by Agnes Ravatn
I moved into the shade of the cherry tree. The sun blazed. He leaned back in his chair, shirtless and dozing, pearls of sweat on his forehead and a piece of straw in his mouth. The branches of the shrubs behind him were laden with black and red berries. I glanced over towards the vegetable garden. It bustled with lettuce, radish, cabbage, herbs. I had spent all that morning earthing up the carrots and potatoes, laying planks between the rows to act as pathways. You hardly need me anymore, he had remarked as he had watched me work. I stole a glance at him, sleeping in the sunshine. I closed my eyes.
When I awoke, he was standing over me. The sky behind him was pale red.
An evening swim, he said. Is that totally off the cards for you?
Yes, but I’ll watch.
Why don’t you want to swim?
I just don’t care for it. Never have.
Are you afraid of water?
No! I just prioritise my time differently from you.
He laughed. I walked with him down the stone steps to the jetty, perching myself on the warm wall. He undressed and jumped into the water.
Allis! he shouted from the water. It’s so warm! You have to come in!
I laughed at him, shaking my head.
I’m just going up to fetch a book.
The freezer was filled with ice, I poured the lot into a bucket and opened a bottle of white wine, making room for two glasses and the bottle. I stuffed a blanket under one arm for later and strolled down towards the water. I couldn’t see him, either on the jetty or in the fjord, he must be swimming further out. It left me with a deep-seated unease, the same I’d had since coming back, a sense that he needed looking after. Down by the jetty I placed the ice bucket on the ground and gazed out over the water, the fjord utterly still, not a single speck on the horizon. I didn’t want to call out, so I bounded halfway up the stone steps to gain a better view, saw nothing, ran back down and simply stood there in bewilderment, gasping for breath, running to the edge, not knowing what else to do but to look for his head, his arms, out there. I was just about to pull my t-shirt over my head and dive in when the door of the boathouse opened and he strolled out wearing his trousers, a towel in one hand. He spotted the ice bucket and immediately brightened up. I turned around and smiled as if nothing had happened. He dried his back and sat down on the wall. It was only now that I noticed the wet footprints leading from the fjord to the boathouse; what a flustered idiot I was, forever jumping to the worst conclusions. I sat down beside him and poured a glass, passed it to him, then poured another for myself. We raised them silently in one another’s direction. His hair was wet and glossy, so beautiful that it was painful to watch him as he sipped his wine and gazed out across the water. I exhaled. I lay back, the sun still lingering above the mountains, sure to be there for a few hours yet. A faint, faint breeze gave me goose bumps. So terrified, so relieved. He reached out to pick up his shirt and stuck his arms through the sleeves.
To think that it was you who came here, Allis.
Yes.
I turned around and buttoned up his shirt for him. Looked up at him.
But you never did tell me just how many applied.
He grinned and looked down.
You were the only one.
Really?
Of course. What kind of person would apply for such a job?
I would have thought there’d be at least a few more than that.
He shook his head.
Only you, you silly thing. He nudged me lightly with the back of his hand.
I suppose I am.
The sun rested just above the crest of the ridge. I glanced in his direction, bit my lip.
There’s something I need to tell you.
What?
I didn’t know all that much about gardening before I came here.
He topped up each of our wine glasses and placed the bottle back down, leaning his head back.
I gathered that fairly quickly.
A metallic strip smouldered over the mountain ridge. The fjord sparkled before us.
But I’m so sorry. If I had known how you felt about it, I…
He shook his head.
No. That was just what’s called ‘magical thinking’ – what you do when you lose hope.
Even so.
No, Allis. Put that thought aside.
I drank slowly.
It’s a beautiful night to stay up late, he said.
I want to stay up all night long, I replied.
Do you?
I do.
He stroked my back.
Are you cold?
No.
We heard the screeching of gulls in the distance. I closed my eyes. Listened to the sea. The wine warmed me from the inside out. Both the sky and the fjord were golden-yellow, like honey.
Shall I show you the beach? he asked all of a sudden.
The beach?
It’s not far.
He stood up, offered me his hand and pulled me up with him. He walked out in front of me carrying the ice bucket, making his way behind the boathouse and clambering over the sloping coastal rocks. Be careful, he called down to me. I climbed up after him. The rocks had retained the warmth of the day’s sun, dusty lilac sea thrift poking out between the cracks. We made our way along the rocky coastline, a light breeze blowing as he took my hand. After walking a few hundred metres south along the shoreline, the ground beneath us flattened out, a narrow strip of sand coming into view; it was high tide. I removed my sandals and walked on the warm sand, the sky above us orange, the grass beyond the sand a shade of blue.
It’s so beautiful, I said, turning to face him. The breeze ruffled his hair. He walked with one hand in his pocket, carrying the bucket in the other, his skin almost black against the white of his shirt. What now? I thought. Is this how things are now, can they really be like this? Is this where I live? My life, the life that I’d considered to be as good as over just a year and a half ago, I had made work after all; I’d started afresh. Perhaps. Waves slipped gently over the sand, washing it clean. I hadn’t believed it were possible. A large, white log rested on the sand. I stopped and sat down on it. He followed me. My skin tingled, goose bumps, I was sunburnt. It just felt good. Bagge’s shoulder next to mine, the bucket in the sand between us. I brought the bottle to my lips, the melting ice inside the bucket causing it to drip, the wine cool as it trickled down my throat. I passed him the bottle and stroked the back of his neck, scratching him gently, running my hand through his hair. I was too happy to cry and too sad to smile. I didn’t know what it was, I longed to feel light. For the very first time I was as good as free from any worries, and yet still my body existed in a state of suspense, perpetually on guard. The thought of him, believing or perhaps even knowing he felt the same way, yet without quite knowing why. Just the two of us, if it were even possible. I would need to pull myself together and call Johs sooner or later, sort things out between us. It was unbelievable that I’d put things off for this long, allowing matters to unfold as they had, tying me up in knots.
It’s possible, he said, out of the blue.
What is?
This.
Do you think so?
Yes, Allis. I didn’t at first, but I do now.
Are our best years ahead of us?
I think so.
Something erupted within my chest, I felt weightless. Then I heard him take a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. He bowed his head.
Allis, I was considering doing something terrible. You saved me.
What do you mean?
He sat there, his face downturned.
What were you going to do?
At that moment a gull screeched just beside us and I jumped, looked up, watched as the bird dived at me, let out a howl and writhed out of the way, its beak snapping just by my ear before it soared upwards again just as quickly as it had swooped down. It was gone. Another squawk and it whizzed through the air, I ducked and felt something clawing at my hair before the bird rose up into the sky. Bagge leapt u
p and grabbed me by the arm. There were more of them now, and I shot up, pulled along behind him. Two gulls plunged in our direction, I screamed, the beating of a wing against my face, round eyes, beak, I crouched down low, he hauled me along after him.
Come on!
I held my free arm protectively across my face, the beating of wings in the air, running, stumbling, dashing across the beach with beaks snapping at my throat, then screeching, three gulls now, four, diving at us, white shapes hurtling towards Bagge. He hunched over to avoid them and we ran, gulls screaming like wild things, clawing at my hair, I gasped for air and wept in shock, feeling as if the world had been turned on its head as we scrambled over the beach, hastening flaps rushing through the air around us, sharp bills at our cheeks, tearing at skin as we scrambled back up onto the rock, sprinting away, stooped over, eyes squeezed shut for fear they’d pluck them out. More beating wings overwhelmed me, nipping at my ear, and I roared at them: Stop!
He pulled me in the direction of the forest, bare feet hurrying over grass and rocks, up towards the trees, sheltering from the screeching and clawing. We stopped. The gulls had gone.
He bent double and gulped for air.
Allis! I’m so sorry!
I looked up at him, my cheeks wet with tears and smeared with blood. He looked at me, his face filled with fear.
Did they get you?
Yes!
My God, Allis, let me see!
My chest burned as it rose and fell.
They were trying to kill me!
We got too close to their eggs, Allis.
I brought a hand to my ear, a stinging sensation, something wet against my fingertips.
They’ve never come so close before. Never. They usually just try to scare people away.
He wrapped an arm around me. He was pale.
We should go inside and see to your cuts.
I sobbed once, deeply, too worked up to break down in tears.
I’ve never seen anything like that, he said. They sometimes fly close to deter people from approaching their eggs or young, but I’ve never seen them actually attack anyone, ever.
I felt an overwhelming desire to destroy them, to learn to shoot. He held me close and walked me through the forest and back toward the house. There was silence all around us.
You’re safe now.
Making our way out of the forest we walked down the bank to the house. The sky was crimson, the colour of blood. Inside I walked to the bathroom. The soles of my feet ached, I had bounded over rocks and branches to escape. I had left my sandals down on the beach. I washed my face, the wounds stinging. There was a small cut on my cheek from a claw, not quite as dramatic as it had first appeared, another cut at the top of my ear. It had stopped bleeding. I dried my face, looked at myself in the mirror. He stood behind me, his forehead wrinkled.
Could there be any risk of disease or infection from the cuts?
No, he said. I don’t think so.
I looked at him in the mirror.
The thing you were about to say…
His gaze sank.
It’s nothing.
You said it was terrible.
He shook his head behind me, backing out of the room.
I followed him.
He stood before me, his strong back under his light shirt. He turned to face me.
Allis. Shall we sit out on the veranda?
I nodded and pulled on the wool jumper I had left draped over the back of the chair by the kitchen table, following him outside.
It was cooler now. The sky was no longer red, but deep blue. The garden was dark, I could just see my vegetable patch, faintly illuminated in the weak moonlight. We kept the outside light off to avoid attracting insects. I sat in the chair beside him and exhaled deeply. Suddenly I started laughing.
My God, I said. You live in quite some place.
It’s all my fault. Does it hurt?
No.
My cheek throbbed, but I wasn’t in pain.
He’d had something that he had wanted to say, but now he didn’t want to say anything after all. I didn’t dare nag him about it, it took so little for him to clam up. There was nothing for it but to wait. Hunted by gulls, I thought, could anything be more degrading?
What happens next? Bagge asked quietly.
With us?
No, sorry, he said. I was thinking of something else. What happens to the gods, once Balder is dead and Loki is captured?
Were you thinking about that just now?
It’s so wonderful to hear you tell the stories.
Well. Balder’s death causes great unrest.
Oh?
Moral decay. Brothers fighting one another to the death. The dawning of Ragnarök. ‘Völuspá’, the first poem of the Poetic Edda, tells of the endless clashes between gods and evil forces, horrific scenes. The gods cease to exist. Odin is swallowed whole by the wolf Fenrir. Thor defeats the Midgard serpent, but is covered in the serpent’s venom during the fight, which ultimately kills him.
Bagge sat in the darkness, listening closely.
The sun and stars turn black. The earth sinks into the sea. The world is submerged.
His chest stopped moving, he was holding his breath.
Then a new world emerges. The earth appears from the sea, green and new. Balder returns and lives in peace with his brother Höd. Loki is gone. Everything is beautiful. Even unsown fields abound with crops.
I stopped. Bagge was breathing once again.
There are no women in the new world, leaving it free from unrest and tension.
Clever.
Someone known as ‘the Mighty One’ comes from above. He turns up at the court of law, settles matters and writes laws. Old guilt is destroyed by fire and swallowed by the sea.
What does that mean?
Well, I said. Perhaps it means that guilt requires atonement, perhaps it needs to be wiped out if a new world is to emerge?
So everything is good again?
Not quite. The very last verse of ‘Völuspá’ tells of the dragon Nithhogg, who sweeps through the air from Nithafjoll and into the new world with human corpses nestled among its feathers. That’s where it ends.
I turned to Bagge and he regarded me gravely.
What does it all mean?
I don’t know, I said. Maybe that even in the new world there is potential for evil.
He sat with his head bowed then looked up at me suddenly, swiftly.
There’s something I need to tell you.
He rubbed his hands up and down his thighs.
Because I want to be completely honest with you. If we’re to start afresh.
Wait, I said. I need to tell you something first.
He held up a hand.
No, hear me out. He took a deep breath. You need to know.
What?
About that day. Out on the fjord.
A shudder ran through me as he said the words.
Yes, I said. The accident.
Yes. He turned to face me. But it wasn’t like that.
He looked at me, his eyes two dark hollows, glimmering faintly.
We sat there that night, wrapped in a blanket, the fire burning brightly, speaking in hushed tones, never growing tired.
He looked away from me, gazing outwards.
It was completely dark, just as it is now. And then it grew light again.
He bit his lip.
Conditions were tropical that night. We stayed there until the break of day, then we pushed the boat out onto the water. We grabbed a fishing rod and staggered into the boat, I can remember the sound of her laughter just behind me.
You’ve already told me all of this, I said, relieved.
He took no notice of me, ploughing ahead with his account.
She rowed. She loved to row, her arms were strong and each stroke of the oar was long and slow. Outside of the boat, everything was calm, the sun beginning to emerge over the mountain ridge. I cast out and let the spinner follow the boat. The fjord glittered, t
he sky was perfectly clear. We rowed out to the middle of the fjord. I felt the high slowly subside, sitting at the back of the boat and watching her there before me, clear as day. How beautiful she was. She rowed slowly, smoothly, her gaze turned downwards, appearing to be in her own little world. I felt so calm, so happy. Her cheeks glowed in the morning light. The air was crisp and clear, fresh. The birds tweeted.
He stopped. It was pitch black all around us now, the night at its darkest point.
I told her I loved her. She looked up at me and there were tears running down her face. At first I thought she was happy.
I felt my pulse thumping in my stomach, wanted to hear about her and yet didn’t.
She wept silently and looked away from me, almost seeming to look over her shoulder, but still she rowed, weeping softly all the while. Nor, I said. What is it? She said nothing. What is it? She took a deep breath, sighed. She tried to dry her tears on her shoulders, still rowing all the while.
Bagge’s voice was hushed, sombre.
She looked at me and replied: I’m in mourning. You’re in mourning? I repeated, almost relieved. She nodded and looked down. What are you in mourning for? She said nothing. Nor, I said. What are you in mourning for? She started crying again. Can you talk to me about it? She shook her head. Why not?
He paused for breath. His eyes were closed and his brow furrowed, his expression solemn, just as it was when he made love, as if he felt everything, every feeling, good and bad, all at once.
I felt such tenderness for her. Have you lost someone? I heard a choking sound, then she wept silently again. Nor, my love, I said. Is it someone from the orchestra? I heard a faint hiccup from deep down, a yes. Recently? I asked. She said nothing. My love, I repeated. She wouldn’t meet my gaze. Will you be going to the funeral? She shook her head. I thought about how small she seemed, like a little girl. I said no more. She had stopped rowing. She sat there with the oars in her lap and gazed down. You poor thing, I said. Losing someone like that. The entire sun had risen behind the mountain by this point, my skin tingled. When was this? I asked her. Her upper body collapsed, she bowed her head. A year ago, she said. It pained me to hear her say it. She had carried the burden of a loss I had no notion of, a loss she still thought about. What did it mean? She was no longer crying. Why didn’t you say anything? You lovely thing. She gazed vacantly into the distance. I couldn’t grieve. Why not? I couldn’t. But Nor, why couldn’t you? She pressed her lips together, didn’t want to say another word. He… she began, but pressed her lips together once again.
