In her attempt to be positive, Pebble finally discovered one good thing about Albert’s drinking (there’s got to be a payoff somewhere, right?). And Pebble finally found it. It was obvious. It had been there all along, right under her nose. Yes folks, Pebble’s dreamboat became positively sociable when he drank. That was it; the unexpected highlight of Albert’s boozing was his conversation. Albert actually talked. And once he got started, he sure did talk a lot. Ten or twelve Tuborgs transformed our hero into a real conversationalist. It was almost impossible to shut him up. The change was that astonishing. Sometimes when Albert got going like that, Pebble wondered if she really was with the same man. Instead of Clint Eastwood in a bad mood, our hero became quite the guy. His eyes sparkled and that strange hunted look disappeared.
Pebble found out another thing, too. She could drink with the rest of them. She marveled at her newfound capacity for booze. She thought it was some undiscovered talent since she’d rarely touched the stuff before her trip to sunny Greenland. Now, she was positively guzzling it down on a daily basis. If she didn’t go home soon, she’d end up an alcoholic like the rest of the motley crew Albert hung out with. But Pebble wasn’t in the mood for passing judgments mainly because she couldn’t see what else there was to do on an icecap but enjoy a couple of nightcaps (or ten)? As far as Pebble could see (and that wasn’t very far in this blizzard), freezing to death was no viable alternative to having fun. For all she knew, it might go on snowing forever and she might be stranded there forever – wherever it was she was. So having guzzled a beer or two before leaving Albert’s house for the party, Pebble concluded with all the wisdom of a girl from New York – you just had to make do.
Pebble was full of compassion for all the drunken souls she’d seen stumbling around on the frozen streets of Holsteinsborg, swaying in the gale force winds. It wasn’t hard to understand anymore (what was incomprehensible in Copenhagen made perfect sense up here)…how else could you handle this? Pebble was convinced that Greenland had to be the most boring place on earth. (You could just see so many Die Hard movies. Wherever they went, people were glued to their TV screens and Bruce Willis, apparently the Eskimo hero of the moment, was on.) It surprised Pebble that there weren’t more suicides, but she supposed the Eskimos still had traditions, somewhere, to comfort them. Pebble was disappointed she saw so little of those traditions in Holsteinsborg. Probably, she thought, because advertising has done such a good job selling the white man’s lifestyle to these people. It might have been real Indian country once, it might have been one of the world’s last untouched wildernesses, but the Eskimos sure did seem gung-ho in their pursuit of the life they glimpsed on TV. Pebble, who expected to see igloos and Eskimos running around in knee-high furs hauling reindeer and seals, didn’t get to see that either. Besides satellite TV, everybody had hot water, electric stoves, cars and computers. Even the grinning Eskimo clerk at the Air Greenland ticket office seemed to be a computer whiz. So no, Pebble had yet to meet an Eskimo who showed the slightest sign of wanting to stop the approaching tide of the white man’s civilization (she’d heard there were some – but obviously they were dying out fast). Everyone Pebble saw (when she and Albert found time to emerge from drinking and lovemaking) seemed to enjoy zooming around the tiny village (population 5,000 with a whooping total of five paved roads) in brand-new cars. Pebble couldn’t fathom it. The town’s five roads went nowhere. But it didn’t seem to bother anyone. Pebble got the impression that the entire population of Holsteinsborg was out there celebrating the fun of technology. Besides the one-mile trip from one end of the town to the prefabricated apartment buildings at the other end, you couldn’t leave the village by road to go anywhere – you’d only end up in a snow bank. No roads connected the isolated villages spread along the West Coast of Greenland. Distances were too great and the climate too harsh for roads. Helicopter or boat was the only means of transportation.
Occasionally Pebble did see a dog sled, but they were few and far between. Greenland wasn’t half as primitive as Pebble expected it to be. Even the Eskimos hanging out inside (it was too cold to hang out outside) the town’s few shops, were all wearing blue jeans and street wear, just like the kids back home.
As they entered Martin’s house, the flush of warm air was a welcome relief from the blasting, bitter cold outside. The wind had been blowing so hard that Pebble had difficulty walking. She’d spent most of the five-minute walk from Albert’s house to Martin’s, clutching Albert’s arm. Greenland might look modern, Pebble thought as she stomped the snow off her not-at-all-warm city-cowboy boots, but it was only a facade: No amount of modern living was going to drown out the cold vastness of Greenland.
Inside she heard the sound of laughter and clinching glasses. As could be expected at a Greenlandish party, people were already well into the food and booze. If Pebble was hoping for less liquor, she was in for a disappointment. Oh well, at least Albert would talk. But it certainly wasn’t going to improve her looks. You see Pebble discovered, much to her dismay, that drinking Greenland style did have a downside, too. She looked like the Black Death the next morning. It never failed. She’d wake up all innocent and groggy and suddenly she’d find herself in Albert’s bathroom mirror looking like an old hag. The rude shock of looking at herself startled her awake, as if she’d thrown cold water on her face. She hated the sight of her rubbery face. It was enough to ruin her whole day. She felt like pounding the face in the mirror. God must have made a mistake, she was sure. Anyone who’s newly divorced and stuck on an almost-deserted island with a drunk in the middle of a snowstorm that doesn’t show any signs of stopping shouldn’t have to go through things like this! It’s just not fair. The worst part was those hideous bags she had under her eyes. They aged her instantly about 95 years. No amount of chamomile tea or ice would make bags like those disappear. No man will ever mistake me for 25 again! (A very grave thought indeed, so early in the morning.) Which was why Pebble decided, after a couple of mornings of pure gloom, that a facelift was the only way to deal with this new and discomforting fact of life. She’d have to have one as soon as she returned to Copenhagen (that was if she ever returned and could afford it). Damn, life after 40 sure does get complicated.
* * *
Martin, his fat, muscular shoulders heaving slightly as he talked, and Albert, the slur in his voice already noticeable enough, were having one of those “profound” conversations, the kind only men can have when they drink too much. They’d look each other deep in the eyes and speak pure gibberish. It was enough to make you laugh (or cry, depending on how your hormones were doing at the moment). It was as if the rubbish they were spouting was some kind of profound truth. Pebble couldn’t bear to listen to them. And Martin’s ungainly wife, Kirstin, seemed greatly annoyed, too, though she never said a word. There were other guests at the party and Kirstin knew if Martin didn’t watch out, things might get out of hand – the way things get out of hand at Greenlandish parties. But whenever Kirstin tried to get Martin’s attention, he motioned her away. The look on her large, plain face invited sympathy, but Pebble didn’t feel sympathetic. Kirstin wasn’t one of those fun Copenhagen people Pebble was used to dealing with. She wasn’t fast or flashy, just plain and ordinary. Pebble should have liked her, it would have been the proper thing to do, the civil thing, but she didn’t, even though she wanted to and tried hard to. Kirstin was just so boring, and Pebble didn’t have much experience dealing with people like her. It only took Pebble about three minutes to give Kirstin the lowdown on her children, the weather and her job, so when five whole minutes had passed it seemed as if their conversation was in serious danger of grinding to a halt.
Besides the only thing they both passionately agreed on, that “men are hopeless”, was off limits. They just couldn’t talk about it. It wouldn’t have been right. Not with Kirstin’s husband and Pebble’s boyfriend sitting within earshot. But Kirstin’s sighs were plainer than words, at least to Pebble. It was as if she’d shouted to everyone in the room, “
Look at those imbeciles.” Pebble couldn’t have agreed more. She just wished they could have talked about it, wished she could have talked to someone, anyone, about her romance. How could she have fallen in love with a man who drank like a fish?
Pebble Beach was so desperate at that moment, she would have confessed everything to Molly – if she’d been around – but to Kirstin, no. How could she? She didn’t even know Kirstin, who was a bore anyway. And besides, Pebble was too proud. After all, she was the one who’d come all the way to Greenland like a bitch in heat to bed Albert. It was downright embarrassing. So Pebble just stood there, smiling like a jerk, telling herself it would be disloyal to even mention how drunk their men were. Which was hard to do since all Pebble wanted was to come out and say, God I’m so unhappy. Why do the men we love have to act like this? Why can’t they just grow up and stop drinking so much? It’s so disgusting… Inside, Pebble felt a kind of anger she couldn’t explain. Like when you buy a piece of goods and it turns out to be rubbish. Disgusting and embarrassing and sad… Because that’s what Pebble would have said, if she could have – if she’d had the courage – right then and there. But she didn’t, even if deep down inside she knew that Kirstin probably would have agreed with every word she wanted to say – still it didn’t help. Life with a drunk is like that, both women thought.
Instead of truth (Pebble knew she’d blown it one more time. Is this why you keep on being reborn? You get to do this over and over again until you dare go for the truth?), Pebble and Kirstin talked about all the things that didn’t matter while worrying about how they were going to handle their drunken men that night. Because you see women do worry about things like that, even if they never tell each other. How could they not? We’ve all heard too many stories about women who’ve been abused or molested or beaten or all three. Pebble and Kirstin, whose husband was bad tired of her plain face, were no exceptions. What law said it couldn’t happen to them? Who could promise that tonight wouldn’t be the first time Albert or Martin crossed that very thin line. Because you know, it does happen.
Thoughts like that spooked Pebble and made it difficult for her to understand why she was behaving so loyally towards Albert. Why didn’t she just get her purse and go? (Where would she have gone? But that was another story…) The awesome question was how she could still love him so. She was all confused. Mixed up. Drinking too much. Damn – she’d come so far to be with him – why did he have to drink like that and ruin everything? Sometimes he could be so wonderful, so gentle, so loving. I’m just so damn stupid! Pebble didn’t know where to turn. The man was absolutely infuriating, sitting there without a care in the world. Come tomorrow he wouldn’t remember a word he’d said tonight. Oh men!
Kirstin’s husband, Martin was no better. One of a handful of Danes who’d found their place among that elite group of Danish colonists who governed Greenland until very recently, Kirstin and Martin had lived there for years, just like Albert. Kirstin had seen her life go by in one small village after the next and had grown fat there, too, teaching Danish to the native children and raising her own three children.
In a brave show of sisterly kindness, Kirstin decided to forget Martin and show Pebble some pictures of herself when she’d first moved to Greenland. (Did she sense Pebble’s dismay?) She’d been a slim reed of a woman then and Pebble marveled at the pictures. To think this was the same person.
“When was this one taken?” Pebble had asked politely about a particularly beautiful picture of Kirstin with her eyes shining brightly against a very blue sky.
“Oh, that was about 25 years ago, just before I got pregnant with Justin.” Pebble took out her glasses; she wanted a closer look at Kirstin’s face. Had the cold and loneliness driven Kirstin straight to the refrigerator? Or was it Martin’s drinking? Pebble’s experienced eye told her Kirstin wasn’t a day older than she was.
“Where are your children now?” Pebble asked, starting to like Kirstin despite her ordinary face.
“All three go to school in Copenhagen. My daughter is studying to be a nurse and both my sons go to engineering school.”
“Isn’t it hard being so far from them?” Pebble wondered how Kirstin did it.
“Well, Martin would never move back to Denmark, and the children couldn’t continue their education here. There are no opportunities…” Suddenly there was emotion in her thin voice and tears welled up in her faded eyes. “What kind of a life could they have up here anyway?”
“Come over here.” It was Martin. Pebble and Kirstin hadn’t noticed that he’d walked over to where they stood talking. He took hold of Pebble’s arm and pulled her across the room towards the couch where he’d been sitting with Albert. “Don’t go boring our guests with your tiresome life, Kirstin…” He didn’t even look at his wife.
Pebble winced; he must have overheard their conversation. She disliked Martin intensely. Steen Moeller, another fellow Pebble suspected she might like about as much as she liked Martin, moved up on the other side of Pebble as they made their way towards the couch where Albert still sat.
“Didn’t we meet at the Officer’s Club in Søndre Strømfjord last week?”
Pebble didn’t remember his face, but knew this meant trouble. Had he seen her leave the club with Franz?
Pebble stared into his drunken face, “You’re probably thinking of someone else…” she lied. She was sure Albert was listening. She caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye, pouring more beer into his half-empty glass. Annika, a young Eskimo woman, slid down into the sofa next to Albert. Maybe she sensed trouble. Annika was Steen Moeller’s wife, but Pebble knew by the way she cozied up to Albert, that marriage meant nothing at the moment. Albert had told Pebble about the wild partying that went on all over Greenland – Eskimo women drank as much as the men, and went to bed with whoever they wanted – whenever they felt like it – whether they were married or not.
Pebble moved past Steen and sat down on the other side of Albert. It was a large couch, big enough for all kinds of tribal combinations.
“Do you know him?” Albert’s voice might be slurred, but he still could hold her with his eyes. Pebble realized Albert was holding Annika’s hand. She felt hot all over.
“I’m not sure,” Pebble replied, her voice flat with danger.
Annika chimed in, “Steen told me as soon as you walked in tonight that he’d seen you in Søndre Strømfjord with Franz Helgegaard.”
“You were with Franz?” There was surprise in Albert’s slow question. He’d almost thought for a moment, but no.
“Yeah, I sat next to him on the plane from Copenhagen. We were delayed you know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Albert was still holding Annika’s hand. Annika, her work done, leaned back in the worn comfortable couch. She was young and beautiful with long black hair. Handmade bone earrings hung from her delicate ears. She was absolutely ravishing; wild, sexy, everything Pebble had always wanted to be but never would become.
Pebble didn’t want to stare at Annika, but felt herself drawn, against her will, into those jet-black eyes. Annika radiated an intense animal-like energy that Pebble had never encountered before. Pebble was quite sure Annika could dominate any man, or situation for that matter, with that energy. Pebble still felt much too warm. Primitive spirits danced around her.
You can do whatever you want with me, Pebble thought. I am captive on your wild island – you make the rules.
Pebble drank deeply from her beer mug. She really didn’t care. She’d come too far to love a man she didn’t know how to love and now he was going to find out she’d been sleeping with somebody else on the way up. He’d never understand. Steen pushed his way towards them.
“Why are you holding hands with my wife,” his voice cut through their conversation. Albert, who was deep in thought, contemplating Pebble and Franz, looked up in surprise. Pebble was glad Steen was there. Maybe the primitive spirits dancing all around her would go away. If not she’d fall into the well and die happily.
> Martin, who felt the spirit dance, too, moved forward, “Albert’s an old friend of Annika’s, you know that, Steen.” Obviously Martin wasn’t as drunk as he appeared. Pebble marveled at his control. He reached out and without stumbling, took Annika’s other hand. Oh how womanly and slim that hand was. Then he continued, “And she’s a damn good friend of mine, too. Now why don’t we all drink to that?”
The tension hung in the air a moment longer and then vanished. Albert, who seemed to have forgotten Franz, was positively jolly. Without standing up (Pebble wondered if he could) and without letting go of Annika’s hand, he called the men standing across the room, “Hey, Bear, Carsten, Vic, come over here and bring your women, too. Martin’s going to drink to Annika.” The motley crew of friends didn’t care if Albert’s voice was slurred or not, but Pebble did.
They crowded around and Pebble had the feeling that every man in the room (including Albert) knew Annika, and knew her well. They were like one big family (these crazy white men and their wild Eskimo women), and for one very short moment, Pebble, who knew she didn’t belong, envied them.
Chapter 7
Later that night, it must have been almost 4 a.m., Pebble lost control. Every once in a while, when Albert seemed to snap out of his drunkenness (amazing how drunks can do that, seeming to surface for air for a moment before they sink back into oblivion again) he would hint at the Franz thing, but that wasn’t what triggered Pebble’s outburst. Pebble was quite sure that no matter how much Albert hinted nor how many insinuations Annika made – and the woman certainly did try hard to make trouble – that the Franz thing would just have to wait until they were alone. Albert might be drunk, but he wasn’t dumb. Still, Annika’s behavior made Pebble wonder if Annika had a thing for Albert. It wasn’t difficult to imagine them together, bodies passionately entwined. Pebble envied Annika’s supple youth. She could picture Annika, her slender body flung against Albert’s muscular ruggedness, her black Eskimo hair surrounding them both. Picturing Annika with Albert didn’t do much to improve Pebble’s state of mind. Nor did worrying about Albert’s reaction when he found out about Franz (really found out that is) – and he was bound to – sooner or later.
Adventures of Pebble Beach Page 8