The Last Boat Home

by Dea Brovig

  ‘Where are we?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t you know? Tenvik’s paddock is ahead.’

  ‘But why have we come here?’

  ‘I told you. It’s a party.’

  ‘But I have to get into town,’ Else said.

  Petter released the pedal and the moped came to a stop. The engine sputtered and was silent. He fixed the kickstand with his boot.

  ‘Don’t you hear me?’ Else said. ‘I have to get into town.’

  He clambered off the saddle, pulling himself from her arms.

  ‘But it’s the middle of the night.’

  ‘You have to listen …’

  ‘Else, what’s wrong? Why do you have to get into town?’ Petter waited for an explanation, which melted like snowflakes on her tongue. She understood suddenly how hopeless it was. Even if he agreed, what good would it do? Who would believe her? Perhaps they already knew. Everyone knew about her father’s drinking. She thought of the townspeople whispering in the churchyard, of how they watched her parents hurry off every Sunday to catch the ferry. Her mother’s make-up did a poor job of covering the welts on her cheeks. Certainly, they knew. They shook their heads over the beatings, but did nothing to intervene. Why would they now? If she went to them for help, they would deliver her to her father. She had no choice: she would have to run away. But she had no money. She had nothing but the clothes on her back. What coach driver would take her if she could not pay for her ticket? If she spent all night begging, they would send her away, each one in turn.

  ‘Well?’ Petter said.

  ‘Please,’ she said, no longer sure of what she was asking.

  He fished his Zippo lighter from his pocket and rolled its flint with his thumb. It flared in a puny flame that burned a patch out of the darkness.

  ‘If you want to go to town,’ he said, ‘you can walk. I’m going to the party.’

  Petter strode down the track, leaving Else alone on the moped. She watched him go, her heart a dead weight in her chest. An image of her mother, battered and bloody, flickered behind her eyes. She blinked it away; she must not think about that now.

  The light that bobbed with Petter’s movements began to dwindle. Else dismounted from the bike and ran to catch him up.

  The forest closed around them. The trees threaded their branches into a net which collected the moonlight overhead, spilling chilly streams through isolated holes of sky. Under her boots, the ground was frozen and littered with sloughed-off branches. Petter swore each time he tripped over one. Else pushed deeper into the night, leaving footprints of cracked ice in her wake. Her socks squelched with mud and water. She wrapped the bedspread around her shoulders, but it did little to ease the cold. Her teeth rattled in her mouth. Blood cooled in her body; she felt it sluggish in her veins.

  She paused when a twig snapped nearby. She heard grunting, the lope of hooves. She grabbed Petter’s arm and the Zippo’s flame blew out.

  ‘What’s that?’ Else asked.

  ‘Deer,’ he whispered.

  A shadow charged the darkness. Then silence settled over them. Petter sparked his lighter. He held it close to his cheek.

  ‘Will Lars be there?’ Else asked.

  Petter sniffed. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘It’s the last party. The circus men are leaving tomorrow.’

  ‘They’re leaving?’ she said.

  ‘They’re going back to the circus. The new season is starting.’

  She did not hear his second sentence. His words repeated in her ears.

  The circus men were leaving.

  First thing tomorrow, the trio of men who had stayed behind to find work for the winter would hitch up their trailers and travel north to rejoin the circus. To Haugesund. That was where Valentin had told her the new season would begin. Else thought of their costumes on the night when she had followed Lars under the curtain of the Big Top. She remembered the colours, the sparkle and shine under the lights.

  And then there was Valentin.

  She cleared her throat and blinked at Petter. ‘We should get going,’ she said.

  ‘Now you want to go to the party?’

  ‘Why not? That’s why we’re here.’

  Else stumbled after him through the wood, dismissing the heaviness of her legs and allowing herself to think only of the strong man. Instead of the circus giant in the Big Top’s ring, she saw the man who had shared his chicory with her in the barn. She remembered the last time she had seen him, when he had knocked on the dining room window and pointed a finger at her father. ‘You,’ he had said. Valentin had stopped him. No one else ever had.

  ‘Petter,’ she said. She laid a hand on his arm and he paused. His eyes looked wounded in the Zippo’s thin light.

  ‘What is it?’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for springing me.’

  He smiled at that. ‘It was something else, wasn’t it? And that jump of yours, God, don’t you know anything about athletics?’

  He prattled on while Else tried to formulate a plan. Again and again, she arrived at the one thing that had changed.

  The strong man was leaving.

  A LOW RUMBLE of laughter brought her out of her thoughts. She saw the smudge of light in the darkness just as Petter pointed towards it.

  ‘Almost there,’ he said.

  He hurried on and Else struggled to keep up. The glow spread as they drew nearer, tinting the night little by little and revealing the pine needles that laid a blanket under her feet. Clumps of rotting weeds were dotted in the earth, frozen and tangled like balls of knitting. Frost twinkled on the tree trunks, crusting the bark with a snowflake skin.

  Else stopped at the edge of the forest. The bonfire crackled beyond the cover of the trees, releasing wisps of wood smoke into the air. Its light caught on the faces of the circus men who lolled on upturned crates, toasting themselves and punctuating their language with the laughter she had heard. Else recognised Yakov by his crooked eyelid, Oleg by the ponytail that hung over his shoulder. A petrol can sat between them in the mud. There was no sign of Valentin.

  Behind the men, the two trailers were parked at the mouth of the track that led to Tenvik’s farm. Else saw a silhouette dance across their walls. She took a step forward and the trees on either side of her fell away. Another couple sat further along the fire’s perimeter. Lars was with Rune: the captain and his first mate. He was tipping the contents of a petrol can into a mug that he steadied between his boots. When he took a sip, his mouth screwed sideways. He wiped his eyes. His shoulders began to bounce in the easy laugh she knew so well.

  Lars at the market. Lars buying sugar peas. Lars drinking moonshine without a care in the world.

  ‘Are you coming?’ Petter asked.

  He was already clear of the trees when she followed him onto the field. The bonfire had made short work of the residual snow. The ground was sodden and her feet sank into it. Else’s toes recoiled from a fresh gush of water as she looked again to the trailers, which loomed like whales beached in the mud. Nothing moved there but the darting shadow and light.

  ‘Else!’

  Lars’s shout echoed in the darkness. Else pursed her lips and glared at the fire.

  ‘Else! Petter! Over here!’

  She stood her ground when Petter broke away from her to join the others. She was not about to jump to Lars’s call – not a chance. Without so much as a glimpse in his direction, she began to pick her way over to the circus men. She did not get far. Yakov was watching her from under his half-mast eyelid. He lifted a mug to his lips and his gaze dipped the length of her body. Else crossed her arms over her chest when his tongue flicked the corner of his mouth. She yanked the bedspread tighter around her shoulders.

  ‘Else!’ Lars said.

  This time, she went to him.

  ‘There you are,’ he said. His voice slurred in a way that reminded her of her father. Rune’s face was loose, his nose running. Petter had taken his place with them next to the fire.

  ‘Do you want some?’ Lars a
sked.

  ‘No,’ Else said.

  ‘It’s bloody rancid. You know how we got it here?’

  ‘Petrol cans,’ she said.

  ‘Petrol cans!’ he said. ‘Pretty clever, eh?’ His cheeks plumped in a smile. Else wanted to hit him.

  ‘Your father’s going to skin you alive,’ she said.

  ‘Skål,’ he said and raised his mug to her.

  Rune cheered while he drank and Else peeked at Yakov. He had resumed his conversation with Oleg, but still he watched her.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Lars asked. ‘I heard you were ill.’

  ‘Yes,’ Else said.

  ‘Fucking hell. But you’re better now?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Fucking hell. Skål!’

  Lars drank again and Petter and Rune did the same. Else’s eyes swept the field for Valentin. When she did not find him, she sank onto a corner of Petter’s crate.

  ‘Don’t you want a drink?’ Lars asked.

  ‘No,’ she said. She held her hands out to the fire, grateful at least for the heat that stroked her body and thawed the night’s chill. She shut her eyes. The glow beat the inside of her eyelids.

  ‘Go on,’ said Lars. ‘Have a drink.’ He thrust a mug into Else’s palm. With a sigh, she swirled the liquid that was as clear as water. It burned her throat when she swallowed, making her gasp.

  She saw Valentin then. He sat some distance from the others, alone on one of the rocks that bordered the north end of the paddock. He was almost out of the firelight’s reach, but she could still distinguish the broad heft of his shoulders. She remembered him as he had been on that first night in the circus ring, when he had hoisted the animal towards the ceiling of the Big Top. His veins had stood clear of his skin like a pattern of ropes that spanned from arm to arm, winding around his neck and over the muscles of his stomach.

  ‘Skål!’ said Lars and sipped. His forehead creased when Else refused to drink. She passed her mug to Petter.

  ‘Have two,’ she said and got to her feet.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Lars.

  She set off along the edge of the bonfire, heading the long way round so as to avoid Yakov.

  ‘Else!’ shouted Petter. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Skål!’

  ‘Else!’

  ‘Skål!’

  ‘Skål!’

  The boys’ voices merged into a single, drunken bleat. Else retreated to the trees at the paddock’s rim. Their needles brushed the fingers of her outstretched hand as she trudged through the mud. She cried out when Yakov pounced on her from the shadows. He snatched her up in his arms.

  ‘Dance with me,’ he said.

  His mug spilled onto her chest, dousing her in homebrew. The smell filled her nose and mouth.

  ‘Get off!’ she said and kicked his shin.

  Yakov stumbled back. He laughed. He lifted his mug, shaking it at her in a question. His lips peeled away from his teeth in a leer. Else plunged into the murky light between the forest and the fire, her blood loud in her ears as she fled. With every step, she braced herself for the moment when he would tackle her into the mud. Instead, his laughter faded behind her.

  On the other side of the meadow, she found Valentin on his rock. He looked up when she stopped in front of him.

  ‘Else,’ he said.

  His gaze settled again on the bonfire. While Else worked to catch her breath, he raised his cup and sipped. The corners of his eyes crumpled like paper. He sucked air through his teeth.

  ‘I didn’t think we would see you again,’ he said.

  She lowered herself onto the rock next to his. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘I need your help.’

  A shout exploded behind the trailers. Valentin glanced towards it and turned back to the fire. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t go home. You know why. You’ve seen what my father is like.’

  He said nothing. The line of his jaw was tight.

  ‘When you leave,’ she said, ‘take me with you.’

  ‘Else,’ he said.

  ‘Please, Valentin.’

  ‘Else …’

  ‘I can’t stay here. I’ll cook and clean …’

  ‘Else,’ he said. ‘Enough!’

  The rest of her sentence snapped off between her teeth.

  ‘I’m going to a circus,’ Valentin said. ‘Do you know what that means? It’s no place for you.’

  ‘I’ll do anything,’ Else said.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but it’s too difficult.’

  A barrage of cheers fell about them from the sky. Else felt panic tear loose in her chest. She saw her father again in the moments before he had shut her in her bedroom, the whites of his eyes shot through with colour like cracked eggshells leaking their yolks. She remembered the pain that rose in bruises to the surface of her skin, the sour smell that tainted the air even after he had left. She heard the key in the lock, remembered the walls pressing down, closing her in, burying her alive.

  ‘I can’t go back,’ she said and meant to continue, but instead closed her mouth and bent her head to hide her tears. A touch made her start. Her hand had vanished under three long fingers. Valentin was peering at her. His dark eyes were fierce.

  ‘Take me with you,’ Else said. ‘I’ll do whatever you say.’

  His nostrils flared. He blew a heavy breath. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Here, have a drink.’

  Valentin passed her his mug and turned back to the fire, but he did not let go of her hand.

  Else sat with him long after pins and needles had begun to nip at her feet. She did not stamp them away, but focused instead on staying quiet. She matched the rhythm of her breathing to his. She blinked with trepidation, fearing a reversal of his good will if she appeared too nervous, or too impatient. If she displeased him he might decide that she was more trouble than she was worth, so Else strove not to draw attention to herself. The prickle travelled from her toes up to her calves, but she would not move to slap the life back into them. Meanwhile, the bonfire popped and fizzed across the paddock. Its heat washed over her in gentle ripples that did nothing to relieve the cold.

  When his mug had been drained, Valentin pushed himself off his rock, pulling her to her sleeping feet as he did.

  ‘Come,’ he said.

  He was still holding her hand when he lumbered off towards his trailer. Else hurried along beside him, her eyes darting around the clearing. She searched for faces in the dark even as she prayed that they would get by unnoticed. She saw Yakov first. He had returned to his crate. When he spotted Else with Valentin, his lips distorted in a sneer. He jabbed Oleg with his elbow as, one after another, the boys came to meet them from their side of the fire. Rune swayed like a sailor, his knees locking and unlocking underneath him.

  ‘What in hell?’ he said. ‘Would you look at that? Else and the strong man. Do you see that? They’re holding hands! Lars, do you see that?’

  Petter followed. He looked from Else to Valentin and his jaw dropped. Else knew how it must look. She knew what they would think – what they would say. It was all she could do not to wrest back her hand. She gritted her teeth and carried on walking. Valentin was going to help her. She could not risk unsettling him now.

  Lars limped into sight at the rear of the group. ‘What are you doing?’ he called and ran to cut them off. ‘Else, what in hell are you doing with him?’

  He stopped in front of her, his hands on his hips. Else felt her insides scooped hollow.

  ‘Lars, don’t.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  She shook her head. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘just go away.’

  He flinched as if she had struck him. He grabbed her arm. His body tensed when Valentin’s hand settled on his shoulder. The strong man leaned towards him, stooping low until their foreheads were parallel. The blood in Lars’s face turned to milk.

  ‘It’s none of your business,’ Valentin said and steered Lars out of his way. He resu
med his walk to the trailer with Else in tow. She told herself not to think. She closed her eyes and her feet carried her over the mud. Valentin climbed the stairs to her new home, yanking open the door before stepping inside. Here, Else resisted. She spun around to look at Lars one last time.

  In the orange firelight, his face was puckered with hurt. He stared at her, hands clenched, lips thin. Else tried not to think about kissing those lips. She saw him pressed against her that first time behind the bus depot, his eyes skimming shut as his mouth found hers.

  Lars at the market. Lars buying sugar peas. Lars being Lars, even though she had disappeared.

  Else pressed her lips together. She turned her back on her friends and followed Valentin into the caravan. As the door swung shut, Yakov fired a cheer into the night.

  For several moments she remained by the entrance, listening to the noise that leaked through the walls of the trailer from outside. The smell of paraffin pervaded the darkness like fumes from a paint tin. Else’s head felt thick. She reached out a hand to steady herself, recoiling when her fingertips dipped into something cold and wet.

  A spark showed Valentin crouched on his haunches beside a table, almost within touching distance. He shook out a match with one hand while the other replaced the cover of an oil lamp. It cast a dim light over the space between them. Apart from the table, there was precious little in it: a bench, a neat stack of crockery, carrots and potatoes in a crate. On the shelf in front of her, an empty drying rack kept company with an upturned washbasin and a single-hob gas cooker. A water barrel stood on the floor. Else saw the ladle hooked to the top and wiped her fingers on her trousers.

  ‘It’s late,’ Valentin said.

  She nodded. She tried to smile but her mouth was dry. Her eyes pulled away from the oil lamp’s reach to the opposite corner of the room, where she could make out a bed. It was smaller than her bed at home; surely, this would never bear Valentin’s bulk. She imagined a leg hanging over the side, a mighty arm falling to the floor, slack in sleep. She saw herself wedged between his body and the wall and looked away.

  ‘Shall I make us some coffee?’ she said. Her hand wobbled when she reached for the water ladle. Then Valentin was beside her. He stood as near to his full height as the roof would allow. His palm brushed her arm.