Майя Лунде - The End of the Ocean

“What about the freshwater pearl mussels?”

“They will die.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Who will clean the water?”

“There won’t be any water to clean.”

Then he started walking again and I didn’t dare ask about anything else. We continued for yet another hour, maybe two, up a steep incline. My back was sweating. I wanted to ask Daddy to slow down, but couldn’t bring myself to do it; he strode along in front of me, all I could see was his back, his narrow shoulders under his knapsack and I couldn’t think of anything except keeping up with him, upwards, upwards, the whole time upwards.

Finally we reached the tree line. I was breathing so hard that my throat was burning, but here the landscape flattened out. The cabin on Sønstebø’s old summer farm tilted towards the ground, enclosed by a dilapidated fence. The sheep had just been let out to graze; the lambs bleated softly, fragile sounds as they trotted behind their parents. On the horizon I saw Blåfonna, a grayish-white tongue that ate its way into the tussocks of heather, moss and grass.

The road came to an end in the middle of nowhere and, where it terminated, Daddy also stopped for a moment.

“This is where the dam will be,” he said. “Everything you see now will be dammed up, underwater.”

“Everything?” I said.

“Everything.”

He took a few more steps, straight into the patch of heather, but then it was as if he couldn’t take any more, because all of a sudden he sat down on the slope without taking off his knapsack, so it was shoved up his back by the mound behind him, giving him a humpback.

He didn’t ask me if I wanted to sit down too, it was like he was alone, but I sat down anyway and then he seemed to notice me, because he took off his knapsack, opened it and took out a lunchbox.

“Here. You must be hungry.”

I took the sandwich on top. My stomach was growling, I was both hungry and thirsty, but nonetheless it was difficult to swallow.

I held the box out to Daddy. “Don’t you want some?”

“Later,” he said, and looked at his watch.

“You have to eat, you know, your body needs food to grow strong,” I said.

But he didn’t hear, just looked around, like he was waiting for someone.

I continued chewing, wishing the bread slices weren’t so thick, that there had been more butter, and I wished that I knew what I should say and do.

“I have to pee,” I finally said.

“You can go over there,” he said, and pointed at a clump of bushes, the only vegetation growing up here.

I hurried over, squatted behind the bushes, but didn’t think they concealed enough. He was just my daddy, I wasn’t shy, wasn’t afraid he would see me. It was rather that I didn’t want to see him . I sat there for a long time. The trickling between my legs was warm, a few drops hit one of my thighs, turning cold when I pulled my pants on again, two spots against the inside of my pants leg that would stiffen like salt water on my skin and that I would feel until I had the chance to wash myself.

I was about to go back to Daddy when I discovered somebody else who was also out walking on this day. He arrived in a truck that he parked where the access road came to an end. I hadn’t heard him coming, the silence of the mountains had swallowed up the sound of him, but I recognized both the man and the truck. It was Sønstebø, and Daddy approached him and I realized that Daddy had come here to meet him. It was Sønstebø Daddy had been waiting for.

They talked, the two men, and the mountain ate up their words. Or maybe they actually tried to speak softly, maybe they didn’t want anyone to hear, not even me, because they stood close together, the way lovers talk, the way Mommy and Daddy used to talk to each other before.

I rushed over, listening more closely and then I was able to make out a few words.

“The bridge,” Sønstebø said. “The bridge would be better.”

Then Daddy looked up. “Hi, Signe,” he said loudly.

And Sønstebø smiled at me—far too broadly, I thought—and again I thought of the doll.

“Hi, Signe,” he said.

“Hi,” I said.

“How nice that you and your father are taking a hike,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“We are heading home now,” Daddy said.

“Magnus stayed home today,” Sønstebø said to me.

“Oh,” I said.

Suddenly I wished that Magnus had come with him, that he was also standing here beside me.

“He’s studying for an arithmetic test,” Sønstebø said.

“Signe has to go home and write an essay,” Daddy said.

I had forgotten all about the essay, even though Norwegian was really my favorite subject at school.

“I can give you a lift down,” Sønstebø said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Are you sure?” Daddy said.

Sønstebø looked at him in wonder. “Sure? Yes?”

“But do you think… maybe it’s not worth the risk?”

“I’m tired,” I said. “I want a ride.”

I remember that I didn’t understand what they meant, but I didn’t ask the right question: what wasn’t worth the risk, wasn’t getting a ride home worth it? Because I was so tired, now I could really feel it, my whole body ached, the walk up had been too much, far too much, and there was no point in our not accepting the ride, why should we have to walk down when there was a car?

“No…” Sønstebø said and looked at Daddy. “Maybe you’re right. It’s not worth the risk, we might run into somebody…”

“But I’m so tired,” I said.

“I want for us to walk, Signe,” Daddy said. “It will be nice.”

“No,” I said. “It won’t be nice.”

Then Sønstebø laughed. “Quite a girl you have there!”

And Daddy blushed, even though he usually liked it when I spoke my mind.

“I don’t want to walk,” I said. “Why can’t we go in the car? Why isn’t it worth the risk?”

“It will probably be fine,” Sønstebø said. “I can drive you part of the way.”

“No,” Daddy said.

And there was something about him that made me realize that he wouldn’t listen to me, that I would have to walk the whole, long way down. Daddy nodded at Sønstebø, and Sønstebø got into his car, started the engine and drove away, and I was tired and cold, it had started to sleet, the drops of pee were sticky on my thigh, shouting didn’t help anymore. I just wanted to go home.

Maybe it’s not worth the risk —the words got stuck in my head, made me heavier, I remember; it’s not worth the risk, the two of them might be seen together. The words weighed on me as we walked home, weighed on me when we met Mommy again and Daddy behaved as if nothing had happened.

I was freezing cold and worn out, and he didn’t appear to notice. But Mommy brought me up to the bathroom and filled the tub while I peeled off my clothes. They lay there on the floor, all dirty and damp, she put bubble bath in the water, it foamed up right away and the soap formed a soft white blanket on the surface that I could sink under and hide myself in.

The water was too hot, scorching hot, and I gasped. I could feel the blood rushing to my face, how it turned red and sort of blotchy.

Mommy left. I thought she was just going to fetch something—a bathrobe for me, maybe, or a clean towel, or something to drink or eat—but then she was just gone, because he was out there, I’d forgotten that, he was there, the thing the two of them shared, he was out there, the big, ugly thing and I couldn’t stop it, the rising voices, the yelling. I wasn’t a part of it, there wasn’t anything I could say, nothing that helped. I wished it could be stopped, but if it was just going to continue, at the very least I wanted to be a part of it.