Christmas at Frozen Falls

by Kiley Dunbar

  ‘All set?’ asks Stellan from behind me as he steps onto the sled’s long runners.

  ‘Aren’t you sitting in front of me?’

  ‘I steer the sled from back here.’

  He says it so curtly I feel stupid. Of course he steers this thing. I try to laugh off my embarrassment, palming my forehead and shaking away the sneakily intrusive vision I’d had of Stellan clambering under these blankets with me as I nestle up against his broad back – my legs wrapped around him, maybe. He doesn’t laugh and so I turn away, settling in for a long morning’s husky-sledding.

  ‘We’ll head west and stop at the lake for lunch. Yes?’ he shouts.

  I can barely hear him over the sounds of the dogs barking and through his carefully arranged scarf layers. Only his eyes are showing through the black slit beneath his beanie.

  ‘Yes,’ I manage but he shouts over me with a sharp ‘Mush!’ and the dogs strain and yelp and prance in their harnesses. The ropes go taut and I feel the sled start beneath me. I have to grab the handrails so I don’t fall backwards onto Stellan’s legs. We’re off!

  The dogs stop their barking immediately and lean into their yokes, already panting with the effort. I’m in awe of their strength and the smooth motion of their shaggy legs powering us along the narrow track in a jolting stop-start motion.

  I can just see over the snowy walls of the sunken path as we race along, picking up speed with every second. It takes only moments and we’re out in the wild again, and I remember how remote the resort is. There’s nothing more than blackened bracken and stunted bare trees jutting out from the deep snow as far as I can see.

  There’s a low range of jagged hills in the distance and I’m realising it’s impossible to tell how vast they might be without buildings of any kind to offer a sense of scale. A strange feeling of smallness and stillness settles over me as the arctic silence falls, broken only by the crunch of gravel beneath the sled runners and the soft sounds of the dogs’ feet on snow, mingled with their panting breaths.

  It’s so quiet I’m increasingly aware that I should probably say something to Stellan. I quickly glance up and find him staring commandingly out at the landscape ahead like a particularly shaggable Sir Ernest Shackleton on the prow of the Endurance.

  ‘How fast are we travelling?’ I ask.

  ‘Around twenty-five miles per hour.’

  ‘I thought Europeans used kilometres instead of miles?’

  ‘You could use the old Sámi measurement of distance? The distance a reindeer can travel before stopping to urinate.’

  I laugh and look up at Stellan’s inscrutable eyes. Is he joking? I remember his dry sense of humour and how he liked to tease me. He told me once it was the Finnish way. If you make fun of someone it shows that you must be good friends. Is that what we’ve become? Friends? If that’s the case, shouldn’t he be chattier than this? I realise I’m going to have to work pretty hard to get to know Stellan again after all these years. I’ll ask him about the dogs. He definitely came to life back at the dog shed surrounded by cute mutts.

  ‘Don’t they mind the cold? The dogs, I mean. Poor guys, what a hard life!’ Although, I think to myself, they don’t exactly look unhappy.

  Every now and then a dog turns back its head and glances at Stellan as if to check he’s pulling his weight, which I know he is; I can hear his boot scuffing the gritty ice as he helps push the sled along whenever we hit a slight incline. The dogs are bright-eyed and focussed. Would they be so keen to pull us along if they didn’t enjoy racing through the snow?

  ‘They could live outside permanently if they needed to. They can withstand temperatures of minus fifty. Not that they’d ever have to. And they have lots of company and food, and they cost me plenty of money in vet bills each year, believe me. They’re the most pampered pups in Lapland.’ Stellan says this with fondness in his voice.

  ‘So how long have you been doing these trails for?’ I ask, only having to raise my voice slightly over the sound of the runners, but this isn’t graced with a response.

  I glance up and find Stellan is still staring ahead. There’s that little furrow between his eyebrows again. His eyes pinch and crinkle against the ice cold air rushing against our faces. I’m about to ask him again – it’s possible he didn’t hear me – when he briefly lets his eyes fall to mine.

  ‘Just sit back and take it all in,’ he says. ‘Talking is silver, but silence is golden.’

  So, that’s me told. I look ahead at the dogs leading the way into the white beyond. I’m stung, if I’m honest. Cheeky sod. But he might have a point. The landscape seems to call for peace and solitude. There’s something about these dramatic wilds that renders small talk very small indeed.

  Stellan seems to know I’m brooding as I feel a tap at my shoulder. He hands me down the silver flask of warm berry juice. There’s nothing else for it but to graciously accept it again, unscrew the cap and pull the blankets high over my chest. Settling back on the little pillow, I let myself be whisked away into the grey arctic light.

  We make our way in silence out onto a wide plain and I suddenly realise we’re crossing a huge frozen lake. I panic slightly at the idea of the frigid water beneath us but resist the urge to ask Stellan if we’re safe because I know how capable and sensible he is. He wouldn’t put us at risk.

  I’m passively watching the white world slip by again and sinking back into the cosy stupor when I make out a dark, hunched figure on the lake ahead. Stellan seems to be steering the dogs in their direction.

  ‘Woah,’ he calls out into the silence. The dogs skip to a graceful halt and I hear the crunch of the brake behind me. Nari and Niilo pull up behind us. They’re still chatting happily. Good for them. I’m guessing Niilo doesn’t agree that silence is chuffing golden.

  ‘Come round here and stand on this brake, Sylvie.’

  I like how he says my name. Sylvie. So soft and romantic in his accent…

  ‘Sylvie? Are you asleep?’

  ‘No, no, here I come. What do you want me to do?’ My legs have seized up a bit with the cold and it’s surprisingly difficult to swing them up and over the side bars of the sled, but I only wobble slightly as I get my balance.

  ‘You stand on this. If you step down, even for a second, the dogs will be gone.’

  Transferring my weight for his, I slip my foot onto the brake as soon as Stellan steps off, keeping the sharp metal blades pressed firmly into the ice. I’m nodding seriously and hoping I look confident because I certainly don’t feel it as Stellan stalks off across the lake towards the man who seems to be fishing over an ice hole.

  The scene looks ancient, more like an echo of the past than something that could possibly happen in this day and age. I mean, where has this guy come from? He has no sled and there isn’t a building, or even a tent, anywhere to be seen. How can he spend his days alone on the ice? How strange. Whilst I’ve been in my superheated classroom and nipping out at lunchtimes to Costa, he’s been out here. I shake my head in wonder. My little flat and everything I know feels a million miles away from this world.

  I watch as Stellan exchanges a few words with the man and stoops to offer him something from a paper bag, which the man accepts with a nod, and then Stellan turns back towards the sled. Within moments he’s back in charge of our transport and I’m back under my blankets and we’re off again. I wave to the fisherman as I glide by and he raises his gloved hand in silence.

  ‘Who was that?’ I ask as the dogs pick up speed.

  ‘He lives beyond the fell. He’s caught only two fish this morning so he didn’t have any to sell me.’

  ‘But you gave him something?’

  Stellan snorts a reply as he tosses the same paper bag down onto my lap. ‘Salmiakki. Try it.’

  I peer inside at the black diamond-shaped pastilles. I do like a wine gum or two, and my stomach’s grumbling, it’s been so long since the breakfast I was too nervous to eat. I pop a couple of the hard sweets into my mouth, not easy in these enormous glove
s, and I scrunch the bag closed again.

  Christ on a bike! These are no wine gums. I’ve got salty liquorice cloying to the roof of my mouth and in between my teeth, and something about the taste is taking me back to the dental hygienist’s chair. And why is my tongue going numb? It would be rude to spit them out, wouldn’t it? So I work and work at the evil cough medicine flavour chews until they gloop down my throat with a berry juice chaser. Yuck! Not everything in Lapland is what it seems, I’m learning. So much is shockingly unfamiliar.

  I squint up at Stellan and notice he’s laughing, his shoulders rising and falling.

  ‘You knew I’d hate those, didn’t you?’

  ‘Salmiakki is an acquired taste, I know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yeah, you look sorry. I’ll remember this, Stellan Virtanen.’

  ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’ He’s still laughing, with teasing in his voice, and something else, I choose to imagine, vaguely suggestive. Instead of looking up at him again – I don’t want him to see me all flustered – I settle down for what remains of our journey.

  We pass between two gently sloping hills and suddenly we’re turning off the main trail onto a rougher, narrower path leading towards what looks like a big tipi tent in the far distance. I can smell wood smoke from a fire. The scent travels on the unpolluted air and makes my nose prickle. I hope this means food. I’m starving.

  ‘This is it. Niilo’s herding lavvu,’ says Stellan as he slows the dogs to a stop and steps off the sled, immediately tying the ropes to a gnarled, stunted tree. The dogs all immediately lie on their stomachs and lick the snow to cool themselves, their breath rising in little clouds around the frosted fur of their muzzles.

  Stellan comes round to stand in front of me and offers me a hand, pulling me to my feet.

  ‘Lavvu? The tent, you mean?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ he says. ‘This is the first stop on our wilderness safaris for the tourists, and it looks as though one of the herders got Niilo’s message to light the fire.’

  After a few moments spent feeding the dogs crunchy biscuits from a sack and loosening their harnesses, Stellan walks ahead, carrying boxes he’s lifted from the front of Nari and Niilo’s sled, interrupting their long, involved conversation.

  It’s obvious Nari had forgotten me and Stellan were even on the trail, and she beams at me after a moment of slowly dawning recollection.

  She heads straight for me, her arms outstretched and gives me a hug and we laugh and break into a run as best we can through the deep snow towards the tent, our stupid, huge black leather Santa mittens preventing us from holding hands properly.

  ‘What’s the lavvu etiquette? Do I knock?’ I ask Nari, realising that Stellan’s disappeared inside. Nari shrugs.

  Niilo’s running to catch up in his reindeer hide coat and his big fur hat. He’s got the blankets from the sleds bundled under his arm and looks glamorous and other-worldly somehow. The knife on his leather belt glints in the already fading daylight. How can it be getting dark again already, it’s only just past noon?

  Just as Niilo reaches us, Stellan pushes his hooded head through the tent flap, pulling the scarf from his face, and says with a grin, ‘Come inside.’

  Everything suddenly feels fun and adventurous, and I’m aware that we’re young – well fairly young – and we’re on holiday and its Christmas. What with being raised on MTV and cheesy eighties’ pop songs, I can’t help thinking of my favourite Wham! video where the gorgeous gang of skiing couples arrive at some sophisticated alpine resort for the holidays and they spoil their permed mullets messing around romantically in the snow.

  The coming days suddenly feel full of possibility and I realise that, for the first time in a long time, I’m really enjoying myself.

  And the fun carries on as Stellan leads us all into the surprisingly spacious interior of the tent and indicates for us to sit on the reindeer hide covered benches around the crackling fire, and we all help to unpack the food from the boxes he carried in.

  I’m a little disconcerted to find we’ll be eating elk meatballs, though the pasta and buttered bread accompanying them is very welcome. Just as I’m about to ask what exactly an elk is – is it like a moose or a reindeer? – I’m stunned into goldfish mouthed silence by the sight of Stellan pulling the black beanie from his head. I watch in dazed shock as he musses his fingers through thick, choppy hair.

  All this time I’ve thought of him as I last saw him, with his jaw-length surfer’s waves, and I’ve been secretly praying he hasn’t changed them. The sight of his now messily cropped short locks, all Scandinavian blond and dark honey, makes me want to do a dramatic movie-starlet swoon. Instead, I offer to help stir the big pot over the fire and try to pull myself together, not helped by the whispered, ‘Wowzers, talk about a blond bombshell,’ from a mercilessly teasing Nari by my side.

  Niilo is the last to sit, after deftly dishing up our lunch and handing out the steaming bowls.

  ‘Thank you, I’m famished,’ Nari says as Niilo settles on the seat next to her.

  Elk, it turns out, is delicious and lean, and not unlike my mum’s beef hotpot.

  ‘The cold burns calories faster than any workout. You need to up your carbs on this kind of trip, keep your strength up,’ Niilo replies, matter-of-factly, and I watch as Nari’s face lights up. I saw her slipping a jumbo bar of Galaxy chocolate into her backpack this morning so I’m guessing its days are numbered now.

  There is something magical about sitting in the firelight with the aromas of wood smoke and rich, hearty food in the air, and I find myself feeling surprisingly festive, even in the sparse simplicity of the lavvu.

  Stellan produces a big bottle of something carbonated and black which, I naturally assume is some kind of Finnish cola drink, but which turns out to be orange flavoured. Of course it does. I should have learned by now to expect the unexpected here.

  As I’m remarking upon the curious unfamiliarity of so many of the things we’ve encountered since our arrival, Niilo serves up something from a frying pan that smells delicious. He simply calls them ‘pancakes’ as he offers them around.

  ‘Pink pancakes?’ I ask, nudging mine with my fork.

  ‘Blood pancakes,’ he replies.

  I laugh, knowing this must be another of the famous jokes Finns make when they tease a friend, and I slice a bit off and take a bite, only to be struck by the savoury, floury, meaty taste; a little metallic, a little sweet.

  All three of my lavvu companions, I notice, are watching me as my jaw works and I try to figure out what’s happening to my taste buds.

  ‘Tastes like… tastes like… black pudding?’

  ‘Like I said, blood pancakes,’ Niilo smiles. ‘Made from whipped reindeer blood and… are you OK, Sylvie?’

  I swallow, nod politely and wonder how on earth I can sneak this thing out to the huskies without anyone noticing. But everyone else seems to be tucking in, enjoying this course of our meal, and Nari’s engaging Niilo in friendly chatter every now and again.

  Stellan, I notice, is eating quietly, staring into the flames. I never could tolerate someone being awkwardly silent, so I put my plate down and try to catch his eye, building up to saying something, but what, I don’t yet know.

  ‘Do you get used to the cold, Stellan?’ That’s not a bad opener, I think. ‘I’m guessing it’s a lot different to the winter you spent in Manchester?’

  He looks shaken for a moment but lifts another forkful to his mouth. All three of us watch him chewing slowly and I’m aware of Nari and Niilo casting furtive, amused glances at each other. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the exchange trip? Maybe it irritates him, confirming his suspicions that I’m here to conduct a post-mortem on a love affair that’s been dead for fifteen years.

  ‘It’s not so bad if you dress well. It’s the darkness that’s hard to cope with,’ he says, and the whole time I’m analysing his voice.

  He doesn’t sound cross or suspicious. He’s just neutral. I guess we’re just li
ke any other tourists to him; nothing special or out of the ordinary.

  Niilo laughs, and I see a slight shake of his head aimed at quiet, stuffy Stellan.

  ‘People wouldn’t come here if it were not for the cold and the dark. Think about it,’ says Niilo. ‘Most people fly in, head straight for their hotels, then they eat in heated restaurants, they sleep under glass domes or in cosy cabins, locked away from the outside world. A few venture out hiking, or husky-driving, or to the reindeer sled safaris. And mostly, they fly home straight afterwards with their souvenirs and their phones full of pretty pictures. They get what they came for, a taste of Lapland in winter, but I don’t think they’re seeing the real magic of this place. They want the tourist treatment mainly, and that’s fine, it’s lots of fun. But, for me, I welcome the cold and the dark when it stays around in January and February, when the flights are less frequent and Father Christmas has gone back to his workshop.’ He winks at Nari, and neither of us can help smiling. ‘I get my world back. The resort’s so quiet and I’m alone with my thoughts and the dogs and the herd. That’s when I can feel my family around me again.’

  ‘You can feel them? But… they’re not here?’ Nari asks cautiously.

  ‘No. I have nobody left, just friends, good friends. All my immediate family are spirits now.’ He looks into the fire, and Nari glances at me, alarmed, as we realise Niilo’s a man in mourning.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she offers.

  ‘That’s OK. The landscape, my history, the dark nights and the snow, these things are very comforting. I have everything I need, now. And I have cousins in the south, and of course, I have Stellan.’ He laughs suddenly, coming out of himself again. ‘And, as you can tell, Stellan is full of entertaining stories and jokes to make the evenings fly.’

  ‘Oh! I could tell a few stories about you, if you like, Niilo, enough to make our guests’ hair stand on end,’ Stellan says. ‘Which shall I tell first?’ he adds. ‘The time you nearly got yourself trampled to death in that reindeer stampede, which you caused by dropping that bale of hay, or shall I tell them about the day you fell from the spa roof trying to clear the snow off?’