Майя Лунде - The End of the Ocean

We reached the dam, the man-made concrete dam, the strange, artificial lake created in the middle of the mountains. The sweat was dripping off my body and I tugged off my clothes without looking at him.

“Are you really going swimming?” he said.

I didn’t reply, took one step out, balanced on a rock, the water came up to the middle of my shins, ice-cold meltwater, at its highest level now in June.

The lake was huge and silent, deep and shiny, the water exceedingly clear. I thought I could discern the old summer farm far below.

I leaned forward, summoned my strength and jumped.

The shock as I broke through the water surface, the biting chill against my skin… I swam away from shore, kicking hard, without another look at him, swam until I was directly above where I believed the summer farm was located.

Then I dove under and floated face down with my eyes open just below the surface and, even though the water made everything unclear and foggy, I was sure that I could see it.

I stuck my head out of the water again and now I forgot about being angry.

“It’s here!”

“What?” he shouted.

“The summer farm. The water’s clear. It’s easy to see.”

Then he too tore off his clothes and threw himself into the water, gasping at the cold, but he still swam quickly in my direction.

“Here,” I said, treading water above the site.

He dove under, floated below the surface for a few seconds and came up again.

“I can see it too,” he said.

And he smiled, he had already forgotten everything. “Are you going to dive?”

I didn’t reply. I simply dove into the water.

With steady strokes I swam towards the bottom.

I could make out more details all the time. The cabin was overgrown with plants, as if grass were still growing on the roof. The gate in the traditional fence around it was closed and I headed towards it.

There was energy in my strokes, I would make it, but at the same time I could feel the suction from the intake tunnel. It was covered by a screen, protecting the facility from leaves and trash, and now I could feel the water current, pulling me towards it. How much water, I thought, how much water disappears down into the tunnel every second, every minute, disappears down through the pipes, downwards, downwards, while the pressure increases more and more, meter by meter, until it finally reaches the power plant in Ringfjorden? And the water around me now, it’s headed there, will become a part of the pressure, of the power, disappear into the turbine, contribute to producing its rotations, become a part of the moment when the fall energy of every single, tiny drop is transformed into kinetic energy, passing through the generator, disappearing, transformed into electric signals, and that is where it’s pulling me, too.

But I didn’t allow myself to be pulled there; I resisted, continued on towards the summer farm, released a little air, the bubbles rose to the surface. I could feel the beginnings of a pressure in my chest, the lack of oxygen, but the gate was right in front of me now and the air I had would be enough.

I reached out my hand, took hold of it, the woodwork slick beneath my fingers, not like wood, like a snake. I took hold and tugged, bubbles came out of my mouth, they flooded out uncontrollably, the gate was slippery and heavy to pull, but I could do it.

And then it was open, the sheep, no… the fish could enter.

I let go of the gate, kicked away from it, tried not to release any more air—the more air I held in my lungs, the more quickly I would rise to the surface—but the pressure in my chest was growing, no time to equalize, my ears popped.

I saw Magnus far above me, keeping an eye on me.

Upwards, upwards, I would make it.

And finally.

I gasped, inhaled, the water stinging my lungs, my nose, a buzzing in my ears and the cold penetrating every single cell.

“Did you see that?” I finally managed to say.

“God,” he laughed, fearfully. “I was trying to recall everything I know about lifesaving up here.”

We swam to land, climbed up onto shore, both of us shaking, our feet frozen.

Finally I caught my breath and turned towards the dam, towards the hydraulic construction.

“Admit that it’s ugly,” I said.

“Ugly? Right now I’m thinking that it’s dangerous,” Magnus said.

I lifted my hand, placed it on his back, feeling the warmth under my fingers.

He didn’t move, didn’t react, not until I pulled close to him. “Admit it. It’s ugly.”

Then he finally put his arms around me. “Fine, fine, it’s a damnable dam.”

“The entire construction?”

“The entire construction.”

“Finally you’re on my side.”

“Are there sides?”

“You know there are sides.”

“Then I’m on your side.”

I believed him, in spite of everything he’d said, even though he so clearly demonstrated that he was moving away from me. I was perhaps naïve. But I wanted to believe in him, maybe, or else he made it impossible not to, because he squeezed me tightly. I grew warmer, from the sun, from his skin. We were alone up there. There was only us, the sky, the mountain and thousands of liters of water and maybe our argument had made the day different from what I’d envisioned, but I still loved him and thought that his words didn’t mean anything. I even tried to forget them, because we had to be able to handle an argument. There was no reason to hold back, I remember thinking, no reason to be careful.

And afterwards, when we were lying close together, out of breath and naked, on top of our clothing that was like a patchwork quilt over the prickly heather, I can remember that I thought I was happy.

I was happy when we made our child.

“Have you turned in already?”

When I saw Lou, I was taken aback. During the past few days she’d had more energy and refused to go to bed early. But now she was lying in bed, curled up on her side, her body forming a C under the sheet and with her face towards the entrance.

The hall was almost empty. The majority of the residents were still sitting outside in the hot evening air. They needed to be outside after hiding from the sun all day long. Only the sound of an elderly couple having a hushed conversation could be heard and the breathing of someone who was already asleep.

I sat down on the edge of Lou’s bed, but then she gave a sudden start and contracted her body into a ball under the sheet she had over her like a blanket.

“Is something wrong?”

I tried to whisper, not wanting to disturb the elderly couple.

“No,” she said.

She answered far too quickly.

What had happened today? I reviewed it quickly in my mind. I had been to the Red Cross. She hadn’t wanted to come along, saying she preferred to stay with Francis.

At the Red Cross everything was as usual. They had no news for me. The same answer as before. Every time I went there it became more difficult. But I kept going anyway. What else could I do?

When I picked Lou up afterwards, she’d been happy. She and Francis were laughing about something. I didn’t ask what, didn’t even think about asking.

Then we went to the boat. We went there every day now. It was the only place where I could escape from my thoughts. The only place where I found some relief. And it was good to get out of the camp. During the past few days the halls had filled up. There were beds everywhere. Many people were being pressured to share cubicles with strangers. Fortunately, for the time being, Lou and I were left in peace.

The food rations had been reduced. I had almost become accustomed to going hungry. To the growling of my stomach. A craving throughout my entire body. The thought of chocolate, bacon grease, hot cocoa with whipped cream, French fries, deep-frying fat, breast of duck, lasagna, pâté, fresh bread, just fresh bread with butter.