by Agnes Ravatn
He paused for a few moments. I didn’t dare look at him, felt my breath catch in my throat, didn’t want to make a single sound.
I knew then what it meant. I asked what had happened. He fell ill, Nor said. Did you look after him? No, his family looked after him. Was he married? She nodded. Did it go on for long, you and him? She nodded slowly.
His jaw was clenched as he spoke, tense.
She looked up: But I was never going to leave you! Suddenly I saw her clearly; she was ugly, her face distorted. She wanted me to comfort her. She wanted me to comfort her! And my body leapt up to grab her, and the fishing rod fell in the water, and the boat rocked as she jumped back to get away, the oars sliding out of her grasp, and she fell back – everything happened so quickly, and suddenly I was standing in the boat, calmly, waiting for her, quivering with anger, and she was under, deep down in the black depths, and I dived in, but I couldn’t see her, had to come up for air again and again, and then eventually I saw her deep down beneath me, pulled her up to the surface, but it was too late.
Couldn’t she swim? I whispered.
They later found out that she’d hit the back of her head on the gunwale.
We sat in silence. I was afraid of him. He had this in him.
What happened after that?
Then there was the hospital, and after that, when they realised there wasn’t anything they could do, the nursing home. And then – I stopped visiting her.
Why?
He gave no reply.
Why didn’t you visit her?
I couldn’t bear to look at her.
So she was conscious?
No. No. But I just couldn’t.
Was she completely…
Brain-dead. Yes.
He closed his eyes. I leaned my head back and looked up at the dark sky. He was leagues ahead of me in the suffering stakes, and I had no idea what help it could be to have me there, a nuisance who took an immaturely joyful approach to everything. I had nothing to offer but a hot meal and warm skin. Everything that it occurred to me to say to him was worthless. He seemed ashamed. I wanted to assure him that he shouldn’t be. He didn’t need to be.
Thank you for telling me, I eventually muttered.
He turned to face me, his eyes gleaming. He rested his head in his hands, his shoulders high, making no sound. I moved my chair closer to his, placing an arm around him. I brought my lips to his ear.
Things will be all right.
He sat there in silence, not trembling, not shedding a single tear, just sitting there.
Things will be all right, I said again.
He removed his hands from his face and wrapped his arms around me. He held me tight as I stroked his back. I tried to process all that he had told me, to imagine living with this. His life viewed through this lens suddenly made sense. Living this way, dreaming as he did. His body was warm against mine. A cricket chirruped intensely, its song piercing the still of the night. We sat unmoving in the grey light as I gripped tightly onto the flimsy, light material of his shirt, his dark hair soft against my cheek. I felt his heart beating against my breast, a fast, even thudding. I took a deep breath and stroked his head. I took his face in my hands and rested my forehead against his.
Things will be all right.
He was quiet. Kissed both of my eyelids.
Allis, he whispered. I have something for you.
Something for me?
He nodded, then stood up and stretched an arm out towards me. I took his hand and he pulled me out of my chair.
What is it?
You’ll see.
All of a sudden he seemed cheerful, enigmatic, slipping an arm around my waist and leading me down into the garden. I walked barefoot through the grass, damp with the humidity of the night. The fruit trees were grey and knotted against the brightening sky.
All the way down, he whispered, nudging me ahead of him down the stone steps. Slowly I descended, tense, the soles of my feet against the cold, hard stone. The landscape was peaceful in the morning gloom, the fjord black.
Wait here, he said when we were standing on the jetty. And don’t look. He held my shoulders in his hands and twirled me around so that I was facing the steps. There was a mild, cool breeze in the air and as I stared straight ahead, a quiver surged through me. I heard him pull open the side door of the boathouse, the hinges creaking.
Stay there, he said. I nodded. I heard the sound of material being pulled away, short bursts of sweeping.
Allis.
Yes?
His voice was gruff. I thought about the time I had spent here. Walking down the drive for the first time, early that April, what could I have been thinking as I neared the house? I had alighted at the bus stop by the main road, everything that I owned packed into two bags. And there was Sigurd, with his dark hair, his shirts, his long strides. So strange to think back on it all now.
You can turn around.
Those first months. So difficult to bear; he’d been so hard on me. I’d been so weak. Was it me who had changed since then, or just my circumstances?
I turned around. The door to the boathouse was open. There stood Sigurd in the half-darkness. He stepped to one side. On the floor of the boathouse behind him was a bright, shining wooden boat; it filled the entire space. I saw straight away that it was an Oselvar, a beautiful, curved, wooden færing. I stood there, open-mouthed. Looked at Sigurd. He smiled inquisitively. I took a few steps forward.
Did you build this?
He nodded.
By yourself?
Yes.
I walked inside and placed a hand on the gunwale, letting it glide along the smooth timber, the rowlock. I turned to look at him.
Is this what you’ve been working on?
He nodded again.
I circled the boat slowly.
It’s so beautiful.
Sigurd looked at me, peaceful, content.
I made it for you.
I stopped, looked at him.
For me?
Yes. It’s yours.
No.
Yes.
I looked at the boat. It was perfect. I didn’t know what to say, how to show him just how overwhelmed I was.
It must have taken such a long time.
Yes, it’s been a while.
I suddenly felt so proud, proud that I was his. This was a man who could build a boat. When you can build a boat all by yourself, there are no limits to what you can do.
Have you tried it out on the fjord?
Not yet.
Though I’d been up all night, I felt strangely wide awake. The sky was growing ever brighter. It wouldn’t be long before the sun would rise from behind the forest.
Can we put it in the water?
Now?
Yes?
Would you like to?
I really would.
He looked as if he were thinking things over for a moment.
Yes. Of course we can, he said. If you help me.
He walked over and opened the doors wide onto the fjord. The water was still. He placed the oars inside the boat and we lifted it carefully from the small wooden frame it had been sitting on. It was heavy, our knuckles turning white as we carried it over to the boat landing and placed it down. We let it slide down the thick planks of wood towards the shallows. I crept barefoot over the stones and down to the water’s edge.
Hop in, he said.
I climbed into the boat. Sigurd removed his shoes and rolled up his trousers. He pushed the boat down the boat landing until it was in the water. He climbed over the gunwale and perched himself on the thwart opposite me. I used one of the oars to push us out. The boat was floating on the water now. Slowly we drifted further out. The fjord was breathlessly still. The sky grew lighter and lighter, not a sound to be heard besides the lively chirping from the forest. Sigurd held out his hands for the oars.
Can I row? I asked. I love to row.
He looked at me.
Of course, Allis. It’s your boat.
I slotted the oars into the rowlocks, took hold and pulled. We darted across the water.
I can’t believe it. To think that you can build something so beautiful.
He gave a warm smile.
Feel how beautifully it sits in the water.
He nodded.
Have you done this before?
He looked at me.
Yes.
Slowly I rowed us out, the previous night’s high beginning to lift. I felt completely awake. It was such a mild morning, so clear. The fjord was so still. Sigurd sat with a peaceful expression on his face and looked out over the water. With each stroke of the oars, the breeze ruffled his hair. A wake followed the boat over the fjord, sweeping across the surface and leading all the way back to the boathouse. The house looked so small from all the way out here. The garden, too. So many stories and events were contained within the image I had before me. That first bottle of wine shared under the cherry tree. Sigurd lying in the grass in the rain. The birds in the traps.
I could see the beach from the boat, a narrow, pale strip of land only a short distance from the boathouse. The log we had sat on. Our escape route over the rocky coastline and up into the forest. When the gulls swooped in, just as they arrived, what was it that he had said? I couldn’t recall, but I felt something heavy in my chest at the mere thought. That he had – that I had saved him? From what? His grief for Nor? No. Something else. Saved him from something he was going to do. Something terrible.
A strip of sunlight emerged behind the forest at that moment and stung my eyes, forging a sudden bright outline around Sigurd. The surface of the dark fjord glimmered.
Look, I said. My sandals, there on the beach. I nodded towards land. He turned to look back over one shoulder.
Where?
By the log, where we sat.
He nodded. I see them.
I hesitated for a moment.
When we were sitting there. The thing you were about to say, right before the birds came.
He turned to face me again.
What?
You were in the middle of telling me something.
He stared at me, looking as if he were trying to recapture something, recall a memory.
You said I had saved you, I continued, a beam of sunshine hitting my face. I gazed at him, squinting in the sunlight.
He shook his head gently.
From something you’d been thinking of doing.
I could see that he knew, he was feigning ignorance. I rowed out with slow, steady strokes.
Something terrible.
He nodded, holding my gaze. Yes, he said. I know. But it doesn’t matter anymore.
But what was it?
He paused. I saw him take a deep breath.
Allis. No.
Yes.
Only if you promise that you won’t go around thinking about it afterwards.
I nodded.
I promise.
We glided slowly across the water. I let the oars sit in the rowlocks, drops falling from them, down and into the water.
The boat, he said. I started building it before you came.
I thought so.
Right after burning the other one.
He looked up at me, something apologetic about the way he furrowed his brows.
I had decided that if Nor were ever to wake up, then — that if she weren’t to wake up, if she were to die, then I would row out, and—
Don’t say it, I whispered.
And I would drown myself.
He looked down.
Something in me wound itself tight.
I had it all planned. I’d thought about it for so long.
Don’t say any more.
I was going to row out to the middle of the fjord with the anvil tied to one leg.
But … why? My voice was barely audible.
He said nothing.
It wasn’t your fault.
He sat there, his head bowed. The oars were no longer dripping. My arms were limp.
Because… he began. I don’t know. Because I wanted to.
I couldn’t say a thing, was just aware of the way we floated on the water, bobbing almost unnoticeably.
But you promised me, Allis. It was a long time ago. Everything is different now.
When did you change your mind?
A long time ago.
When?
I don’t know.
He looked at me imploringly.
Don’t think about it. You promised me you wouldn’t.
I nodded slowly. My chest ached, it was hard to breathe. This was bigger than I had thought it would be. The guilt he felt about the accident. It would always be there. Always. He would never be free. I didn’t dare look at him. If only that day could be erased. Perhaps I had saved him from taking the boat out to end things, but he could never be saved from the sorrow that had made him consider doing it to begin with. That would remain with him forever. I began rowing again.
Don’t think about it.
No.
I could see it so clearly now, here in the boat, the dark sea below us, I could see it all. Diving down, searching, up for air then down again, over and over, hope diminishing with each dive.
He sat straddle-legged on the thwart, his feet bare, gazing out across the fjord, the sun on his back, his face creased. I had saved him. It didn’t feel that way. I didn’t really believe that it felt that way for him, either. If anything, it had been him that had saved me by placing his bizarre ad, extricating me from everything.
It was Nanna, he said. Balder’s wife. After you told me about her, it was impossible. I couldn’t do anything that might hurt you.
Do you mean that?
Yes.
My gaze swept out across the water. We had almost reached the middle of the fjord. It was a long way to land, the house no more than a speck on the horizon. The sky was pale yellow and light blue, the fjord inconceivably, sparklingly beautiful. He had never seen me swim. Instantly it hit me. He didn’t know that I could. If he could save me here, out in the fjord, save my life, if I could appear to be helpless, then everything would be reversed. Perhaps then he’d be free.
A moment ago… I began.
He turned to look at me.
What you told me before.
Yes?
I have something too, I whispered. Something to tell you. So we can start afresh.
His brow furrowed slightly.
It’s not all that important. But I still want you to know.
The silence and the morning light, the glistening fjord, it all suddenly made everything seem so much greater than I had first thought it to be.
I should have told you much earlier, but it just didn’t occur to me.
What?
I could tell from his tone that he was anxious.
But then one day I realised that you asked me, a long time ago. And
I don’t know why, but I wasn’t honest with you then.
I heard him stop breathing. I pulled the oars up out of the water and rested them across my lap.
It’s just that…
Oh, Allis, I thought to myself.
… the formalities haven’t been dealt with quite yet.
He said nothing. The thing he had told me about Nor that night. About the man who fell ill. I took a deep breath.
But I was actually married when I came here.
I dropped my gaze as I spoke.
And so … I still am. Married, that is.
He was silent. I looked down, waiting for him to say something.
But it’s not important.
He said nothing. We bobbed warily on the fjord.
All my life I’ve been slow at dealing with practical things, I said, the words ringing hollow.
But the reason that I haven’t done anything, it’s just that the whole thing means so little to me. Since meeting you, I mean.
My heart was beating harder than I had anticipated.
Won’t you say something, please?
I looke
d up at him. He sat in silence, staring straight past me.
Sigurd?
His cheekbones, the dark hollows of his eyes, his sunken cheeks, something brutal had come over him.
Hello?
I waved a hand.
Please, say something.
I was about to reach out to touch his knee, but all of a sudden I didn’t dare.
I understand that I’ve devalued its meaning. I’m sorry.
I looked at him.
But please, won’t you say something? Anything?
His expression was unchanging. He didn’t blink. His breathing was even as he stared into the distance.
Sigurd?
Another one.
What did you say?
He looked me in the eye.
You’re just another one.
Just another what?
Yes, he said, inhaling sharply. The corners of his mouth curled upwards ever so slightly.
What do you mean?
He shook his head slowly. The cool morning air gave me goose bumps. He said nothing else. I waited. Inwardly I had really believed that it didn’t matter. I couldn’t see that it did, either.
Tell me what’s wrong, I said.
He was silent, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Is it that I was unfaithful? I asked.
He turned around sharply.
Yes.
He held my gaze. His eyes were black.
To you?
To him.
But what does it matter?
I can’t trust you.
Yes! Yes, you can.
No.
He shook his head.
Yes. Always.
His gaze didn’t waver. He stared at me, his eyes shining.
Trust me, I whispered. I gazed at him imploringly.
They can’t destroy what we have. Nobody can.
They, he said. There’s nobody here but us. You’re laying the blame elsewhere, Allis.
OK, me, I said. I won’t destroy what we have. I promise.
Suddenly he reached around and grasped the hair at the back of my head in one hand, gripping it tightly.
You promise the same thing to everyone, he hissed, his teeth clenched.
No, I whispered, forcing the sound out, not anymore.