Towards White

by Zena Shapter

  I turn to assess the rear passenger window. A large fracture quivers in the glass like a squashed spider’s last spasms. The pressure of the water pulsating against it could splinter the glass at any second, submerging us under freezing liquid. Ari’s eyes are fixed on the window as if willing it to hold.

  This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening. It’s a dream. Wake up!

  My breath quivers like the glass. It isn’t a dream. “Will it hold?” I ask Ari.

  He shifts his feet and begins to accelerate. “It will hold. The Clear Defence coating on the glass will keep it together. I am sorry this happened today. It has been a long time.” He shakes his head, confused. “There were no ice blocks near the river, I checked.”

  “Could one have floated closer after we submerged?”

  Still shaking his head, he eases the Eroder up the riverbank. Daylight appears along the top of the windscreen. I loosen my grip on the seat. The front windows break free from the water, leaving the boot submerged.

  A few metres more and sunbeams sparkle through the cracked window. I ease my lower back into the curve of my seat.

  “What about on the way back?” I ask. “Doesn’t glass shrink when it’s cold?”

  “I have a repair kit. I will fix it before we leave.”

  Ari turns off the Eroder’s special features, waits for the winch to rehook its anchor, then buzzes down his dripping window to stick his elbow into the fresh clean air. He leans forward as we rumble over pebbled ground, looks up at the sky and smiles to himself, though at what, I can’t imagine. We almost died.

  Still, his calm certainty in the river probably saved our lives. “Thank you,” I say, “for staying so calm.”

  “You’re welcome. But that was not calm. That was me listening to my gut.” He turns his smiles to me. “Instinct.”

  I roll my eyes. He’s trying to make a point, though I’m not sure what about exactly. He saved us because he stayed in control. Doesn’t that prove my point?

  Ahead of us, a steep mountainside is split by narrow ravines. Ari stops the Eroder at the opening to one of them and parks behind a boulder.

  I gaze up at the ravine’s impenetrable heights and realise our river crossing has been a waste of time and risk. I can’t hike over anything like that. My hand goes to the adhesive dressing on my thigh. It’s no heavier with blood than before, but that’s probably because I’ve been sitting down. “Ari, there’s no way I’ll make it over that. I’ve hurt my leg.”

  “Over?” Ari chuckles. “Nei, I did not say we would go ‘over’.”

  “Yes you did.”

  “Nei, I said ‘through’. Bring your jacket. It will be cold inside.” He grabs his pack and jumps out the Eroder. “Don’t worry, it is perfectly safe.”

  “That’s what you said about the river.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He helps me down.

  I don’t need his help, or at least I wouldn’t if it weren’t for my leg, but offering help seems to be a part of who Ari is and I don’t want to insult him. It’s not his fault the ice bullet hit us. So I take his help until I’m steady on my feet.

  Ari shoulders his pack and slams the door behind me. “Let’s go.”

  Let’s go, an echo whispers behind me.

  I spin around, hear the river rumbling fast in the background. There’s no telling whether the echo was the river and my imagination, or Mark sending me another watery message. I listen for another sign but hear nothing. I feel my forehead. It’s warm, but not unusually so.

  Still, it’s enough to push a moment of doubt into my mind. What am I doing here, about to explore some isolated ravine with a relative stranger? I must indeed be some form of crazy.

  Then again, I’m here because Mark was here—I’ve seen the photographs to prove he was—so he may have passed through this very ravine, one way or another, mere days ago.

  I hobble after Ari.

  After rambling over a short expanse of silty pebbles, we enter the ravine’s towering folds of velvet-green. A multitude of thin waterfalls trickle down its sides, over and around the clear stream bubbling down its centre. As the ravine narrows, it curls like the wavy slithering of a snake and feels as sly. At its far end, a moss-covered cliff face bars our way with a defiant stance, both proud of its impassable heights and daring us to saunter close. I stop and look to Ari for direction.

  Silently, he takes my hand and leads me on. The floor is uneven, covered with moistened pebbles that make walking with a gash in my thigh, without hiking boots, difficult. Ari helps, the pressure of his fingers wrapped under my palm determining where I tread, the steadiness of his grasp allowing me to either lean or hold as needed. After a while I find myself following without hesitation, though not because of the firmness of his grip. Of its own accord, my hand begins to respond to his touch in a way I haven’t felt for a long time. My senses switch to high alert, their first priority: not letting go.

  Instead, as Ari helps me up embankments and supports my slippery descent over landslides, my fingers make a memory of the flexes in his grasp, the gentle squeeze under his knuckles, and the softness where my thumb rests beside his wrist, tracing his skin. Any doubts I had before, about being here with him, disappear as my hand absorbs the impressions his fingertips make along my little finger, which savours the sensation like it knows the touch will end soon and doesn’t want it to. Relishing the dry warmth between our joined palms, I don’t want the sensation to end either.

  When we reach the end of the gorge, Ari springs ahead, releasing my hand. It quickly cools from the loss of contact, making me feel exposed and vulnerable. Not how I like to be. I rub my hands together until the feeling goes away.

  Meanwhile Ari veers to the left of the cliff face, squeezes behind a large boulder sitting in its corner and disappears from view. I step towards the boulder. There’s no trace of him.

  “Come on.” His voice echoes from somewhere.

  I peer around the boulder’s slimy curves but can’t see where he’s gone.

  “Come on!” he says again.

  I hold onto the boulder for balance, squeeze past the fungi mucous covering its surface and lean around it. “Where are you?” The boulder seems to be concealing a small cave entrance, no bigger than the boulder itself, but it’s full of stacked rocks. It looks as though there’s been a landslide inside the mountain. Since the stack blocks me from going further, I can’t understand where Ari’s gone.

  His voice resonates again. “Becky!”

  “Where are you?”

  “Here.” His voice is close as if he’s standing next to me. I squint up into the foot-wide gap between the top of the stack and the cave’s upper lip. There’s nothing but a thin slice of blackness. Until Ari lowers his right boot onto the top of the rockslide and dangles down his hand. Further inside the cave, his darkened face beams at me. “Put your left foot on that rock, your right foot here. I will pull you.”

  “Up this?”

  “I will not let you fall. And if you do, it’s not that far to the ground. Come on, I will be careful of your leg. Whatever you’ve done to it, it looks painful.”

  I find the rock he wants me to use, put my left foot on it, then assess the second rock and reach up, inhaling slowly and focussing on the reassurance I’ll feel when our hands reconnect. They do, I do, and I find myself gliding up into the dark.

  “Let your eyes adjust,” he says, steadying me at the top of the stack.

  I look down. Only a brief gleam of daylight pushes up from the cave entrance. My shoes are barely visible. Giddy, I feel Ari’s grip and close my eyes so they can adjust and I can regain my balance. When I open them again, the cave’s ceiling stretches up into the mountain, shadowy but clearer, and a rough plain of boulders spreads before me.

  “Come,” Ari says. “We go this way.”

  He tugs at my hand and I let him guide me acro
ss the landslide. He glides over the rocks as if he’s traced their contours a thousand times before barefoot and blindfolded. Water trickles in the distance, growing louder with each step until a definite splashing and gurgling resounds around the cave’s dank walls. We begin to deviate, heading to one side of the cave. For a while the trickling noise is muffled. Then, as we manoeuvre down a channel of large boulders, the falling water sounds heavier and the cave brightens.

  Soon, I can see each slippery step I’m taking and the air fills with the scent of freshly cut grass after a spring shower. I search for any sign that Mark might have passed through here. There’s none. Instead, clambering around a final rock pile, I’m dazzled by a slim shaft of sunlight cutting through a tiny gap in the cave roof. A thin stream of heavy water plummets through the opening, deafening me. The waterfall slices through the rocky landslide on which we stand, and drums onto the cave floor somewhere beneath us. Sunlight reflects off each falling droplet, making the spray sparkle like a shower of diamonds. It’s like molten silver being poured into a dark pit of pebbles.

  “Stay here,” Ari whispers, stroking my hand before releasing it. Bouncing over some nearby boulders, he’s soon at the waterfall’s base. He takes out his flask, empties it, and holds it under the flow’s crushing fall. Once full he brings the spray-wet flask back to me. “Try it.”

  The flask feels like it’s been plucked from a freezer. I take a tentative sip. It is smooth water, soft and weightless, yet crisp in temperature. I take a convinced gulp. “It’s good.”

  “Straight from the glacier. Pure. Fresh.”

  I take another sip then pass the flask back. “This place is incredible.”

  “You don’t have to say that.”

  “I mean it.” I gaze up at the waterfall and around the cave’s glistening green walls. Maybe Mark did come here. “It’s magical.” Wondrous.

  Ari takes a deep swig, then wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve and clears his throat. “Becky.” He pauses, looking down at his feet. “This is a very special place for me. I never show it to anyone. I never even tell anyone about it. If anyone else knows it’s here, I have never seen or heard them.”

  “Oh. Really?”

  “Really. This,” he stares at the waterfall, “is why I come to this side of the river. Fact,” he smirks, “the moss on these walls is three thousand years old. Fact: I know how much your brother meant to you, and what it’s like to lose someone, so I have shared this place with you. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Now you see where I hike and why, you can trust me.”

  “Okay.” And, in that moment, I do. Looking into his hazel-brown eyes, noting the sincerity in his face, sensing all our conversations to date have been true—I trust him. I also like him. He’s…cute—in a hiking blond Icelander kind of way.

  I also don’t like my liking. I know I’m not the only girl in the world to be hurt from a relationship. Mark’s been telling me it’s the only way you learn to appreciate a good thing when it does come along. Still, I’m not ready. I’m not.

  So I expect to complain when Ari’s arm finds its way around my waist, prompting me to rest my head on his shoulder. But when I feel his cheek against the top of my hair, I close my eyes and a part of me loosens, despite my not being sure if it should. The waterfall’s magical cascade drums in my ears and I re-taste its liquid splendour in my mouth. I feel the slight pressure of Ari’s head on mine and relish the closeness. I need to get to the police. I also need this. I need someone’s touch, Ari’s touch. My eyes well. Reaching for Ari’s flask, I blink the tears back. “Thank you,” I mumble, not meaning the drink.

  He looks sideways at me. “Control is not everything, Becky.”

  “I know.” And I wish someone would show me how to let go. I’ve been this way for too long already. I want to run in the rain again, throw Frisbees under the Norfolk Pines at Manly, and stuff myself full of jellybeans. I want to confide in someone, and Ari seems the type to listen, to care about doing so. Still, you can’t know someone well enough after a couple of days. He could be a self-centred cheat like Riley.

  Of course he could also be the opposite.

  “Shall I show you where I found your brother?” Ari says after a while.

  I nod, inhaling slowly.

  “This way. Come.” He takes my hand and leads me beyond the waterfall to a small hollow in the cave wall. Moss dangles from its ceiling but there’s a glow of light behind it. Instead of a boulder, Ari explains, a curtain of mosses hides this entrance to his cave. He ducks under its low ceiling, pushes the plants aside for me, and we emerge onto the mountainside. Beneath us is a well-worn track that leads down onto the silt bank beside the glacier, as well as back up and over the mountain. I could probably jump onto it, if it weren’t for my leg.

  “I will lower you down,” Ari says, leaping down then gesturing for me to sit on the edge of the hollow. “It’s okay.”

  It will have to be. There’s no other way of getting down. So once he’s ready I perch on the rim, dangle my legs over and reach for his shoulders. This time Ari’s grip is like a vice, though his movements are still gentle. I float down onto the track like a cautious elf emerging from hiding.

  I brush myself down while he surveys the sky with disappointment. Sheets of murky white cloud smudge across it, smothering the sun.

  He climbs a little further up the track. “Stay here. I will look at the weather and come back.” He clambers towards a higher ridge.

  I wait a minute, then follow. Higher up I’ll be able to get a better view of the valley and the boulder where Mark was found. So I take my time, climbing sideways, holding onto rocks either side of me, and leaning all my weight onto my good thigh.

  When I reach Ari, he’s crouching with his back against the ridge wall, fingering a stem of grass while scrutinising the sky. From the ridge, we can see over the entire glacier. There’s nothing to see in any direction but rocks, silt and ice. It’s a beautiful national park, as everyone keeps telling me. No government presence.

  “It sure is cloudy.” My voice startles Ari but he recovers and makes room. I crouch down beside him.

  “It means no auroras,” he says. “No point staying until it is dark.”

  “Nice view though.” I gaze out at the translucent white beauty of the ice and, full of marvel once more, wonder if Mark might have risked the river after all—if it meant seeing this. Ari could be right about others not knowing about his cave, but this ridge is right beside the track… What if someone showed Mark a photo and offered to take him? “It’s amazing here.”

  “Be careful when you look at it,” Ari warns.

  “What do you mean?” I gaze at the cloud-filled sky. It’s the same colour as the glacier, white with glimmers and hints of pale blue. If I squint it’s impossible to distinguish any horizon between them. What seems like white ice swirls could also be cloud puffs, what appear to be waves of curling cloud could also be snow piles. Both stretch before me like thick blankets wrapping everything in sight.

  “Whatever you do,” Ari adds, smirking, “do not stand up.”

  His roguish grin urges me to do the opposite, so I pull myself up and assess the vast monotone expanse before me. It’s at once both close enough for me to touch and infinite in depth. My head spins in the crisp Arctic air. From nowhere, a distant contour in the snow rushes towards me like a spacecraft speeding through hyperspace. It stops a few metres away, pulses, then rotates into the shape of something familiar before reversing to its original position. My eyes sting, euphorically dizzy with the illusion, and I topple to one side.

  “Whoa!” Ari jumps up to steady me. “Did you see it?”

  I nod. My heart quickening, I feel for the back of the ridge and grip a bunch of rubbery long stemmed grasses. Mark could easily have fallen to his death from here.

  “The fata morgana,” Ari says, helping me back onto
the track. “It’s a mirage, affects your eyes after you climb very fast.”

  “Oh.” I reel at the lightness still spinning in my head.

  “But já, the clouds are here to stay and it might rain. Sorry.”

  “I’ll see them another time.” I offer a smile but he doesn’t see it—he’s still assessing the white layers hiding the sky. “Really, it’s fine. I have to get back to Höfkállur anyway. And didn’t you say that the Skepnasá is fiercer when everything melts? If there’s no sun there’ll be less heat, so less melting? It will be safer in the river?”

  He rubs the stubble on his chin with a thumb and nods. “The water probably won’t even reach the roof this time.”

  “Excellent.”

  Satisfied, we begin our descent. By the time we reach the triangular silt bank at the bottom of the track he’s back to his usual cheery self. “Maybe you will want to come again tomorrow night, if the weather is better? The auroras are best here.”

  “So Anna said.” And I did promise to see the auroras before I left Iceland.

  I also know that—irrespective of why Mark might have come here—something is supposed to happen tomorrow in Höfkállur, and I may be at the police station all day. I still need to go, if only to talk everything through.

  “When will you know if the weather’s better?” I say anyway, to be polite.

  “Er, maybe this time tomorrow. We can decide then. Do you see the glacier, and the lake?” He points, waits for me to nod. “You walk along the lake there, and when you reach the river, it is the third boulder you will find. I’ll meet you when I finish if you want.”

  “Finish? Finish what? Where are you going?”

  “To fix the window. It will need time to set, okay? Be careful,” he warns, “the banks are made of silt. Underneath us here is rock,” he stamps, “but over there it is volcanic dust floating on water. This is the reason for the two-metre rule. Do not step on something that is not there. Keep two metres between you and the water.”