He paused, staring into the flames, his pipe adding smoke to that of the dwindling fire. Kirsten wondered what kept the hut from filling up with clouds of it, then detected a stream of cold air behind her. A vent for just that purpose. Clever. She waited to hear more from the others.
But Alof had no more to say and simply tapped the ashes from his pipe and lay down on his deerskin, using his brightly colored cap as a pillow. It seemed a signal to the household.
Jova leaned up against a sort of backrest with her deer hide over one shoulder, and Gaiju also set aside his work and lay down.
Kirsten turned to study Maarit’s face, bronze in the light of the smoldering fire, then lowered her voice to a murmur so as not to disturb the others. “I’d like to hear more about you. Is it strange living in two worlds?”
Maarit drew closer and also spoke quietly. “I told you my father was Norwegian and my mother Sami. When they were both alive, we moved back and forth, between Oslo and the Hardangervidda. My brother came up every autumn and spring to help during the migrations. Sometimes I did, too, but mainly I wanted to have a life outside the Sami. So I finished school and went to study medicine in Trondheim.”
Kirsten studied Maarit’s face while she spoke.
She had a narrow, authoritative nose that arched slightly at the top and bore no rememblance to that of her relatives. The Norwegian father explained her pale coloring and her light brown hair. Like Jova, Maarit’s lips were robust, earthy. Fuller at the center where they formed a soft double bow, they tapered off at the sides into thin lines that curved up a millimeter at the end. The effect was an almost-smile, even when she stared, expressionless, into the dying fire.
Maarit tossed another bit of firewood onto the embers. “Time to sleep,” she said definitively and lay down with her feet to the fire. “Unless you prefer the sled and your little reindeer.”
“No, this is fine. Thank you.” Kirsten lay down back-to-back with Maarit, drawing up her larger coat as a blanket and sensing an extra warmth on her shoulders. It was fine, indeed. Her feet and ribs still ached, but her stomach was full, and the war was distant—and so for the moment was guilt. She would return to duty as soon as she could walk again, and that was that. Faintly aware of the wind whistling around the hut, the first snores of the men, and the comfort of Maarit’s back, she was at peace. She thought of the little reindeer she’d slept with until now. “By the way, I’ve named her Lykke.”
* * *
Kirsten awoke, as before, bleary-eyed and alone, with all the others already up and working. Embarrassed to be useless, she sat up and forced her swollen feet into her new Sami reindeer shoes. Then, with some effort, and no little pain, she crawled to the hut entrance.
Outside, the snow and wind had let up, and once she had pulled herself up to a standing position, she had a clear view of the valley where they had arrived. In the distance, she could make out five other goahtis of various sizes, scattered over the hillside, as well as a dozen or so platforms and outbuildings. Smoke rose gently from most of the households.
The reindeer had moved away, though they were still visible in a loose herd grazing in the snow off to her right. Alof and Jova were nowhere in sight, but she spotted Maarit talking to someone at one of the neighboring goahtis.
Suddenly aware of her early morning physical needs, she glanced down at her feet and wondered both where to take care of business and how she was going to get there. At that moment, Gaiju came from around the rear of the goahti carrying his two poles on his shoulder.
He said something in Sami, though it could have been Norwegian, but his missing teeth made it unintelligible. However, the tilt of his head toward a smaller structure some twenty yards away suggested he was pointing out the outhouse. “Thank you,” she replied but did not move.
Gaiju chuckled and swung the poles from his shoulder, planting them in the ground in front of her. Kirsten squinted, confused, at the three-foot-long objects he had constructed. Each one bore a smaller branch tied at a diagonal to create a Y shape, with the tops joined by a crosspiece. All was held together with twisted root-cord, and the crosspiece was padded with a patch of reindeer hide. Surprise and delight rose in her like a bubble. He had made her crutches.
“Oh, my heavens, thank you, Gaiju,” she said with warmth, but he had already turned and walked away.
She admired the crutches for a long moment, then fitted them under her arms. They were a bit low and awkward, but allowed her to limp slowly toward the narrow shed, which, upon arriving in front of it, she confirmed was, indeed, an outhouse.
She emerged some ten minutes later, pleased with her reclaimed toilet autonomy, and glanced around, looking for something useful to do. Gaiju must have had a similar thought, for at that moment, he stepped forward and handed her two Sami coats. The sleeve of one had been torn wide open, perhaps by a reindeer antler, and the other coat had holes in both elbows.
“I’ll need some thread and a needle,” she said, miming the act of sewing, in case he didn’t speak Norwegian like the others. He grunted and detached a small leather sack from his belt, then pressed it into her palm. Opening it, she saw it contained several bone needles and a card with a large steel needle, as well as spools of coarse black thread.
“All right, then,” she said. “Mending it is.” She’d been assigned women’s work, but that was all she was up to anyhow. After throwing the coats over her shoulder, she limped back to the main hut, leaned the crutches against the door frame, and limped inside. The fire had gone to ashes, so she took the liberty of stoking it with more wood, and the air soon warmed enough to allow her to remove her mittens.
She felt a certain amusing connection with her English mother. Had Eleanor Wallace ever mended her husband Jomar’s coat? It seemed unlikely. Kirsten suspected none of the women in her lineage had mended coats, and if Eleanor could see her daughter doing it now, she’d have snorted contempt.
Nonetheless, the act of stitching up torn clothing was oddly satisfying, for she was finally earning her keep.
As she set aside the first finished coat, Maarit appeared in the entryway. “Ah. I see they’ve put you to work.”
“Yes, and I walked by myself, all the way to the outhouse and back. With the crutches Gaiju made for me.”
“I noticed them outside. You see? The old grump has a heart, after all. How’s the ankle?”
“A little better each day. But the frostbite hasn’t healed yet, of course.”
“No. It won’t for a long while.”
“At least I don’t feel helpless any longer, and I’m beginning to think about my own responsibilities. I have to contact the people I work for some time soon. Any villages within reach that might have a radio?”
“Not the short-wave kind you mean. For that we’d have to go into Rjukan, and even then, we’d have to ask around discreetly. They’re illegal, of course, and only people in the resistance would have one. But when you’re more mobile, in a week or so, I’ll go with you.”
“I don’t want to endanger you.”
“Too late for that. If the Germans are looking for you, you’ve already endangered us by being here. You should at least let us know why.”
Kirsten tried to think of an evasion, but the Sami had saved her life, and if she wanted them to help her get back in contact with headquarters, she had to reveal at least a minimum.
Although they were alone, she leaned in close. “I’ll tell you as much as I dare, but you must keep it from the others. Bad enough I’ve involved you at all, but if your grandparents also actually know anything, the Germans will be on them with full force.”
“I’ll make up some story or other. They won’t press for details. But you have to tell me the truth, or I won’t help you.”
Kirsten gave a long exhalation. “All right. I was on a British operation that came in on gliders, but we crashed.”
“That explains the British coats. But you speak Norwegian without an accent. Are you British or Norwegian?”
&nb
sp; “Norwegian, but I lived for a long time in England. As for this mission, I was part of a team that was to attack…an important installation, but it failed when we crashed. Obviously, I have to report to headquarters to tell what happened and to say I escaped. Some of the others were captured.”
“The only installations I know of anywhere near the vidda are the Møsvatn dam and the power plant at Vemork. I assume the workers at both places are all Norwegian, but the Germans have control of them. Were you planning to attack one of those? Whatever for?”
“Those are the kind of details I’m not allowed to reveal. The important thing is, we failed, and at the moment, London has no idea what happened to us. Do you have any contact with Milorg, for example? They would certainly have a radio.”
“The Sami have no connections to Milorg. Most don’t even know what it is. The only thing we…that is…I could do is guide you to Rjukan, where you could put out feelers yourself. That is, when you can walk again.”
“You’re willing to accompany me that far? That would be a start. How far are we from there?”
“It’s about 120 kilometers from here if you cross the vidda, longer if you go around. In any case, you’re not going anywhere for the next few weeks, months maybe. I have serious work ahead and can’t get away anyhow.”
“I thought the migration was over now.” The promise of a guide to Rjukan cheered Kirsten, but the mention of months alarmed her.
Maarit ran her fingers through her hair, a gesture that caused her to raise her chin. It was a very attractive chin. “Herding is only the first part of it. Right now, our reindeer are mixed in with deer from three other families. We’ve got to separate out our vajas and sarvs to butcher or castrate, mark our calves, repair our sleds and houses. Any number of things we couldn’t do on migration. My grandparents have no one to help them now except me. I’m afraid you’re stuck here with us for a while.”
Kirsten considered her choices and realized she had none. Until she could walk or ski long distances alone, she was helpless. Maarit’s offer of assistance after a few weeks of recuperation had more and more appeal.
“Fair enough. We’ll make our move when I’m back on my feet, and I’ll be as useful as possible, in the meantime.”
“Agreed.” Maarit patted her softly on the face. “Now finish your mending, Grandma.”
* * *
Kirsten had no idea how Maarit explained her to her family and the others in the settlement. Perhaps she didn’t explain her at all. If the other Sami families viewed her as an interloper and foreigner, their taciturn nature gave no evidence of it. On the rare occasion she hobbled beyond the perimeter of Alof’s goahti, they greeted her with a nod, and when they stopped by to exchange fish for bread—for Jova was an excellent baker—they revealed no special curiosity.
It was, after all, winter, and concerns for warmth, food, and the welfare of the reindeer trumped all. Jova accepted her without comment and demonstrated as much by handing over the rest of the mending. When there were no more rips to repair, the scraping clean of hides became the next task she could accomplish sitting down.
Then, in the second week of Kirsten’s confinement, Jova entrusted her with the sewing of a blue wool over-garment for Alof, which she learned was called a gakti. To be entrusted with such a task was clearly meant as a compliment, and Kirsten took pains to get it right. She had to first learn the colors and patterns of stripes that ornamented the heavy tunic and to stitch them carefully by firelight, so they would hold up for years. She was therefore pleased when he finally tried it on and smiled approval.
Every day, though designating “day” was arbitrary in the dark arctic winter, Maarit and the men would work outside for six or eight hours, while Kirsten and Jova tended the household, such as it was. They talked little, and the main sound, other than the wind outside, was Jova’s soft humming in a string of sounds in which Kirsten could never identify a melody.
Kirsten’s next assignment was bread-making, which proved to require more skill than mending. But under Jova’s alternating scolding and snickering, she managed to form and bake the unleavened cakes on the stone without burning one side and leaving the other one gummy.
Bread and reindeer meat were the mainstay, with vegetation a rarity, though Jova introduced her to mountain sorrel, which, when pounded and boiled, made a tolerable, if somewhat bitter, dish called jobmo. She ate it out of courtesy, assuming it would also help her avoid scurvy.
With her increasing mobility, Kirsten began to plan her departure. Maarit had promised to return with her to Rjukan once the frostbite had healed, and to perhaps wait around until she had contacted Milorg. At that point, the decent thing to do was to send her back to her people with as little knowledge of Milorg as possible.
She checked her feet daily but found little change other than reduced swelling. She could stand, even walk, though both were painful, and she never ventured more than a few steps. But soon she was able to assist in the weekly milking of the vaja, while the calves were slowly being weaned. The harvest of milk was sparse compared with cows and goats, but they had enough to lighten their coffee and stews.
“I must be getting used to the Sami life,” she remarked to Maarit. “I don’t even mind all the reindeer hairs I’ve inhaled and ingested in everything I consume.”
“Good for you.” Maarit laughed. “You’ll make some Sami herder a good wife.”
The thought horrified her. “Um, do you have any non-wife tasks I can do?”
“In fact, I do. Alof just hauled in a long branch at the back of his sled. We need to cut it up for the fire.”
“Let me give it a try. After three weeks of baking and spinning, I’m willing to do anything.”
“I’m sure you are. But let’s not hurt those ribs. Why don’t I do the chopping while you set up the wood and gather the pieces? That way you only have to bend a little.”
Outside the goahti it was the familiar polar dusk, which it seemed to be most of the time, but the bluish ambient light was sufficient for most work, even without firelight.
Kirsten set the first block of wood upright on a hard-packed snow mound. “Over to you, my dear.”
“My pleasure.” Maarit took up the axe. Taking a wide stance, she swung it over her head and then downward in a smooth arc onto the center of the block. It split cleanly down the middle with a satisfying CHOCK.
Collecting the firewood from the ground, Kirsten had to admire Maarit’s grace and prowess. She didn’t mind being the lowly assistant. They were doing something together, and it was a step up from being an invalid and mender of clothing.
Maarit piled the cut wood just before the entrance but showed no interest in going inside again. Kirsten stopped as well, simply enjoying the pleasure of accomplishment and of being in the open air. They were, after all, five people hunkered around the fire inside, day after day. Perhaps Maarit, too, found the confinement stifling.
She gazed up at the overcast winter sky and took a deep breath. “What other fun things do the men do that the women don’t?”
Maarit crossed her arms and stared at the same empty part of the sky. “Well, they castrate and slaughter the deer, though I guess that’s not what you meant by ‘fun things.’ But men also do the spiritual things. Women can be healers, but the shaman is always a man.”
“Shaman? I thought the Sami were all Christian.”
“They are, for the most part. Jova and Alof will tell you that in a second. But when there’s illness, an unexpected death, a difficult pregnancy, they turn to magic. The old religion still lurks in the backroads of every Sami’s mind.” She chuckled. “Except for Gaiju. For him the old gods are right at the front. Ask him to tell you the story of Aigi.”
With the wood already stacked, Kirsten bent down to help collect the chips for kindling. “Speaking of reindeer, whatever happened to the white calf you saved? The one I named Lykke.”
“She’s fine. She’s right over there with her mother, in fact.” She pointed toward a cl
uster of deer that nibbled in the snow on the periphery of the settlement. “They both seem fond of staying close by. She’s yours, if you want her. Gaiju has already carved her ear with a special mark for you.”
“My own deer? I’m touched, but I think she’ll have to stay here. As long as you promise not to eat her.”
“Don’t worry. White reindeer are rare, and nobody likes to slaughter them.”
It had been calm while they chopped wood, but now the wind picked up. Hugging her wood chips to her chest, Kirsten bent through the hut opening and deposited them by the entrance. Alof and Gaiju arrived at the goahti just behind them, driven in by the wind. Jova had hot food waiting, reindeer-meat stew and blood dumplings, and this time Kirsten felt she’d earned her share.
When the dinner bowls were empty, each person began their private evening occupation: Alof his pipe, Gaiju some handcraft, Jova her weaving. Sami domestic tranquility. Kirsten turned to Maarit. “You have a wonderful family, you know. You’re very lucky.”
Maarit stared into the fire and seemed to have something more to say, but it was unlike the Sami to share private details. “Not so lucky. I lost my mother and my brother in one week.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kirsten said, hearing the triteness of her reply. “Would it be rude to ask what happened?”
“I’ll tell you what happened.” To Kirsten’s surprise, it was Jova who spoke. “Germans took her brother. We never saw him again.”
“They simply kidnapped him? How awful.”
Jova’s expression grew hard. “Two Germans. But one was worse. Ugly, a head big on top and small on the bottom. A big mouth that went from ear to ear.” She ran her thumb from one of her own ears to the other, to illustrate. “He liked to spit. He pointed his gun at Karrel and took him away. Then my daughter went to look for him, and she never came back either. We found her in the snow.”
To Sleep With Reindeer Page 8