
He had been working down there almost every day for as long as I had been here, even back when I had believed he was in his workroom. I couldn’t really understand what could take so long, especially not for someone for whom this was a job.
