Time to Remember

by Susan Firman

CHAPTER 3

  For the rest of the week the weather closed in with low, thick grey cloud that completely covered the town, bringing spasmodic, heavy, snow blizzards. Everything plunged into a gloomy, bleak and dismal greyness that merged into blackness with the approaching nightfall. The fjord waters looked menacing and depressing and the shallower waters in the streams iced over as temperatures plummeted below freezing. Howling gale-force winds slashed with tumultuous force against the wooden shutters that covered the windows at the Inn and made them rattle just as though the wind was creating its own symphonic overture. Outside, the accumulated snowfall piled higher and higher against the walls trying to find a way inside as pathways and roads were wiped out as the snow layer grew. Inside, in the hall between the out and the in, skis and thick snow boots were casually thrown into a heap against the wall. But as soon as the inner door was opened and the traveller felt the warmth of the interior and heard the chatter and laughter of those inside, life within the Inn took on a new character.

  For the first time since her arrival, Jenette found that the Inn was overflowing with people. A continuous mixture of chatter, laughter and background music rose and fell in undulating rhythm. Groups of people formed and split apart as each struck up new introductions and joined in the different conversations that appeared to satiate every corner of the room. The interior was warm and friendly, well lit and colourful. It was a popular place for young backpackers to be together and this evening it was more packed than usual for there was not much else to do but fill in time and wait for the atrocious weather outside to clear.

  Jenette made her way downstairs to the lounge. It was crowded. She edged her way round the tall, frosted glass door, and squeezed past a small group who had taken up residence just inside. A thick haze of smoke hung in the air, about head height and the sudden change of atmosphere caused her eyes to smart. Her nostrils picked up the pungent smell of burning tobacco. She made her way towards the middle of the room, squinting frequently to stop the stinging sensation in her eyes. She passed several visitors whom she had seen carrying skis earlier in the week. They were shouting to each other above the rest of the noise. Each person seemed to be bragging about past exploits on the ski-fields but no-one seemed to be paying much attention to what was actually being said. She noticed another small party that had gathered around a television set, which although on, was not being looked at. Four people were occupied with a card game, completely oblivious to the chaos that surrounded them. However, the majority had gathered up the far end of the room where several small tables and a bar were situated.

  She tried negotiating her way through the mass of bodies, winding her way like a small ship in a mine-field. She had almost reached the bar, when someone spoke.

  “Hello thar!”

  The voice shouted above the din. It was the young Englishman she had met on the tram.

  “Hi!”

  “Like a drink?” he shouted again.

  “Thanks!” She shouted back.

  Jenette found herself sandwiched between two well-padded people. She could not negotiate past their protruding stomachs. The young man held up his hand and shouted to her again.

  “Stay put. I’ll get it. What’ll it be?”

  She was going to ask for a Shandy but decided he may not call it by that name, so instead, she called to him as loud as she could.

  “Beer ’n’ lemonade, please. Is that OK?”

  She had been caught out in London with English beer for it had been warm and flat, not at all like the ice-cold, fizzy beer they served at home. She had learnt to ask for a beer-lemonade mix as the cold lemonade helped cool down the beer. She thought,

  Funny what people get used to. Such little things separate us and make us different.

  It reminded her of kaanga pirau, the sweet and sickly fermented corn her mother helped Koro prepare. Nobody else could stand the taste, let alone the strong sickly smell it had. It was worse than the silage they gave the cows but Koro relished the dish.

  “Try some, you kids,” he would say, his spoon dripping in it, his lips smothered with it.

  “Na. Smells yuk!” Would be their usual reply.

  Now kina, the sea-egg - she found that seafood delicious - like eating strawberry jam but with a fishy taste. That’s how it looked - like strawberry jam - when the brown, prickly shell was broken into and the dark red flesh of the sea-egg made its appearance.

  “Meet me over thar!” the young man yelled and drew her attention to a space at one of the small tables that had been set out down that end of the room. “I’ll bring the drinks over!”

  She nodded, not that she expected him to see her acknowledgement, but she had done so from habit. Jenette forced her way between the bodies and over to the table. She quickly claimed two unoccupied stools and just in time for her new friend arrived with two large drinks in both hands. He sat down.

  “Gosh, that was tight.” He placed the drinks on the table. “By the way,” he said cheerfully, “me name’s Peter. What’s yers?”

  “Jenette.” She raised her glass towards her lips. “My friends call me Jenny. Cheers!”

  “Cheers, Jenny!” He had a sip, put the glass down again and began tapping the table with his fingertips. “Did yer find the museum?”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  “Did yer see those carvings yer wanted t’ see?”

  “Yes, thanks.” She took another mouthful and replaced the glass. The drink was most refreshing, especially in the heat of the room. She smiled at Peter. “They’re neat! Choice! They’re different from the ones we’ve got at home but in some ways, y’know, they’re quite similar. My Koro . . .”

  “Koro?” he asked, not understanding.

  “Yeah, grandfather,” she answered. “Koro used to be a carver . . . carved all sorts of things. Boat prows and walking sticks. Did the new posts for our meeting house. We were real proud of him!”

  “Sounds most interestin’.” Peter was fascinated.

  She blushed a little, sensing his interest in her, and then reaching inside her sweater, she carefully pulled out the carved ornament that she kept around her neck.

  “Koro made this, too,” she said with pride as she held it aloft. Peter leaned across the table and studied the dainty, faultlessly carved pennant with its graceful curves and highly polished alabaster surface.

  “It’s beautiful!” He exclaimed with a faint whistle. “Jus’ like the dragon carvin’s. Yer’re very lucky t’ have such a clever gran’father. Yer’ll have to take good care of it - ‘n’ not lose it.”

  “Oh, no. I won’t!” She answered with strong conviction in her voice. “I’d never take it off! It’s been blessed. No-one else can wear it. See, my middle name’s on the back.” She carefully turned the pennant over. “Awhina, see?”

  “That’s an unusual name. Never heard of that name.”

  “It’s a Maori name. My mum’s Maori. Well, mainly. Koro’s her dad. Dad’s family sailed out from England in the eighteen-eighties. He said that some of his ancestors came from Norway but we don’t know that for sure. I do feel somehow there’s a connection. Know what I mean?”

  “Yup. Everyone’s a mixture, especially us lot. We’re the ingredients of our inheritance.”

  “Koro said I’ve got two inheritances. One there . . . and one here.”

  “Sounds as if yer really like your,” Peter hesitated as though trying to find the word. Finally, he finished his sentence simply with, “gran’father.”

  “Oh, I do,” she said enthusiastically. “We’re real close. He used to look after me a lot, ’specially when Mum was busy or the twins were giving her a hard time.”

  “Did yer gran’father do any other kind of work, or was carving his main job?”

  “Oh no. He did other things as well - you know, odd jobs ’n’ the like. That’s after he had to give up farming. He hurt his back and couldn’t lift the bales any more. Carving was his real love. Even Nana couldn’t compete with that. He made it his hobby. Still i
s.”

  Peter nodded. He really liked this young New Zealand girl.

  “Your nana? Did she live with yer, too?”

  “No. She and Koro had a big row and Nana went back to her people down south. You know what’s it’s like.”

  “Ah!” Peter paused to take one large gulp of his drink before changing the conversation. “By the way, did yer enjoy tha’ mountain trip yer went on last Wednesday?”

  He put his glass down on the table and began running his finger around the rim several times but this time Jenette hardly noticed.

  “You bet! It was very interesting. Thanks for letting me know, Peter. The guide who took us up there told us quite a bit about the district - told us some real fascinating stories about . . .” She pulled a face and covered her right hand over her mouth. “Jotenfjell - the Mountain of Curses.”

  Peter’s face lit up with a cheeky grin.

  “Did he tell yer ‘bout those two brothers?”

  “Mmm. Gruesome, eh?”

  She made a face to express her distaste. Peter laughed. She felt as though he was trying to pull her leg.

  “I think that’s said that for the benefit of tourists, don’t yer?”

  Jenette didn’t know what to say, so she shrugged.

  “Don’t know. Might be true.”

  She giggled as her answer had embarrassed her. Peter lifted the rest of his ale to his lips and drained the mug. With an automatic gesture, he licked around his lips. Jenette then noticed that he had the hairline of a dark narrow moustache that was growing just above his top lip.

  “Want another?”

  He pushed his chair away from the table and started to stand up.

  “No, thanks.” She looked into her mug. “I’ve still got some left.”

  He sat down again and rocked the empty glass back and forth. For a while they sat in silence together and then Peter leaned forward and asked,

  “Yer doin’ anything tomorrow?”

  Jenette was amused at the way he had to fiddle with things; first the tram ticket, then the table and now the mug. Nervous people often resorted to displacement activities, like that and maybe Peter was a little nervous, or over-anxious. This time he did not wait for her to answer.

  “The weather’s s’posed to clear up in a day or so. Can’t ski for a while, though. Say, is there anywhere yer’d like t’ see? I could take you.”

  Jenette thought for a while. She looked at the ceiling as the thought rushed through her brain. Finally, she said,

  “Make it a date? Yeah, I’d love to see that boat we were told about - you know, that one that was found near the old harbour. Do you know the one?”

  “Yup. Quite an interestin’ find.” His eyes lit up and he was pleased by her interest. “Look, we can still go there even if the weather’s bad. Tell yer what - meet me at the reception hall a’ eleven tomorrow. We could have a meal together. I know of a really good place. They serve up real local food. You’d love it. ’n’ then we could go ’n’ see that longboat. Say, how about, it?” She nodded. He continued now in an excited manner. “By the way, me full name’s Peter Norrich. Room 27 on the second floor. If I’m a bit late, the receptionist can give me a buzz.”

  “Thanks. Sounds great!” She was really beginning to like this Peter Norrich and felt her holiday was taking a new turn. “Thanks for everything, Peter. I’d better be getting off. Been having too many late nights, lately. Haven’t been sleeping that well.” She stood up and smoothed down her track pants. She gave Peter a little fingertip wave. “See ya! In the morning, eh?”

  “Bye, Jenny. See yer at eleven, then.”

  The noise had begun to subside as the crowd began to thin out. Quite a few of the noisy ones had left but Jenette noticed that the rowdy card-playing foursome were still occupied and every now and then loud laughter would erupt from their table. She guessed that they would be there for most of the evening until they either got bored or fell of their chairs because they were too drunk. She thought of the women at home who looked after everyone when there was a hui. After all the dishes had been done, they’d while away the hours in a card game, often retiring in the early hours of the morning but they wouldn’t be drinking like these tourists.

  As Jenette passed the group, one of them, a young woman, barely gave her a passing glance, her card hand being far too important to notice Jenette’s passing. She closed the door, stepped into the corridor and began to climb the solid wooden stairs with their faded red nylon carpet and thought of the young man who had just asked her out. He seemed nice enough and certainly made her feel at ease with his friendly manner. It would be good to have the companionship with someone who not only knew the town but was also fluent in English, as well. She wondered where he would be taking her for lunch. She had not yet tasted real Norwegian food. The expectation made her tongue tingle.

  After she had undressed herself, she wrote a few words to her family on the back of one of the postcards she’d bought earlier. The other one was for Kate and she’d written on that the day before. Tomorrow she’d try and get them posted.

  The next morning, the clouds lifted a little. Immediately after breakfast, Jenette tore back up to her room, unlatching the window and pulling back the shutter. She looked up. Patchy, dull cloud covered an ashen sky. The wind had dropped at ground level yet the clouds moved restlessly high above. The weather was on the change.

  She sat on the bedroom stool and applied a spot of green eye-shadow to her lids, smearing outwards with her fingertip. She outlined her full lips with the ‘Wild Heather’ lipstick she had brought with her and gazed deep into the mirror with her large, deep brown eyes, daydreaming. Whatever would Koro say now if he could see her? He didn’t approve of this modern paint work; said it made a beautiful woman look cheap. But then, his granddaughter would remind him that women in his younger days would tattoo their lips and chins to make themselves look beautiful, too. She wondered what the women did to themselves when the village of Sleggvik was first settled. Did they add colour to their faces or wear coloured woven braids in their hair? She pulled her shoulder-long black hair back into a pony tail and tied it with a soft pale green scarf.

  Peter was already waiting in the hall when she arrived. He had been leaning on the reception desk, tapping his fingers to the rhythm of some melody which only he could hear.

  “Gee, am I late?”

  She jumped down the last two steps of stairs and joined Peter in the lobby.

  “You’re not late. Anyway, it’s worth waitin’ for a pretty lass. Come on, shall we go?”

  Jenette nodded and followed Peter through the door and out into the cold bracing winter air. It made her cough slightly as the cold touched her throat. She pulled up her scarf to cover her frozen nose and lips. They struggled through the fresh fallen snow for a while. It was difficult to tell where the footpath ended and the road began.

  “We can pick up an early tram into town,” Peter mentioned. He guided her across the street. “If we turn left just over there, we’ll be onto the main road and that will have been cleared of snow an’ we’ll be able to catch a tram there.”

  Jenette nodded and followed. It was lucky that Peter knew his way around for she remembered him saying that he’d visited Sleggvik several times. The tram arrived, rumbling and banging, snow spraying from underneath as its wheels slid along the rails. They boarded and rode on it for several minutes, before alighting just outside a restaurant.

  The atmosphere was homely and comfortable. Large round spherical lampshades dangled low above each table and deer antlers provided a Scandinavian element that was a feature of many interiors around the town. Peter and Jenette sat, waiting for the menu. Peter, as usual, found something to occupy his restless hands. A large, bulky woman dressed in national costume arrived to take their order. Jenette leaned towards Peter, and whispered,

  “I don’t know what to order . . . I can’t read it. What are sursild?”

  Peter laughed.

  “No idea. Try it or jus
t point at the first thing your eyes stop at, ’n’ that’s what yer’ll order. At least, that’s what I do. Fun, don’t you think?”

  Jenette nodded, but wasn’t entirely convinced. She pointed to the menu with her finger, holding it up for the waitress to see. Peter put in his order, too.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ll get?” she asked with an amused expression.

  “Eggs!” he replied with conviction.

  “Hey, I thought you said you couldn’t

  read the menu!”

  “I can’t,” he answered. “Been before. I did what you did an’ when I got eggs, well, I knew what to point at next time.”

  “Cheat!”

  Peter laughed at her mild anger that she had directed at him. He further teased her when his meal arrived before hers. It was two round poached eggs on a plate, garnished with onion and nutmeg and served with chips.

  “See - an’ I get served first!”

  Jenette gave him a scathing look.

  “I’ll catch you out sometime, Peter Norrich . . . ”

  She was going to say something else when her own dish arrived at the table.

  “What yer got?” he asked as he cut into the first egg.

  “Fish.” She tried some. “Mm, tastes great! Pickled. On some sort of bread base. Ka pai!” She ate more. “Hey, do you know what this fish is called?”

  “Herrings, most like,” he stated as soon as he had swallowed his mouthful. “Why, what d’ yer usually have?”

  Jenette reeled off a list of fish species he found strange and exotic.

  “. . . hapuka, moki, tarakihi . . .”

  “Never heard of those. Are they New Zealand fish?”

  She nodded and grinned at him.

  “Of course!”

  “Well, yer sit back ’n’ enjoy your North Sea Herrings. Norway’s famous for their fish dishes.”

  At the end of the meal, the waitress brought two steaming cups of hot, black coffee and a jug of cream. The two sat chatting a little while longer before venturing out into the cold once again.

  They arrived at the modern building that housed the ship. The geodesic dome stood about ten meters high. Metal struts honeycombed the outer surface, and the opaque walls curved upwards until they appeared to disappear under the snow that had settled during the past week. Even the interior was cool and their breaths left their lips in puffs every time they spoke. The spaciousness of the interior reminded Jenette of the inside of a hydro-electric powerhouse. In the centre of the large dome building, supported by ten large blocks and numerous rails, stood the hull of a large wooden boat. Most of the wooden planks were intact but a few towards the stern did not complete the side. To make it complete, a new mast had been erected and the remains of a large sail had been suspended from the main spar. Its extensive white and red striped pattern hung in the stillness of the air, like the wings of some giant bird suspended in time and motion. Round wooden shields had been attached to the outer hull, reminding Jenette of children’s paintings pegged out to dry on the wire lines that stretched across the classrooms of the local primary school that she had attended when she was a child.

  “Well, now yer’ve seen it, what d’ yer think?”

  Peter’s words broke the magic.

  “Mmm, it’s considerably bigger than I’d expected,” she answered. She was still unable to remove her eyes from the boat. It was thirty meters in length with two sharp pointed ends, one, at the stern rising up into a spiral, and the other, at the bows, being furnished with several large wooden pegs, where she guessed the dragon head would have been put. “Reminds me of the large waka taua, war canoes, that Maori build,” she said. “But this one’s much bigger and much deeper. And our canoes have lots of beautiful carvings on the sides.”

  “These boats had shields on the sides and I guess they would’ve made it quite colourful - like the one in the picture over by the door whar we came in.”

  “Is this a real dragon boat?”

  Jenette bent down below the hull and tilted her head as she looked up from the keel and along the length of the planked side.

  “ ‘Cause it’s real!” Peter began reading the information plaque which had been written in Norwegian and English. “It says they’re called ‘drakkar’ which means ‘dragon-boats’ or ‘longboats’.”

  Jenette stood up

  “How many would it hold, do you think?”

  “This one? Twenty or thirty, I’d guess.”

  He scanned down the plaque until he found the information.

  “Whew, it says on here,” he stated as he read the English script aloud, “that as many as fifty men could’ve fitted into a longboat such as this. This actual vessel was a smaller than the largest of its kind so that, complete with weaponry and provisions, about thirty or forty men would’ve taken ‘er on a raid.”

  “Wow!”

  Jenette was silent as she studied the ancient relic before her. Her eyes moved along the wooden hull from end to end, as she silently reflected her thoughts deep into her mind. The hull had been well preserved by the mud except for a small section at the stern.

  “That bow piece at the front,” said the curator who had noticed her interest and had come over to them, “carried a dragon’s head.”

  “Yes, it’s in the museum,” remarked Jenette. “I was also told about some writing on the boat - do you know where it is?”

  “On the other side.”

  The curator pointed the way. Jenette followed Peter round to the starboard side of the vessel. They stood pressing hard against the surrounding rope.

  “Those marks are along here, somewhere - at one end, I think. They look a bit like letters.” Peter spent some time looking for the inscription. “They’re not easy to find . . . ”

  “A little further on,” suggested the curator.

  He watched Peter for a minute and then walked over to the tour group that had just come in.

  Peter moved along the hull.

  “Ah, here they are!”

  As Jenette moved closer, Peter pointed out the etchings that had been scratched into the surface. Jenette stood on tip-toe as the writing was high up on the hull just above the waterline. She studied them, intently, oblivious to anything else, except the marks. Peter moved away and began to wander around the building, gazing at other items on display. Jenette pushed down on the rope and stepped over the threshold, standing only centimetres from the boat’s side. She stretched as she tried to decipher the etchings, mouthing the sounds as she read.

  “N - M - E -”

  She decided that the next symbol looked like a ‘D’. She stretched and extended her index finger so that she could touch the graffiti that was causing so much speculation. The tip of her finger came into contact with the rough, chiselled surface.

  “Stop! Stop, lady! You cannot do that!”

  One of the attendant’s had noticed she was no longer standing behind the rope. He rushed forward to get her to move back.

  The room began to spin. The walls whirled round, gathering memento with each revolution. She tried to break away from the ship’s side but her finger remained securely glued to its side and she felt a pulling as though the boat itself was deliberately trying to pull her in. Then just as suddenly, the revolutions began to slow down and the violent spinning subsided. Everything appeared hazy and it was as if she were looking at them through a veil. Only the longboat was clear and in focus. She felt her pulse race as sweat poured down her back, soaking the clothing under her thick coat. Her skin became clammy. It was as though a hundred crawling creatures were climbing through her hairs over her arms and legs. She imagined that she called out but she could not be sure.

  Peter ran over immediately. She stood riveted there. Her skin was pale and wet. She was trembling and her outstretched hand was shaking yet still she could not break her connection with the boat. She could hear voices but they were reedy and thin as if far, far away.

  “Is she not well?”

  “Careful! Wat
ch her!”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Sorry, you must come back. It is not permitted . . .”

  Jenette’s mouth went dry. She tried to pull herself away from the vessel so that she could turn and face the one who had spoken to her. Instead, she sank to the floor like a rag doll.