To Sleep With Reindeer

by Justine Saracen

  “Anyhow, I’m Maarit. This is Jova, my grandmother, my grandfather, Alof, and Gaiju, my grandfather’s brother.”

  They all nodded but didn’t reply. Did they not understand Norwegian? Then the whole family seemed to lose interest in her as they busied themselves preparing for a temporary rest.

  A moment later, Maarit appeared next to the sled again, holding a ceramic cup of something that steamed. “Here, drink this, slowly. It should warm you.” She handed the cup to Kirsten and helped lift her head to reach it. “It’s not exactly coffee, but it’s hot, and you need it. You’ll also get some smoked meat in a couple of minutes.”

  Finally able to move her lips, Kirsten sipped the steaming brew and winced. “Hot, yes, but tastes like tree bark.”

  Maarit chuckled. “I think that’s what it is. Impossible for us to get coffee these days. Not up here, anyhow.”

  Thirst trumped taste, and when the brew had cooled below scalding, Kirsten took several more gulps. It warmed her throat and chest, which was a relief, but as the warmth spread to her legs, she felt the awful tingling of nerves that began to function again. She had to move her legs, massage them, do something.

  “I…have to move,” she grunted. “My legs…awful pain. My chest, too.”

  Can you sit up if I help you?” She slid an arm around Kirsten’s back.

  “I’ll try.” Pushing with her good leg and gripping the sides of the sled, she was able to haul herself up to a sitting position, though the tug on her ribs caused a pain to shoot through her. The reindeer calf also slid farther down under the cover and bleated. The change of position did little to stop the excruciating sensations of electric shock in both legs or the ache in her side. She finished her tree-bark coffee, determined to wait out the pain.

  “You’ve been asleep off and on for hours. Do you need to relieve yourself?”

  Damn, there was that, too. “I guess so. But how? I don’t think I can stand up.”

  “Let’s try to get you out of the sled first. I can hold you from one side. Moving will warm you more than anything.” She waved over the one called Gaiju, who seemed a bit sturdier than the other two, and he took up position at her feet.

  Maarit pulled off the several reindeer skins that had served as covers. “Do you need to wear two coats?”

  “As long as I’m in the sled, no. Can you help me out of one of them?”

  Maarit slid the outer coat over Kirsten’s shoulders and managed to yank her arms out of the tight sleeves. Rolling out of the outer coat, Kirsten took a breath and hauled herself up. Gaiju lifted her legs over the edge of the sled. With another swing, they raised her fully from the sled and stood her upright on the snow. She wobbled, pain shooting up under her left arm and through both legs, her left one especially, and she could barely put weight on it.

  “What do you think? Can you take a step?”

  “Only if you support me on my right side.”

  “Sure. I can do that. We have no formalities here. The area behind that rock is our…uh…family toilet.”

  Kirsten held her breath so as not to cry out and leaned hard on Maarit to keep from collapsing. With a series of grunts, she limped her first painful steps. The pain in her legs was bad, but the numbness in her feet worried her more. With her arm slung along the small of Kirsten’s back, Maarit half led, half carried her behind one of the massive rocks that protected the shelter from the wind.

  Behind the snow-covered rock, Maarit stopped and turned to face her. “Now it gets serious. I’ll hold you up while you slide down your trousers. Then you bend forward and let go.”

  Kirsten’s humiliation was diminished only by the persistent pain and the knowledge that the only alternative was to soil herself inside her clothing, which would freeze and turn to ice. “All right,” she managed to say. Supporting her weight largely on her right leg, Kirsten opened her coat, unbelted her trousers, and undid the row of buttons in the front. “Now is good.”

  Maarit stepped in close and embraced her from the front, sliding her hands under Kirsten’s shoulders and around her back. Bracing herself on a wide stance, she pulled Kirsten’s upper body close and allowed her to bend just enough to avoid drenching her trousers.

  The sudden rush of icy air on her bare buttocks nearly stifled the urge, but with concentration, she was able to release. Hearing the hiss of urine pouring onto the snow, she felt simultaneous relief and excruciating embarrassment. “Thank you,” she murmured into Maarit’s shoulder.

  “Sure, any time.” Maarit lifted her upright again and helped her pull up her trousers.

  As if executing an awkward dance step, the two of them took their original position, and Kirsten pivoted on her good leg. They started off back to the sled, while two reindeer approached and sniffed the new patch of yellow snow.

  It was no easier climbing back into the sled than it was getting out of it, and Kirsten breathed through clenched teeth as she folded herself into it. The calf hadn’t moved, and she noticed for the first time that it was white. She pulled the warm creature toward her while Maarit rearranged the deerskins around them both. Jova appeared with another cup of bark coffee and turned away. It tasted just as bad as the one before, but this time it had slices of what appeared to be smoked reindeer meat in it. She told herself it was not coffee, but a bitter meat stew, and hunger made it tolerable.

  “I’m grateful you found me,” she said. “I didn’t even know the Sami were still herding during the war. And this far south. All those reindeer are yours?”

  Maarit glanced out at the herd. “No. This herd belongs to my grandparents and two other families. They’re camped just ahead of us. This route is ancient, but it’s made up of lots of trails, not just one. You’re lucky you were lying along the path they took this time. Otherwise you’d have frozen, and someone would have found you in the spring. Or your bones.”

  “Oh, now you’ve really cheered me up.”

  Gaiju was back at the sled again, a cup of hot bark coffee in one hand and a pipe in the other. He said something in Sami.

  “He’s asking what you were doing on the vidda,” Maarit said in Norwegian.

  Kirsten dropped her glance. What to tell them? The last thing she wanted, or was even allowed to do, was involve these innocent people in a war mission, even if it had failed.

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell it later, when I’m back on my feet again.” It was a rude answer but all she could think of at the moment.

  The old man scowled, took a long pull on his pipe, and returned to the lavvu.

  Maarit was not so easily put off. “I’m guessing you parachuted in for some reason and got lost. Am I right?”

  SOE training had not prepared her for friendly interrogation by rescuers. She relented slightly. “Half right. No parachutes. We came by glider but crashed. Most of the crew died, and the ones who could walk were captured. I was the only one to get away, but then I got lost. So where am I, exactly?”

  “Somewhere midway between Hainefjørd and Udsek where we—and the reindeer—will spend the winter. But I’m not finished asking. Why did you come in the first place? You speak Norwegian, but your coats are British military. You were on a mission, but I can’t imagine for what? What were you looking for on the Hardangervidda?”

  “Really, it’s better I don’t tell you. If the Germans capture you, the less you know, the less they can hurt you. Just help me recover, and I’ll try to get out of your life as soon as possible.”

  “That serious, eh?” Maarit shrugged. “All right. We’ll leave it for now.” She gestured with her chin toward Kirsten’s feet. “You’ve got a bad foot, maybe frostbitten, which needs to be looked at. Unfortunately, we can’t take off your boot until we reach our goahti about a day away from here. You can come inside and warm up, and we’ll take a look at everything then. Do you think you can hold out?”

  “Now that I’m warm, and fed, I’m pretty sure I can. Is that coffee thing your main meal?

  Maarit chuckled. “Salty coffee not you
r favorite, eh? Fortunately, we have other food to offer.” Just then, the grandmother came up beside her and handed her another steaming bowl. “This should be more to your liking.” Maarit exchanged the bowl for Kirsten’s coffee cup. “I’ll be back in a minute, and we’ll eat together.”

  While she stepped away, the three other Sami remained staring at her for a moment, but then left her to squat by the tent. Moments later, Maarit returned with her own soup and sat on the edge of the sled. “How do you like our Sami food?”

  Kirsten held the bowl in her gloved hands and sipped the liquid from the edge. It was fish soup. “This one’s actually quite good.”

  “We’ll try not to shock your palate too much at first. No reindeer brains yet.”

  Realizing Maarit was serious, Kirsten thought it wise not to ask more about the Sami diet. They ate in silence, and when they finished, Maarit took the empty bowls to Jova, where they wiped them clean with snow. Kirsten studied the two Sami women.

  Jova seemed ancient, though she could have been any age over fifty. Her skin was weathered and deeply lined, and the hair that hung outside of her red and blue woolen cap was gray. She wore thick trousers, as did the others, tucked into high rubber boots, but her outer coat, similar to the others in its blue color, hung below her knees with oddly incongruous red ruffles at the bottom. She laughed quickly at something Gaiju said, with a sort of infectious cackle. Kirsten assumed she was part of the joke.

  Maarit’s dress was more interesting. The blue tunic, with red and yellow embroidered bands on the cuff, collar, and shoulder seam, was almost identical to those of the others, but sat better on her slender form. Around her hips, she wore a belt from which hung a coil of rope and a knife in a leather sheath.

  Like the men, she wore thick trousers that bulged at the knee over a patterned band that wound like a puttee down her shin to her shoes. Sami shoes, made of reindeer fur, with an upward curve at the toe.

  Only her hair was anomalous. Like the old woman, she wore a felt cap with a border, but, unusually for a Sami, her hair was a light brown.

  Kirsten glanced away as Maarit returned and lifted the reindeer calf from Kirsten’s side. “Dinnertime for her, too,” she said, carrying the calf to the mother that had waited close by the whole time.

  The calf nursed greedily, and when she dropped her head, sated, the mother took a few steps away, as if urging her infant to follow her. But all it did was stand in place, wobbling and honking mournfully. Sighing audibly, Maarit swept the animal into her arms and carried her back to the sled.

  “I hope you don’t mind sharing your bed again with the calf. She was injured by an eagle yesterday and still refuses to walk. Gaiju keeps pressuring me to slaughter her for dinner, and any other family would have done it by now, but I’ve grown sentimental.”

  Kirsten shifted to the side to offer more space. “I don’t mind at all. She’ll help keep me warm.”

  Maarit tucked the calf in at Kirsten’s shoulder. “Let’s hope that, by tomorrow, you’ll both be walking again.” She patted its head. “Will you be okay, you think?”

  “I’m fine. We’re fine.” Kirsten brushed her chin over the top of the calf’s head.

  “By the way, if the mother becomes a nuisance, give her some of this.” Maarit untied a burlap sack from behind the sled and dropped it onto Kirsten’s chest. “It’s lichen, their winter food. There’s plenty under the snow, but they love it when you serve it to them personally, warm and dry.”

  The mother reindeer trotted a step closer.

  Maarit lifted out an armload of firewood from the foot of the sled and turned away. “Good night, then. Call out if you need anything.”

  “Good night, yourself. And thank you for saving me.”

  Maarit glanced back over her shoulder. “Actually, the reindeer saved you.”

  Kirsten watched the grandparents as they crawled into the lavvu, which still glowed amber, from the fire at its center. Gaiju and then Maarit followed them, pulling the entrance closed. The bulges in the walls of the structure made it clear that it was full. To ensure her own comfort while she slept, Kirsten pulled on her second coat and felt the increased warmth immediately.

  As if she’d been waiting for Maarit to leave, the mother reindeer crept closer and laid her long head over the edge of the sled. Amused, Kirsten handed over one, then another and another handful of lichen.

  Other reindeer obviously took note of the offered snacks and trotted close. Three, then four, reindeer heads hung over the edge of the sled, surrounding her with a protective wall of antlers, and smiling, she fed them all. As soon as the sack was empty, the visitors lost interest and trotted away.

  She lay back and took stock of her situation. She was, if not quite warm, at least not shivering, and now reasonably well-fed. A significant improvement over lying unconscious and dying in the snow. Her various pains had dulled to simple aches, and her injuries would probably heal.

  But the failed mission…ah. The thought of the men who had died or been murdered in the disaster made her wince inwardly, out of both sorrow and guilt for being the only one to escape. She had to report to London, of course. But to do that, she had to get off the vidda and find a radio. That was not going to happen in the immediate future.

  Shifting position slightly, she tilted her head back and gazed at the stars—pristine, indifferent, eternal. They made her anxieties seem trivial. Even the war seemed trivial. At that moment, there was no war, no enemy, no mission. There was only herself and four Sami in the frozen wilderness, trying, like all creatures, to stay alive.

  The mother reindeer nuzzled her white infant, whose head lay against Kirsten’s neck. She felt an overwhelming affection for the calf, its mother, the reindeer who clustered around her, bumping against the sled, for the Sami family that had hauled her along during their own arduous migration; and for Maarit, who’d held her while she peed in the snow.

  Smiling to herself, she murmured to the calf, “I’m going to name you Lykke, for the luck you brought me.” Then she dropped off into shallow sleep and wasn’t sure whether she dreamed or actually caressed the reindeer.

  Chapter Six

  It was still dark when a hand drawing the deerskin cover from Kirstin’s head woke her. Lifting her chin from her cocoon, she saw a face that instantly cheered her. She sniffed to clear her nostrils and suddenly smelled cooked fish.

  “Drink this,” Maarit ordered. “Grandmother heated last night’s soup. It’ll warm you up.”

  Kirsten sipped from the steaming cup through cold lips, letting the salty brew warm her mouth and throat. Slowly the sensation spread to the rest of her, awakening her fully.

  “How do you feel?” Maarit leaned against the sled.

  “Better, I think. It was strange to sleep surrounded by reindeer, like I was part of the herd. I probably smell like them now.”

  Maarit chuckled. “We all smell like reindeer, which is why they trust us.” She reached into the sled. “I’m putting the calf out to suckle now.” She lifted the animal gently and stood her on the ground. The calf honked mournfully, then staggered the few meters toward its waiting mother, where it suckled energetically.

  “That’s a good sign,” Kirsten said.

  “Well, it saves her from the stew pot. But she’s still too weak to follow the herd.” She turned back to the sled. “What about you? Can you walk yet?”

  “Or risk the stew pot? I sure hope so. If you could just help me out of the sled.” Hanging onto Maarit with one arm, Kirsten threw her right leg over the edge of the sled and rolled the rest of her weight after it, arriving on two feet. A single step told her she still couldn’t put much weight on her damaged foot, although the leg seemed strong. She cursed quietly, not wanting to repeat the humiliation of the day before.

  “If you can move me around to the rear of the sled, I think I can manage to take care of business alone this time.”

  “I don’t mind helping you again, but sure. Let’s try.” Maarit stepped under her left sh
oulder, acting as a crutch, and pivoted Kirsten around to the high rear of the Sami sled, then stepped back. “Call me if it doesn’t work,” she said, then turned away discreetly.

  Mercifully, Kirsten succeeded, though only just. Supporting herself on one leg and with her right hand on the sled, she used her left to execute the complicated maneuver of dropping her trousers just long enough to relieve herself and then yanking them back up again.

  While she rebuttoned, the two reindeer who had remained near the sled once again exhibited interest in the apparently flavorful yellow snow.

  “Congratulations.” Maarit approached the sled with an armload of hides and other objects that made up their moveable household. She loaded everything into the foot end of the sled and helped Kirsten back into the passenger seat. “Glad you’re stronger, because we’re taking off now, before daylight, to make the most of the light when it arrives.”

  In fact, as the draft reindeer was harnessed onto the sled and the family spread out to monitor the herd from both sides, the night sky was just beginning to lighten. The calf was back at her side but apparently recovering, and so was she.

  She watched the stars disappear as the light increased, brooding once again about the mission that had so spectacularly failed. She had survived, but instead of being a hero to the nation, she was dead weight being towed by noncombatants, as useless as the reindeer calf. Only the sight of the draft reindeer’s amusing hindquarters saved her from depression. It trotted along, seemingly unstressed by the weight of the sled, and every so often defecated onto the snow behind it, a comment, perhaps, on its indifference to her plight.

  As the sky began to lighten, Maarit appeared again, skiing beside the sled, and it seemed a good moment to ask questions. “Why are some of the reindeer tame and the others aren’t? Or maybe I mean, how do you tame them?”

  “They’re a bit like horses. They start off wild, especially the uncastrated males, which we call sarvs, and they’re always skittish. But the females, called vajas, are usually calmer, and the castrated ones, the härks, are the ones we use as draft animals. They usually wear the bells and do all the work. When the ground’s bare, like in summer, we can’t use the sleds, so the härks serve as pack animals. The males in general follow the vajas with the bells, even when they’re not in season.” She laughed lightly. “They’ll even ‘follow empty,’ as we say, when a Sami carries the bells instead of a deer.”