by Dave Bartell
“That was the text. Eyrún says she’s okay with it. The cabins are bunk beds. All you need to say is a simple yes or no, and I’ll text back. If it’s ‘no’, the no big deal. That’s the end. No awkward face-to-face.”
Darwin had to admire their planning. “Sure, that’s fine with me. I’m thrashed from travel and looking forward to some sleep,” said Darwin.
Pétur texted “yes,” then said, “Okay, all set.”
27
Assa bounded out of the car when they reached the cabins in Hof. She jumped into Pétur’s arms, wrapped her legs around his hips and buried her face in his. He pulled her in, hands grasping her butt.
Darwin looked away from the awkward moment. Eyrún caught his eye and motioned him toward the cabin. He took the hint, grabbed his bag, and walked a wide arc around the two lovers still groping each other. Assa giggled and bounced like she was riding a horse as Pétur shuffled them toward the cabin.
“They always like that?” he asked. She had kicked off her shoes and was pulling off her filthy blouse revealing a sky blue tank top.
“Yep. You better not snore,” she said and carried a small bundle of clothes into the bathroom. He heard the lock click and the shower turn on.
He set down the bags and surveyed the cabin. It looked like one of the model rooms found in Ikea. Plain pine walls and planked floor with a kitchenette in one corner. A bunk bed stacked against the opposite wall.
His iPhone made a noise like a Wookiee, indicating that Zac responded to his earlier text. He dug it from his pocket.
Zac: WTF bro. When did you go to Iceland? What time is it there?
Darwin: 1:05am. Now okay?
Zac: Gimme 15 just got off the train
Zac lived in the trendy SoMa, or South of Market Street area, of San Francisco and commuted a half hour by train to his office at the US Geological Survey in Palo Alto. A little while later, Darwin’s phone rang.
“Hey, Zac,” he said, answering the video call.
“Que paso, Darwin? What’re you doing in Iceland?” asked Zac. The video image steadied after Zac dropped onto his couch, beer in hand.
“You need to get over here, bro. Check your email. I sent pictures.”
“What?” The image swirled around Zac’s apartment as he jumped up from the couch and scrambled to his laptop. Darwin could just see the top of Zac’s head and the ceiling as Zac propped up his mobile. “I’m pulling it up now. Talk to me while it’s loading.”
Darwin summarized his trip to Ajaccio and Clermont-Ferrand and then Reykjavík.
“Dude, these are great shots. Kinda dark, but I get the picture. How far down?”
“About thirty meters. The top tubes are broken up, but it’s solid and smooth at the third level. There’s a long—”
“Holy mother of donkey kong! What’s that symbol?” he interrupted.
“That’s an Aquila. It’s identical to one I found in France,” said Darwin.
“Wait, what’s the handprint?” Zac asked as he righted the mobile. Darwin could see the left side of Zac’s face as he leaned in to look at the picture.
“I know, the lighting is poor. It’s definitely a handprint.”
“And the name. A. CICERO? That’s your guy from the scroll right?”
“That’s my guy. Agrippa Cicero,” said Darwin.
“Where’s that arrow pointing?” said Zac.
“It’s pointing at one of the biggest lava tubes I’ve ever seen,” said Darwin.
“Woooo!” The image spun. Zac was Darwin’s opposite with emotions.
“You’re NOT going in there without me. Iceland… how the hell do I get there?” asked Zac.
“No. Not until you get here. You can fly out of San Francisco to Seattle and direct from there into Reykjavík,” said Darwin.
“Reykjavík. I hear the women are hot. What’s it like?”
“Haven’t checked it out yet,” said Darwin, glancing at a shadow cast under the bathroom door.
“We gotta fix that. Listen, I’ve got a ton of vacation and, thank god, my ex-girlfriend finally took her cat back. I should be up there in a few days,” said Zac.
“That’s fine. Bring your caving gear,” said Darwin.
“I’m on it, bro. Text you when I book the flight. This is gonna be huge.” They said goodbye and disconnected.
“Who was that?” asked Eyrún, stepping into the room. She wore long white pajamas imprinted with small pandas. The bathroom light shown through her hair, mussed up from towel drying.
“A buddy of mine in Berkeley,” said Darwin, pulling up from staring at her toes. He noticed they were painted blue, a few shades deeper than her eyes.
“Your turn,” she said, stepping clear of the bathroom.
He turned on the shower and stripped off his filthy clothes. A small cloud of lava dust billowed about, adding to the lingering feminine soap smells. He looked in the mirror and saw a black dirt ring around his neck down to his shirt line.
The warm shower water swept the lava tube grime into a gray puddle around the drain. He turned up the water temperature and felt his shoulders ease down. About ten minutes later, while toweling off, he realized he did not have pajamas. He never used them. Fortunately, there was a pair of boxers in his bag. He wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom.
Eyrún was in the top bunk, propped up, reading something on her tablet. She looked at him, raised her eyebrows, and looked back at her tablet. He retreated to the bathroom, boxers in hand. After brushing his teeth, he snapped off the bathroom light and dropped his dirty clothes by his bag.
“I’m used to having guys around, Darwin,” said Eyrún.
“Guys?” he said, feeling a sudden deflation.
“There are hot springs everywhere in Iceland, and there isn’t much to do in school but drink and hang out at the springs.”
“I’ve seen the travel photos,” he said.
“Those are the big ones. We liked to hang out at the smaller ones. More private,” she added.
“Nice,” he said. He felt exposed in his boxers, but wanted to keep talking. He sat down at a small dining set just opposite the bed and crossed his legs.
“We hung out in a secluded cove in Corsica,” he continued.
“What’s Corsica like?” she said, putting down her tablet.
“It’s a beautiful blue and warm in summer. We went around the jetty in Ajaccio harbor to a few beaches accessible only by boat. We’d build fires and drink wine.”
“Did you have a girlfriend?” she said.
“Off and on. You know. It was years ago. What about you?” he asked.
“Haven’t had time,” she said.
“How do you not have time? I think you’re beautiful,” said Darwin and winced at his awkwardness.
“I’m just too busy. I mean, I’d like to meet someone, but I have to get my sister through med school. And we’re so close with proving out the flue gas project at work. Once I’m done with that…” She trailed off. Her fingers pulled at a length of her hair, like she was climbing a small rope.
A few moments passed while Darwin pondered his own confusion. Eyrún’s answers sounded similar to the ones he gave a woman he had been dating. He knew he would settle down one day, but he had a lot to do first.
“Why didn’t Assa want Pétur to go underground?” asked Darwin, shifting to something that felt more clear.
“It’s not a happy story. Our dads worked together. There was an accident, an explosion. They were killed,” she said in a flat, practiced tone.
“Oh my god, Eyrún. I’m so sorry,” he said and sat forward elbows on knees, fingers steepled over his mouth.
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago,” she said. The bunk creaked as she rolled on her side away from him.
Darwin felt a knot in his throat and tears welled in his eyes. He could find no words or imagine the pain she must have endured. Several minutes later, a soft whisper of air through her lips told him she was asleep.
; He got up, switched off the cabin light, and got into bed. He stared at the bottom of the upper bunk a long time before drifting to sleep.
28
Darwin went out for a run the next morning to burn off excess energy. He had a fitful night thinking about the lava tube and Eyrún. She was still sleeping when he tiptoed out of the cabin.
The brisk morning air raised goose bumps on his legs. He ran down the cabin entry road and crossed the Ring Road to the ocean. He intended to run the beach for some distance when he saw a large glassy object on the sand. Walking out toward it, he saw it was a blob of ice. It glistened in the morning sun, its surface polished by the salt water bath. Waves rocked it and the coarse sand hissed with each retreat.
He bent down and ran a hand over it. Smooth. Salty, as he licked his fingers. This land had many wonders. He looked up and down the beach trying to decipher where a chunk of ice would have originated. Feeling the cool morning, he ran back to the cabins. The return run was upslope and with the onshore breeze at his back, he heated up. This far north it was as bright as late morning in California even though it was only a few minutes after seven local time.
He crossed the Ring Road and was seduced by the smell of coffee. He stopped at the main house and poured a mug of the deep brown liquid. Leaning against the railing, he surveyed the wide plane that fell away to the ocean. Beneath that, he imagined a massive tunnel running far away over the horizon. Despite reading the scrolls that Romans used these kinds of lava tubes, it still was hard to believe.
Raising the mug to his face with both hands, he inhaled the caffeinated steam. His iPhone rang. It was Zac. He jumped and hot coffee sloshed on his hands. He balanced the cup on the railing to answer before the call went to voice mail.
“Hey, Zac,” he said.
“I booked a non-stop flight from SF to Iceland on some airline called WOW. I texted the flight info. Can you pick me up in two days?”
“Yeah. No problem.”
“Good. I’m going to sleep. It’s midnight. Gotta catch a six-thirty train,” said Zac.
“See you then,” said Darwin and put the phone back in his armband.
“Who was that?” a voice startled him, and the mug tumbled off the railing. Eyrún had walked up behind him. So far he had coffee on his hands and the ground. None where he wanted it.
“Are you always so clumsy in the morning?” she asked.
“Uh,” he replied, looking at the mug on the ground and wondering how to dry his coffee-soaked hands. “Did you sleep well?”
“Like the dead. I haven’t slept like that in a couple years. You?” She leaned back on the rail next to him.
“Pretty well,” he lied and wiped his hands on his running shorts when he could find no other option.
“Darwin, listen. About last night. I…”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I thought Assa had another reason,” he said.
“No, no. It’s okay. Everyone knows about it. I don’t like to talk about it,” she said. “And thanks for being a good sport about the cabin. They love each other.”
Darwin held her gaze a long moment. Last night it felt easy talking to her. This morning his mind went blank. Eyrún’s eyes widened as if asking him “What?” All his brain gave him was a painful childhood memory where he could not find the words to ask a girl to dance.
“Is there something we should know about?” teased Assa, who had walked up hand in hand with Pétur.
“I see you two came up for air,” said Eyrún, deflecting the question.
“I’m starved,” said Pétur.
“Sex and food. Don’t men think of anything else?” asked Eyrún.
“Beer,” replied Assa.
Pétur shrugged in mock surrender.
“Darwin, let’s get together for dinner tonight when you get back. I want to hear more about your ideas for this lava tube,” Eyrún said.
“Sure,” said Darwin, looking at his watch to hide a smile. Maybe I didn’t blow it with that stupid ‘you’re beautiful’ comment last night. “How about eight? I’ll text you when we’re on the road.”
She agreed and after breakfast the women headed back to Reykjavík. Pétur waved as Assa’s car turned on the Ring Road. “Thanks for, uh, letting Assa and me share the cabin,” he said.
“No problem,” replied Darwin.
“I guess you got along. Assa told me you two are meeting for dinner tonight in Reykjavík.”
“She did? I mean, yes, we got along,” said Darwin. “Have you known her long?”
“Couple years. She and Assa are best friends. She seems to like you.” Pétur grinned.
“Really?” He smiled and looked out the window.
At the dig site, he and Pétur split up.
Darwin was happy to be back on a task he could control and descended to the spot where he found Agrippa’s mark. The space was an intersection where two parts of the braided maze joined and flowed into the long dark tube that receded under the ocean. He would survey that other tube later. Likely it looped and connected with other tubes under the dig site.
Other than the mark on the wall, there were no signs that any humans or animals had been at this level. He walked across the intersection. His strongest light faded to darkness about a hundred meters in. The walls were smooth as if a massive worm bored its way through solid rock. No wonder the ancients believed in monsters. How else could they describe this kind of phenomenon?
He sat against the tube wall and opened the scans of Agrippa’s scroll on his iPad. Most of it he read while traveling from Corsica to Clermont-Ferrand and Paris, but he wanted to review a section that perplexed him. While swiping his finger he chuckled at his modern device that mimicked a many thousands of years old medium of reading.
Agrippa wrote that they emerged near the ocean in a strange land eighteen days after entering a tube in the far north of Caledonia. He described a “sea of grass” and mountains covered in snow. He mentioned a series of things that while not definitive proof suggested Iceland. They found a “river of ice” and “ponds filled with scalding water.” One man with sailing experience used the North Star to calculate their position as “more than a thousand miles from Rome.”
The most geographically telling description was their panic one night on finding the “sky on fire.” Agrippa described shimmering bands of green and red light that “cast a ghostly glow.” This had to be a reference to the Northern Lights.
The next section mentioned a jar that Agrippa’s party left behind as a territory claim for the Roman Empire. It contained Centurion coins and diamonds. Darwin read the last bit several times and then he stood before the Aquila on the wall imagining Agrippa standing on this spot.
I marked a spot with my palm for you Sabina. I wish you could have been with me in this land of fire and ice.
29
Reykjavík
Darwin arrived in Reykjavík a few minutes after 7:00 p.m. and checked into the same hotel. He guessed that tourists with dirt-streaked clothing were common in Iceland as no one took notice of him. He dropped his bags on the floor and turned on the shower. A look in the mirror told him a five-day beard may not win Eyrún’s affections, so he shaved.
After showering, he pulled on jeans and a t-shirt. His unruly hair was several weeks overdue for a trim, so he palmed in extra gel to tame it. Donning a blazer and coiling a scarf around his neck, he ran down the stairs and toward the restaurant.
“Hi,” said Eyrún, who was waiting in front of the restaurant. She wore a snow white puffy jacket over jeans tucked into knee-high boots. Her dark brown hair spilled over the jacket and shone with a hint of auburn in the slanting sunlight.
“Hi,” said Darwin, wishing he’d brought a heavier coat.
“C’mon. I’m thirsty,” she said, kissing his cheek and opening the door. She ordered a lychee martini, saying it reminded her of a trip to Singapore. He ordered the Iceland lager he liked.
“Tell me again what do you do at Stjörnu Energy?” Darwin asked after the wa
iter took their order.
“I’m part of a team that looks for new energy sources and deploys them to customers.”
“Which means what?” Darwin asked, trying to sort through the corporate speak.
“Well, I’m a geologist by training. I have a PhD in Vulcan geology.”
“Dr. Eyrún Stephansdottir!” He raised his glass. “What was your dissertation about?”
“We’ve harnessed surface level volcanic power for some time now. All of Reykjavík and much of Iceland is heated and powered by steam—geothermal energy. We have it easy here. It’s near the surface and abundant and mostly safe,” she said.
“The rest of the world burns fossil fuels to create electrical energy, which is inefficient, not to mention the environmental side effects. But what if there was a way to reach deep sources of geothermal energy? My dissertation was on deep lava tube access to generate steam.” She paused and sipped from her martini.
Darwin coughed up his beer. A smile spread on her face.
“Surprised that you’re not the only one looking for lava tubes?” she asked. “We have a project in the early stages that uses electricity from geothermal generators and flue gas to fuse hydrogen and carbon dioxide to create methanol. Some of us are using it in our cars. It works. If we get this to work right, then Iceland will become energy independent. Can you imagine, clean air and no dependence on oil!”
“Who knows about this?”
“People at my company and some science reporters. Assa’s written about it and has a following in some climate change circles. My dissertation co-author is brilliant with computers. She wrote programs that modeled where these lava tubes could exist.”
“Which is where?” he probed.
“All the usual places, like the Pacific Rim, and a couple that run under central France.”
“France?” asked Darwin. “Can you prove any of it?”
“Outside the models, no. The problem is the models show the tubes could exist, but not where they open, if they do at all. What have you found? It sounds like you’ve been looking for lava tubes, but from a historical perspective.”