Berit Ellingsen - Not Dark Yet

He wondered too, but shifted his focus back on the sole of halibut in morel and sweet wine sauce on his plate, cutting it deliberately, and chewing even more slowly.

“You can’t mean that,” one candidate finally said. “They wouldn’t have invited all of us here and paid for the tests and the hotel if just a handful of us were proper astronaut material.”

“Take it easy,” another replied. “This isn’t a talent show on TV. They will have to analyze and compare the tests first; it’ll take them weeks at least, or even months.”

“No, the representative told me herself this morning who would be called in for the next round of tests.”

Silence, then laughter, incredulous, yet a little nervous.

“That’s rubbish.”

More laughter around the tables.

Cut, skewer, swish, chew. Fingers getting cold and thighs aching on the seat of the chair. Draft from the windows chilled the back of his neck.

“I suppose you’re right. It will take them weeks to sort through the data. But think about it, each of us might be looking at their crew mates to the moon, or even to Mars!”

They looked at one another.

Someone snickered, high and thin, but quickly fell silent.

AFTER THE SUBDUED DINNER HE EXPECTED A mass retreat to the rooms, but instead most of the candidates gathered in the hotel bar, clearly seeking the warmth of human company and friendly conversation from the deep leather chairs around the crackling fireplace, while the heads of several unfortunate ungulates glared at them from the hunting lodge decor on the walls. The rest of the applicants huddled on the roof-covered steps at the main entrance, sending the stench of cigarettes and snippets of talk into the foyer every time someone moved too close to the doors and made them slide open.

He sat for a while in the bar, chatting with a few of the other candidates while ordering peanuts and salt sticks instead of drinks, then excused himself early.

“I’m going upstairs,” he told his roommate, Wameeth, an outgoing, broad-shouldered father of two who hailed from the northeastern region of the southern continent.

“Not staying longer?” Wameeth said. “It’s the last night after all.”

He shook his head. “I’m worn out. But please stay for as long as you’d like.”

“All right, see you later, my friend.”

Upstairs in the room he turned off the lamps, pulled the thin curtains aside, and pushed the nearest windows open. Wet snow flakes speckled the air and dusted the garden and driveway with white, but didn’t seem cold enough to remain. He thought he could hear the snowflakes hiss as they reached the black surface of the water and melted into it, but he could neither see nor hear the surf.

When it grew too cold, he shut the window and went to bed. Before the testing started, he had worried about the white light and wondered if it would flare up in him, but the white-outs had stayed away, perhaps because he spent all his mental and physical energy on the tests. Thus, instead of collapsing from seizures, he stopped breathing in his sleep. He couldn’t say what he was thinking of or dreaming about when it happened, only that he woke up because he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt his body draw breath. It was a surprising and strange sensation, but not one that elicited fear. When it happened, it felt natural and appropriate, something that simply should be allowed to take place without his interference or opinion, just like the white light and the sensation he had had in the summer of vanishing into it. He had read that some experienced practitioners only needed to draw their breath once or twice an hour, deep in meditation. Since the silence that preceded and followed the spontaneous breath-hold was meditative and calming, he assumed he was experiencing something similar.

He expected to fall asleep quickly, but that didn’t happen. Despite the feeling of exhaustion, he lay staring into the darkness while listening to the clangs of the elevator further down the hallway as it started and stopped, footsteps in the corridor, muted sounds from the floor above, water gurgling in the pipes. An hour later he was roused from a light sleep by the sound of laughter right outside the door and voices he thought he recognized. The last disturbance before he fell solidly into dreams was that of Wameeth opening the door from the lit hallway and then closing it quickly.

The next morning he rose as soon as the alarm clock integrated in the headboard of the bed rang, had a quick shower, shaved, dressed, then packed his small backpack and carried it downstairs to the luggage room in the reception. The space organization representative had informed them that their rooms would be paid, but that they had to check out themselves, so that the hotel could confirm how many of the reserved rooms had been used. He did so at the front desk and handed his key in before he entered the restaurant for breakfast. As with the previous mornings, there were no warm dishes, not even porridge, but instead, a wide variety of cereals, bread, sliced meat, jams, fruits and vegetables, and steaming coffee and tea, which had been set out on a long table in front of the windows. He took a plate and a glass from the stacks at the head of the buffet and helped himself to some rye bread, smoked ham, red chili, and mini cucumber.

Outside, the lawn and hedges that lay in shadow were covered in a spotty layer of wet snow, but where the sun’s rays had reached the vegetation was bare and the rest would likely melt long before noon. The sky was bright and the ocean a clear, calm blue. It looked like a beautiful day in the beginning of spring instead of in the winter. He hoped the fields at the cabin were growing fast and well.

After breakfast, the chartered coach that had shuttled them the previous days took them to the astronaut training center for the last time. Now familiar with the building, the candidates rolled their suitcases, carried their backpacks, and lugged their bags through the hallways to the large meeting room.

“Today you have until lunch to finish up and revise any test that you haven’t yet completed,” the space organization’s representative said. “If for some reason you need more time to finalize all your tests, let me know and I will see what I can do. Those of you who wish to leave earlier for the journey home may do so, but please notify me before you go so I know you have left and aren’t simply missing.”

Most of the candidates had only parts of a test or two to complete, and a few left within the hour. But the majority seemed to have scheduled their return trips to the afternoon and said they preferred waiting at the astronaut training center than at the airport or the train station. One of them collected their names, email addresses, and internet profiles, and promised to set up a group online for those who wished to stay in touch.

The candidates who had completed their tests drifted off to the cafeteria for a bite to eat. The representative said she couldn’t offer them food tickets that day, but that the prices in the cafeteria were highly subsidized, so she recommended buying lunch there before they left.

Several of the candidates, especially those who lived near one another, or had attended the same university, or had been stationed at the same military base, exchanged personal addresses and phone numbers. The week of testing seemed to have resulted in several new friendships and a few romantic connections. He gave his email address to a few others, including Wameeth, without expecting to hear much from them, but nevertheless looked forward to chatting with them as part of the group online.