Майя Лунде - The End of the Ocean

Then everything happened very quickly. A wave passed through the camp; everyone who’d been sitting so quietly, moving so slowly, for so long afflicted by heat-induced lethargy, now all at once became a fury of movement, flying at each other’s throats.

I stayed out of it, watched Caleb and Christian pounding their fists into Thick-Neck. Men poured in from all sides to join the brawl, taking opposing sides. As if on cue.

As if they’d been waiting for this.

And I, too, had been waiting for it. I had been so sluggish for so long, so sluggish and cautious. Always with Lou there holding my hand.

But now there was nobody to take care of. And nothing made any difference.

I took a step forward.

I could feel my heart pound. Hard. Hard.

Took another step.

Now you must choose. Are you in or alone?

But I was spared having to choose, because somebody came running up from behind. They pulled me along with them. Pulled me in and I didn’t resist.

I ran towards Caleb, Martin and Christian. Became a part of what they were.

Adrenaline filled me. I exploded again and again. Something in me that had been suppressed rose to the surface. Something that had been there all along.

Arms, legs, everything happened so fast. Loud voices. My own, theirs, so loud.

Running footsteps, more and more people kept joining in, everyone with a clear aim, all their energy focused on this.

It was so easy to raise an arm. To punch.

Move your feet.

Punch again.

There were more of us. But they were quicker, larger, crazier. Something about them reminded me of the worst boys at school, a wildness. With guys like them you never knew what you would get.

And I was clumsy. Slower with every punch I threw.

I missed.

I was hit.

The pain erased all the thoughts in my head. It was quick. A pain like that I could take, I had time to think. This is tolerable, because it’s so quick, it passes right away.

But then it didn’t stop. It spread outward, heat prickling everywhere, throughout my entire body. It didn’t disappear, but increased in intensity, obliterating all other pains.

Hard to breathe. It was difficult to breathe. My chest contracted.

And around me people were fighting on all sides. The brawl was just a sound, a single sound. A sound that swallowed up everything else.

I sat on the ground. Shaking. I had drawn my knees up against my chest and was holding my hands open in front of me. They were covered with red stains from the blood dripping from my head.

Christian was lying doubled up on the ground. Caleb was sitting with Martin, talking softly, in a daze.

It was so hot, the pain and the heat all at once. Sweat on my back, on my forehead. Salt on my face. Pain. It hurt like hell. My body ached all over.

Then someone crouched down beside me. I’d almost forgotten about her. But she was still here, with her protruding collarbones and slender fingers.

“Come,” she said.

She was staying in a hall that was smaller than ours. A sign outside stated that it was only for women. She pulled me inside a cubicle like mine and Lou’s.

“Sit down.”

Marguerite pointed at a bed.

I did as she said. She left me there, without saying a word.

I sat there, feeling her bed beneath my thighs. She slept here. Her body lay here every single night. In what position? On her back, securely, in the middle of the bed? Curled up like a newborn baby? Or on her stomach, turned away from everything?

I bet that she slept on her stomach.

She wasn’t gone long, and in her hand she had a first-aid kit. She put it down next to me on the bed and opened it.

“Here you go.”

“What?”

“Here you’ll find what you need.”

“Can’t you—?”

“You got yourself into this mess. Now you can straighten it out as well.”

I blinked, and a rivulet of blood trickled down from my forehead.

“But it’s hard to see.”

“That’s your problem.”

“Can’t you—?”

“Do you want Lou to see you like this?”

“No.”

“Then get to it.”

Lou. She was with Francis. He had kept her away from the fight. He must have.

But now she must be worrying about where I was. Maybe she regretted refusing to go with me to the Red Cross, and was sitting with Francis in despair. Blaming herself, for the entire fight maybe, thinking it was her fault, even though nothing in the world was her fault.

Hurriedly, I opened an antiseptic towelette.

I had to be quick.

I dried my cheekbone where I could feel that it was bleeding.

She was surely safe with Francis, they got along so well, surely she hadn’t heard anything, hadn’t heard the screaming, hadn’t noticed how much time had passed. And she was too young to blame herself.

I took another towelette and quickly rinsed the knuckles on my right hand. They were already starting to turn purple.

“Do you have a mirror?”

“No,” Marguerite said.

She remained seated directly across from me. She watched to make sure I removed all the blood, nodding now and then in confirmation, but made no sign of moving.

“Would you mind?” I handed her the ragged towelette.

“You’ve gotten rid of most of it now,” she said, without accepting it.

“Thanks.”

I took a strip of Band-Aids and a pair of scissors out of a box and clipped off a piece. Five centimeters, approximately. That would have to do.

Peeled off the backing, stuck it to my cheek.

Marguerite gave me a curt nod. I had apparently put it in the right place.

I pulled up my T-shirt, ran my hand down my ribs on my left side. Pressed my fingers against my rib cage. First gently. Then a little harder.

I tried to keep from moaning.

I stood up, and my right leg almost buckled under me. I had taken a blow there, a blow so hard that it felt like the muscles had snapped.

I took a couple of cautious steps.

It hurt like the devil.

I stretched my arms out in front of me, over my head.

I bent over.

Bloody hell, I was sore!

But everything still worked. Nothing was broken. I’d been luckier than I deserved.

I turned towards the first-aid kit, picked up after myself and closed it.

“Where do you want me to put the kit?”

“I’ll take it.”

I put it down on the floor beside her bed.

“Thank you,” I said again.

I was about to leave. But then she stood up, too.

“David?”

“Yes?”

We stood there facing one another.

“I was looking for you,” she said.

“Oh?”

“I wondered how you were doing, you and Lou.”

“Lou has been ill. We’ve barely been out of the hall.”

“Ill?”

I could see that she was frightened. That she cared.

“She’s fine now,” I hastened to say.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

“Me too, that is, I mean, of course I am…”

David, shut up. Now you’re just making a mess of things.

She didn’t reply, but held my gaze. And suddenly a little smile appeared.

“You look terrible.”

And then I noticed that I was trembling, how shaken up I was. Sore. Beaten to a pulp. Everything in my body felt loose and soft, as if I weren’t put together properly and had lost all coordination.

To think I’d ended up in a fight. Just like that.

And with a child to take care of and everything.

Idiot. Weakling. Feeble. As much willpower as a goldfish.

I swallowed. Swallowed again. Was not going to cry. Not now and not later.

I was a loser, now and forever. It was a miracle that I even stood on two feet, as weak as I was.

Marguerite could see how I was shaking.

Her smile disappeared and she took one step forward, lay one hand on my arm, her right hand on my left upper arm.