The Prophets of Eternal Fjord

by Aitken, Martin, Leine, Kim

  Panik? he says.

  She bursts into laughter. Then shakes her head.

  Rosine, he says.

  Rasimusi.

  He sits down beside her. They shuffle closer. He puts his left arm around her waist, cups the fat of her hip. She places her left hand on the knee of his breeches, the palm facing upwards. He places his own hand on top of it. They lace fingers; they squeeze each other’s hand.

  Panik? He tries again.

  She shakes her head energetically. It seems he is not allowed to use her proper name.

  And there they sit. He has no idea what they are to do. But he wishes for nothing more than this. It is sufficient. They look out over the body of water that lies in the shadow of the dark fell. It is a foreboding place. The snow-clad peaks to the south of the ford sparkle in the sunlight. The fells they see furthest away to the south-west must be those close to the colony. He could tell her about it, if only they could speak.

  He turns his face towards her and she looks up at him. Her smile is a stiff mask. She is quite as nervous as I, he thinks to himself. He draws her towards him and she relaxes, rests her head against his shoulder. He kisses her, feels her soft, spongy lips against his own, which are tough and weathered. She says something and tugs at the sparing tufts of his beard. He pinches the lobe of her ear. She says something else, firmly this time. He breathes into her ear and apologizes. Did it hurt? She is appeased and they kiss, both of them now at once. He feels the tip of her tongue as it darts; he chases it with his own; their tongues come together and wrestle gently inside her mouth. She gives him a playful shove. They sit beside each other, he with his arm around her, she with her left hand in his right.

  Lovely view, he says. A good place to live.

  When they return towards the settlement Amanda is there, waiting on the slope. She gets to her feet and goes with them the rest of the way. Bjerg hears her interrogate Rosine and he hears that she replies in a posi­tive tone. They arrive at the dwellings. Hardly a soul is out; the people have turned in for the night; the air is thick with smoke from their fires. Bjerg wonders where they are leading him, what their plan is for him. He walks with them; whatever is to happen will happen. He loves Rosine, he knows this now. Nothing can happen to change it.

  They come to a house which Amanda enters. Bjerg hears low voices inside. Rosine stands beside him. He cannot make her look at him.

  Then Amanda comes out again. She gestures for them to come inside. There is a small entry where he must bend his neck. He kicks off his boots and steps into a room some few paces in length and breadth, illuminated by a train-oil lamp that spits and splutters. Two old people, apparently chased from their beds, are putting on their clothes. They smile and greet him and edge their way out towards the door. Bjerg removes his hat and bows politely. The old folk vanish. Amanda says something to Rosine, who sends her a calm, trusting look. Then Amanda, too, is gone. The door closes quietly behind her. They are alone.

  Bjerg looks at Rosine. He senses that she has known all along that this was to happen. It must mean something, but what it means is not apparent to him. Her knowing what is to happen has a calming effect on him. It relieves him of some of his burden.

  And then they are naked beneath the reindeer skin. He explores her and takes his time. It surprises him how clean she is, though she has always been so in his fantasies. There is a faintly acrid smell about her, an olfactory echo of urine tubs and fermented meat. He is aware, too, of some effluvium reminiscent of ammonia, but not even that repulses him. Rather, it strikes him as pure and clean, like the chemical fumes of textile manufacture. Her skin is warm and smooth; it smells spicy and dry and of smoke. Her cunt is sweetly odorous. She pushes him away when he tries to kiss it. He tries again and she strikes him about the head and admonishes him in a whispered voice.

  This is what we Danish men do, he says, as though he were an expe­rienced lover. It is our favourite meal.

  She lets him do it. It feels soft and downy against his mouth. It opens and is smooth and moist. He explores her hands. They are rough and callused and he remembers that they comprise one fourth of the power required to transport six people in a heavily laden boat over more than one hundred nautical miles. Poor little hands, he breathes, kissing her palms and sucking her fingers. He fumbles at her breasts, buries his face in the folds of her skin, sucking and licking. Glancing up, he is confronted by her impassionate and curious gaze. But when he goes down again, to touch and lick her cunt, to feel inside it, she makes a brief sound of protest. It is not what she wishes.

  What do you want? he asks. Tell me what to do?

  She tugs at him. He sits up and she opens her legs, slaps the opening of her cunt twice with the palm of her hand, then roughly parts her labia. This is not her first time, he thinks to himself. He positions himself between her silken legs and enters her. She forces his head down towards her and utters sounds of gratification. When he comes, he bursts into tears. He lies awkwardly with his head between her breasts and gasps for air. She runs her fingers through his hair, dries his moistened cheeks and makes maternal noises.

  You are my first, he says. I have not had a woman before. I want no other than you, my darling. I belong to you. Do with me as you please.

  When he returns to the tent the next morning, the flintlock is gone. He searches through his things, in all his pockets, but the arrest warrant is gone, too. He sits on the bed. Without the warrant and the gun he is without authority. He is nothing. He is just a boy. But no matter. A burden is removed from his shoulders. Now he can do what he wants.

  He hears the ship’s bell and goes outside. There is a fog, but the plateau itself is bathed in sunshine. The fog is a gleaming white and as thick as custard; it follows the ford as it weaves inland and he feels the bitter cold that accompanies it, but also the warmth of the sun that will soon chase it away. Behind the settlement and on the other side of the ford, the profile of the peaks stands as sharp as a knife against the blue autumn sky. People come wandering up the slope; they follow the paths that have been trodden through the moss; a long train of families with children, clad in their finest garments. Bjerg stands in the opening of the tent in a worn sweater of Icelandic pattern, shrouded by the night’s vapours, and feels like the most uncivilized of them all. He catches sight of Rosine, walking arm in arm with Amanda. They do not look up at him. Soon we can present ourselves together for everyone, he tells himself. I shall ask Pastor Falck to give us the blessing in the church. The thought makes him feel like a benefactor and he is moved to imagine Rosine’s gratitude.

  He goes inside and puts on a different pair of breeches and his blue coat, its sleeves are embellished with galloons to signify his royal authority. He loosens his pigtail, tightens it again, spits on his fingers and smoothes his short fringe as well as he is able. He unties his oil-tanned boots and scrapes off the worst of the mud before putting them on. There is no mirror, yet he feels at ease with himself, a handsome young man. She will take note of me, he thinks, she will feel proud that I belong to her, just as I am proud that she is mine.

  There must be more than a hundred people outside the church. The bell still peals in its little tower between the church building and the gateway of whale bones. It is a brass bell, he sees, it looks like the kind used to mark the hours on board a ship. Probably something they have plundered from a wreck. The churchgoers turn to look at him; a path opens in their midst, leading to the church door, where Pastor Falck stands in full vestments. Bjerg sees that the priest is pale. He clutches his Bible and looks like he is freezing. Bjerg notices now that the air has chilled during the last hour. Cold gusts sweep down from the high ridge behind the settlement and a grey carpet of cloud extends between the peaks.

  Where on earth have you been? Falck asks.

  Where is our kayak man? Bjerg asks.

  There has been much commotion in the night, says Falck. Have you not sensed it?

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p; I was up on the fell, says Bjerg.

  All the more fortunate for you. Your arrest warrant has caused a great deal of anger. They have been looking for you everywhere.

  The warrant is gone, says Bjerg matter-of-factly. I don’t know where it is and I don’t care.

  On a low rock stand a man and a woman, side by side; she in colourful garments embroidered with pearls, he in a simple black anorak and breeches of skin. They smile kindly, solemnly, and exude authority.

  Habakuk and his woman, says Bjerg.

  They have not shown themselves until now, says Falck. They are cunning. Now everyone understands that they must choose between us and them.

  Bjerg feels at once uncomfortable in his blue braided coat. He feels naked without his flintlock, even though it would probably only make things worse. He senses a feeling of excitement and restless joy among the throng. They laugh and chatter; some young men perform somer­saults and leapfrog to much amusement and jubilation. Still more people come wandering up the slope; the crowd swells.

  Did Didrik take the warrant? Bjerg asks.

  One would assume so.

  It is treason, says Bjerg. It may cost him his life.

  Indeed, says Falck. But one must understand that Didrik was plunged into strife when he heard about the order. Rather a peculiar dilemma, if one thinks about it. Falck wipes his brow with a handkerchief he has hidden in his sleeve. His loyalty to the king on the one hand and to his people on the other. These two matters are usually one and the same, but not in this instance.

  I feel a similar conflict myself, says Bjerg.

  Falck turns and looks at him. What do you mean?

  I have, well, er, committed myself to a certain person, he says.

  Aha! A brief grin passes over Falck’s face. Our pretty oarswoman, I take it?

  Bjerg nods.

  You have been courting, Constable Bjerg. So that was what you were up to while the entire settlement was out looking for you. And probably with her mother’s blessing, I shouldn’t wonder.

  Her mother?

  Amanda is Rosine’s mother. Didn’t you know?

  So that’s why she calls her panik, says Bjerg. I thought it to be her name.

  Falck laughs. It seems she is an eager matchmaker, this Amanda. Are you happy with each other?

  I love her, Bjerg hears himself say.

  I see. Well, you are young. I feel a certain yearning myself now and then, a budding devotion, whose object I need not divulge here. But I understand you, indeed.

  I cannot commit violence against these people, says Bjerg. Besides, they have taken my gun as well. No one would expect me to contain the settlement with my pocket knife, surely?

  Be at ease, says Falck. I shall preach for them. We shall practise the grace of free will that was given to us by the Lord at our christening.

  Eh? says Bjerg and looks at the priest in puzzlement.

  We shall let them decide for themselves. First I shall preach, then Habakuk likewise, and then we shall see which of us wins most favour with our congregation. It will be a duel of words. The Lord will ensure the victory of the just.

  The man who has been ringing the little ship’s bell steps down. The people fall silent. Falck opens the door and all heads turn at once to the two upon the rock. Habakuk nods. The congregation moves into the church. Bjerg stands beside Falck as people file past. Amanda sends him a sly look; Rosine stares straight ahead. She looks almost cantankerous, he thinks anxiously. Behind them come a number of men, among them Didrik. He looks at Bjerg with animosity and Bjerg feels even more ill at ease.

  Falck reaches out and puts a hand on Didrik’s shoulder. He halts.

  Dear Didrik, you must help me. You must be my interpreter. Will you?

  The kayak man nods. I will translate.

  The church is quickly filled. There are still some fifty people outside who cannot come in. Bjerg follows Falck through the nave to the choir, where there is a step up. There is no pulpit and no decoration. The church could almost have been a warehouse.

  Falck asks him to stand at the side, to his right. Didrik stands next to him. Voices rise to a hum, benches creak and scrape on the floor, a couple of children begin to cry. Then all goes quiet. Bjerg sees Habakuk and Maria Magdalene seated in the front row. He sees that they are holding hands. Further back he sees Rosine and Amanda, her mother and, with any luck, his future mother-in-law. But he senses that something is about to happen. There is a strange feeling in the air.

  Falck clears his throat. His voice a-tremble, he thanks the community for the hospitality it has accorded him and his company. Didrik trans­lates. Falck praises the settlement, which in his opinion is much better organized than any colony he has seen, and Bjerg notes that he looks directly upon the two front rows as he speaks. His praise would seem to be well received, many smile and nod in acknowledgement of his words. This bay, Falck continues, this little community, for such it is, indeed, must surely be one of the most splendid spots on the entire earth. A hum of approval ripples through the congregation.

  However, says Falck, and pauses. He looks at Didrik and the kayak man translates the word. Kisjeni. A silence descends.

  However, His Majesty the king was saddened to hear that some of his children have submitted to heresy and false doctrine and have abandoned the only true doctrine, says Falck. He goes on: It is not because our king wishes in any way to determine in what we are to believe, most certainly not. Rather, it is because you are his children, every one of you, and he weeps to hear that his children have offended against the Lord, such that they cannot join him in Paradise. You must understand that the king loves you all, Falck urges. He does not care to lose a single one of you, and if in any case he does, he grieves for a very long time. The king grieves now.

  Bjerg observes how the congregation as one is gripped by pangs of conscience. They bow their heads or look away. Some dry their eyes with the sleeves of their garments. A child cries incessantly. Habakuk and his wife stare up at the priest and are unmoved.

  I should like to tell you a story about our king, says Falck. The tale concerns how the king, out walking in his city one day, sees a child drowning in one of the canals. He jumps into the water without a thought for his own life, but when he reaches the child, the child does not wish to be saved, but kicks and lashes out, shouting oaths at the king and beseeching him to leave him alone. But the king refuses to give in and eventually he succeeds in bringing the child on to land, where all his escort stands full of admiration and fright at what they have witnessed. Then the child’s mother and father come running. They kiss the robes of the king and fall down upon their knees and thank him. It is no matter, says the king. I would do the same for any one of my subjects. Even the child began to cry when he understood that his life had been saved by the king himself, and together with his parents he was given accommo­dation in the palace and received work in the king’s gardens, and the family was contented thereby.

  Someone at the front begins to sob, Bjerg hears. Didrik must have translated the story well. Bjerg, too, has a lump in his throat from listening to such a touching tale. He pictures the king at Frederiksholms Kanal, heaving the idiotic boy on to the cobbles; how everyone is over­whelmed with gratitude and impressed by what has occurred. Rasmus Bjerg feels for a moment that he is himself the king. He sees that Falck, too, is moved and has produced several handkerchiefs with which to wipe his face. Weeping spreads throughout the congregation.

  So now I say unto you, says Falck, taking his time to look his audience in the eye, that the king has confided in me that he cannot be here in person today, and therefore he has appointed me to save you from drowning. I say unto you: return, turn away from this false doctrine and feel the love and forgiveness of the Lord!

  He is finished. He steps down from the rostrum, bows politely to Habakuk and his wife, then returns to his place next to Bjerg.
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br />   How did I do? he whispers.

  The Pastor has converted me, at any rate.

  Excellent. Let us hear what the good Habakuk has to say.

  Habakuk steps up onto the rostrum. He is a tall, well-built man; his hair is worn in a bowl cut and hangs like a mop over his broad, chiselled forehead. Falck beckons to Didrik to come and translate what he says.

  Friends, fellow settlers, Habakuk begins. I will not speak at length and I will not tell stories. Everything the priest says is true. His Majesty the king is saddened. He wants us back where we were before. Do you remember what it was like? He looks out across the assembly and smiles.

  Bjerg hears Falck sigh. He feels himself already forgetting what Falck has said and understands that the same is happening in the congregation.

  The king is so saddened, Habakuk goes on in a sarcastic tone, that he now requires my own and my wife’s presence in his palace in Copenhagen! He waves a piece of paper in the air. Bjerg sees it is the arrest warrant with the red seal.

  But we are not to live with the king and look after his gardens, says Habakuk. As all who were present at last night’s meeting will know, this is not an invitation to dine at the king’s table, but an order to put me and my wife in chains and ship us away to a dungeon in Denmark.

  An angry murmur.

  I think it best that the priest and Constable Bjerg leave now, says Didrik.

  Certainly not, says Falck. We shall remain here. No one will harm us.

  His Majesty wishes to remove us, to take us away from our home, our country and our people, and he most surely hopes that everything will then settle and that the rest of you will bow down and return to the fold as the Missionary Falck of Sukkertoppen has asked you to.