So then I asked her if she was one of them. And she said one of what? And I said you know, one of them.
And I bet she said I have no idea what you mean.
You’re right, Frosti. That’s exactly what she said. And she sneered as she said it too, and in that moment I saw all the ugliness of the city folk, the greed and the cynicism, and I asked her to leave or else I would call the manager of the hotel and tell him that one of them was in my room.
Good for you.
Well.
Well exactly, Snorri. What a to-do.
I know. It was the worst night of my life. I remember it like it was yesterday.
Me too.
But you weren’t even there.
No, but I remember you telling me about it like it was yesterday.
. . .
Snorri.
Yes.
What was the woman called?
I never asked. All I remember is the name of the hotel. The Hotel Consort.
Do you ever wonder what the woman is doing today, Snorri?
No, Frosti. I don’t.
I saw the fox prints again, Snorri.
When?
Yesterday.
By the medium log pile?
No. Right outside.
Out the back by the bin?
No. By our porch.
Was it the same one, do you think?
It’s hard to say, Snorri. I like to think so.
That’s the first time this year.
Yes. I hope she had cubs.
I think that’s where she has been. In her den, tending to her young ones.
I like to think so. In some countries they hunt foxes, don’t they.
So they say.
Why? There’s no meat on them.
I don’t know. People do the strangest things when they’re bored.
I don’t know how they find the time.
They chase them on horseback, with packs of dogs.
All that fuss over a fox that’s doing no harm, Snorri?
I know. I saw something this morning too, Frosti.
What was that?
The men with the bright-coloured poles.
Where?
Here on the hillside. And over the other side of the valley too.
Was it the same men?
I don’t know. But the poles were the same bright orange.
How many were there?
There were three men, Frosti. Two of them had poles. The other one had a device that stood on a tripod. He kept bending down to look at the men with the poles through it. The device was also orange. It looked like a square, stout telescope.
What could it mean?
They were surveyors, I think.
Surveyors?
Yes.
What were they doing?
They were surveying the valley.
But why, Snorri?
They were taking measurements. They were mapping the land.
I know what surveying means. But why were they doing it.
We had another letter, Frosti.
What letter?
I never mentioned it to you.
What letter?
Another one from that company.
The developers?
Yes.
The housing developers?
Yes, Frosti. The housing developers.
What did it say?
It said they wanted to help us realise the potential of the land.
What does that mean?
It said our cooperation would be greatly valued.
I still don’t understand.
It said they wanted to reward us handsomely for our assets.
Our assets?
The land, Frosti. This land. Our house.
What would they want with our little house?
The same as they said in the first letter. It’s not the cabin they are after, but the land. They have bought up all the space around us.
But why? There’s nothing here but trees and hillside.
Exactly. It’s the empty space they want.
Why?
To build houses on. Big houses for holiday homes.
Holiday homes. Why on earth would anyone want to come here on holiday?
Because it is beautiful, Frosti. And quiet.
I thought people would want to go to the sea or the city or get on an aeroplane to go on their holidays. Here there is nothing but frozen mud and snow, the stream and the pine trees.
The city folk like all that. And this company intends to provide it for them by building a resort here.
A resort.
Yes. A place with much bigger cabins, and roads, and shops and places to drink too much alcohol.
That doesn’t sound good, Snorri.
No.
And the men with the orange poles – they are part of this?
Yes.
But I have been here for seventy-five years. You a little longer. What will we do?
I don’t know. What do you want to do?
I don’t want to do anything. I want to drink my coffee and then go and chop logs this afternoon. Later, when it is beginning to get dark, I will return and we will cook and eat.
Then that’s what we shall do.
But what about the company with their letters and the men with their poles?
I don’t know.
I don’t think they’re going to go away, Snorri.
I think the same.
The valley is all I know. The valley is all I want to know.
Yes, Frosti.
We are in the valley, but the valley is in us too.
Yes.
I want the men with the orange poles to go away and never come back.
Yes.
Tonight when I sleep I will dream them away.
OK, Frosti.
Well. Time to get chopping.
My mittens are still wet.
Take my spare pair.
Are you sure, Snorri?
It’s fine. Mine are dry.
OK.
They are on the line.
This headache.
Still bad?
Yes.
Tonight I will make the stew, Frosti. You can take it easy.
I need to wash the socks.
The socks can wait.
And sweep.
Brother, the sweeping can wait also.
When I sweep I often think of Mother.
She was rarely without a broom in her hand.
She would follow you around the cabin.
Crumbs would fall from your bread and it seemed like they would hit the floor for only one second before she had swept them up.
Yes. She kept this place spotless. People would be judged on the cleanliness of their home. There were a lot of loose tongues in the valley about these things. Probably there still are.
I wonder what they say about us, Snorri?
Who cares.
Not me.
Me neither. We do alright.
Some days you could eat your dinner off our floor. Not that you’d want to.
Not that you’d want to, but you could.
Other days you would favour a plate.
That’s the truth, brother.
Snorri.
Yes.
Do you think of Mother often?
I think of her sometimes. It has been a long time now.
Yes. Some days it feels like she is still here somewhere, watching us sweep and cook and clean. I can feel her.
I think this is quite natural.
Remember the laughs we had.
Yes, Frosti. These walls have seen good times.
You know what I was just thinking.
What?
I was thinking that maybe we should get some reindeer steaks for our Christmas table. Like we used to have.
No stew?
We could cook them liked Mother used to.
With the berries.
With the berries, the sauce, red cabbage.
Well, we could try, Frosti.
I can already taste it.
We should get back to the chopping, though.
If I close my eyes I can really taste it. Maybe I’ll make gingerbread too.
We should get back to the chopping. Those mittens are on the line.
Thanks, Snorri. This afternoon when I chop I will think about venison and gingerbread and I will see you later.
III. TEA
My head still hurts, Snorri.
It will get better.
It may get worse.
Yes, it may get worse. But after, it will get better.
You don’t know that for sure.
No. But it did last time.
Last time was different.
You always say that.
You don’t know. You don’t get headaches like I get headaches.
I get headaches.
Not like mine.
How would you know, Frosti?
Because if you did you would be complaining a lot more. You’d feel nauseous, irritable.
Maybe I just have a higher threshold for discomfort.
It’s not discomfort – it’s beyond that. It is pain that I am experiencing.
Well, maybe I have a higher threshold for pain, then.
I doubt that. I doubt that very much.
The only way to know would be if we both experienced the same level of pain at the same time. And then we would measure our reactions.
Like if we both cut our thumbs at the same time.
Yes. Something like that.
Like a blood brothers’ pact?
Yes. But as we are already brothers, a blood pact would be unnecessary.
We could each chop a digit off. A little finger, perhaps. With the axe. I could do you, then you could do me. He who makes the most noise loses, Snorri.
Would it stop you complaining about your head?
It really hurts.
And then we’d both be without our little fingers.
I don’t care. I’d do it.
To prove that your headache is real? I believe you, alright. I believe you.
The very fact that you’re too scared suggests that you wouldn’t be able to withstand pain like I can.
No. It just means I’m pragmatic, Frosti. More sensible. I value my little finger. You should too. We need them.
For what?
For many things.
Like what, for example?
Well, without them our hands would be twenty per cent less efficient, for example.
They’re there for a reason.
. . .
. . .
Maybe you should lie down, Frosti?
If I lie down I get restless. Then I want to stand up and walk around.
So stand up, walk around.
But then I get dizzy.
So get some fresh air.
I don’t want to put my boots on right now.
Go out barefoot, then. A good dose of frostbite might distract you from your headache.
You’d like that, wouldn’t you?
You talk as if I celebrate your misfortune. I really don’t. I’m just trying to make light of things, that’s all. They say laughter is the best medicine.
Well, make me laugh, then. You’ve not said anything funny in a long time. You used to make me laugh a lot. Give me some of this famed medicine you speak of.
Well, what do you want me to say, Frosti?
I don’t know.
I can’t just come up with good humour off the top of my head.
Try.
Try?
Yes, try. Try and say something funny.
I can’t think right now.
You’re not the one with a headache, Snorri. At least have a go. This pain is intensifying.
Do you remember when we were boys and the pond froze over?
Of course.
And I threw your glove out into the middle and dared you to go and get it.
I remember.
And then the ice cracked and you got stuck up to your waist and I had to come and lasso the rope over your head like elk and then pull you out. That was pretty funny.
For you, maybe.
I still smile when I think about that now. The look on your face and the way you waved your arms about. But you always did carry a little more weight than me, Frosti.
I was wearing a thicker jerkin than you, that’s all.
Well.
Is that the best you can do?
For now, yes.
Once again it is at the expense of my misfortune. I don’t feel like laughing.
And your trousers froze as stiff as a young pine trunk on you. Do you remember?
Of course I do. Agna didn’t laugh, though. Agna thought what you did was stupid and childish.
I was a child. Children do childish things.
And dangerous, Snorri.
Maybe it was a little dangerous. But it was the time of the spring thaw. You would have been fine for a good ten minutes.
Agna knew better. Agna didn’t speak to you for the rest of the day.
I don’t remember that part.
I do. She said I could have died and then what?
You wouldn’t have died. I would have saved you, Frosti.
But you could have fallen through the ice too.
I could have, but I didn’t.
But you could have.
What might have happened does not matter today. All that matters is what really happened. It was many, many years ago now.
I still remember it like it was yesterday.
Yes.
Agna was an angel, Snorri.
Yes. She was an angel.
I miss her.
I do too. But death is just a moment in time. How is your head feeling now?
Worse.
But after that it will get better.
That’s easy for you to say.
Tomorrow we shall go into the village, says Snorri.
It is the weekend already?
Tomorrow it will be the weekend.
I don’t know where the time goes, Snorri. What with the logs and the men with the orange poles and this headache, it is non-stop around here.
Yes. There is certainly never a dull moment.
The men with the orange poles are not helping my headache. I can’t stop thinking about them.
Try not to, Frosti. You always were a worrier.
If they built big new houses and roads here, what would happen to the woods and the animals?
I don’t know. The same as us, I suppose. They would be removed.
I don’t want that to happen.
Me neither, Frosti.
We should make sure we never leave here.
Yes.
If we never leave then at least they cannot build on our land.
Yes.
Our father. He made this home for us with his own hands.
Yes.
They do not understand this, these men with their poles and letters.
No.
So let’s never leave, Snorri.
OK, Frosti.
They’ll have to fight the both of us.
OK, Frosti.
I like it here too much.
Me too.
And now the village is changing too, isn’t it, Snorri?
Everything changes eventually.
They have the new bank. And the butcher’s has closed. There is talk of a supermarket. Everything under one roof, they said – where is the sense in that?
I don’t know, Frosti. Maybe that’s what some people want.
We should do a list for tomorrow.
I know what we need to get. It will not differ from last week.
We need syrup. We didn’t buy syrup last week and now we’re nearly out.
So we’ll get syrup.
We can’t do without syrup.
I’m sure we’d live.
You might. But I think I’d die, Snorri.
Now you’re being dramatic, Frosti.
Maybe a little. But I do like syrup.
I just like syrup, is all.
I noticed.
We should get coffee too.
Yes.
And oats.
Of course.
And winter vegetables.
Frosti, I know all of this.
And our meat order.
. . .
And toothpaste. Got to look after your teeth, even if they are not your own.
. . .
And toilet paper. Not the cheap stuff this time. In these temperatures it feels like holly or something.
. . .
Snorri, I sense you are not listening to me.
I am listening. What I am not doing is speaking.
So now you’re having one of your silent moods.
It’s not a mood, I just have no reply. I know what we need to buy in the village, that is all. It doesn’t change. It has not changed. Maybe we have to pick up something that we don’t consume in one week, maybe we don’t. There is a little variation here and there, but mainly our supplies have stayed the same for years. Certainly since we lost Agna twenty-five long years ago.
It feels like yesterday.
Yes.
Dear Agna. She was a better cook than both of us.
That is true, brother.
We just eat because we need to eat, but Agna – Agna really knew how to make a mutton stew.
Seasoning. She really had a great grasp on seasoning. It makes a difference, Frosti.
What she didn’t know about the preservation of whale steak was not worth knowing. And remember her meatballs, Snorri. The way they just fell apart in your mouth like that? A little kale on the side.
My mouth is watering, little brother.
Mine too.
. . .
. . .
Let me ask you a question, Snorri.
Go on.
Which one of us do you think will go first?
Go?
Die, I mean.
Now, Frosti. What sort of a question is that to ask on a day like this. Haven’t we got enough to think about, what with the snow and the logs and the men with their poles, and don’t forget tomorrow’s shopping. I told you to stop thinking so much.
Yes, I know. But still.
But still what?
Which one of us do you think will die first?
That won’t be for a long time, Frosti.
Today I feel old, Snorri. This headache –
Your headache will pass.
. . .
Headaches don’t last forever, Frosti. You are just feeling a little off colour today, that is all. I know what you are like. You dwell upon these things. You worry too much, little brother.
Maybe. I can’t help it. It’s just all this talk of holiday resorts has me thinking. We won’t live forever, Snorri.
Male Tears Page 16