Berit Ellingsen - Not Dark Yet

“They are still here,” he replied, sensing the trout and pike and eel and perch buried in the dark substrate. “See?” He plunged his hands into the silt. Beneath the dusty surface it was still moist and cold. He was soiled up to his elbows, but felt scale-covered bodies wriggle just beneath his fingers.

The lake was gone, somehow drained and dried from his dreams. Who knew if the lake would return to its former state or whether, once changed, dream-locations stayed that way. He wanted to howl in sadness for the loss of the lake and the fish, but said nothing, rose, and took in the gray peaks above them. Now, with the liquid vanished, he felt the way he always did at the shore of the dream-lake, and until then, had forgotten; electricity crackled up his spine like a lightning rod, and a sensation of intense magnetism pulled at him from the surrounding crags.

Despite Eloise, despite the presence of someone else, he did for the first time what he had always wanted to do there: give in to the magnetic sensation and let the electricity run through him while he fell to the ground, flopping like a fish on land. The water in the lake might not return, but it was the cliffs that had pulled him there, not the liquid, as he had thought when the lake had been covered with golden autumn leaves or black winter ice. Even with the water gone, the stone remained unchanged. As he lay seizing on the empty lake bed he remembered that the bodies of water which slept deep beneath the ice in the Antarctic regularly drained and refilled with time.

SEVERAL DAYS AFTER HE RETURNED FROM THE astronaut testing, the phone rang. He sat up, feeling a little moist as he always did in the sleeping bag’s nylon shell, and felt about for the object that was beeping and buzzing on the floor.

“Yes,” he said into the phone, expecting the voice of his brother or Michael.

“Meet me at the Plaza Shopping Center on the coast, tomorrow at eighteen thirty,” Kaye said. “It’s a private meeting, so don’t bring anyone else. And leave your mobile phone at home. I’ll be on time so there will be no need to call me.”

“All right,” he said, puzzled by the immediacy and exactness of the request, but seeing no reason not to do as Kaye wanted. “I’ll be punctual as well.”

Kaye hung up.

The time until he could see Kaye again passed slowly. He wanted to push at it to go faster, but there was also a pit of apprehension in his stomach. Indoors, the air smelled metallic, and the water from the well tasted of marsh.

By the time he left the cabin it was raining heavily and thunder rumbled in the distance, but the wind was gentle, so he brought the umbrella with him. Beneath its black shield, he took in the fields at both sides of the path. The slim wheat tillers now grew upright, making the moor look more like a wild meadow than a field. The sight made his heart jump and he laughed with joy, momentarily forgetting the trepidation that had been seething in him like an illness.

Once, when his family had traveled to his father’s country and the rural town where his grandparents lived, his grandfather had been late to meet them at the station. From far away they had seen an umbrella move toward them on the road between the fields, the color of the fabric and the rhythm of the gait easily recognizable as that of their relative. Then, as now, the umbrella had been black and the fields green on brown.

He caught a train to one of the larger cities on the coast which was nevertheless closer than the seaside resort he had gone to earlier. From there he took a bus to that population center’s extensive suburbs, and a massive shopping center with a wide food court and an anonymous cafe which served coffee and a long list of other caffeinated drinks, hot chocolate, soda, mineral water, sandwiches, and slices of cake. Inside the cafe’s small refrigerated counter the plastic bottles of water and soft drinks were scratched and matte. The sandwiches were pre-made, wrapped in smeared plastic, bulging with cheese and ham, shrimp and egg salad, and bacon and lettuce slices. The cheese cake, cherry cake, and chocolate cake on offer had been cut into triangles separated by sheets of white paper, the slices looking dry and hard and the paper stained with grease. The cafe claimed only a handful of small round tables and flimsy-looking chairs, separated from the adjacent businesses by dusty wood screens. The open, drafty space stank of the jumble of foods that were being served there, and was filled with the dry, distant sounds of footsteps and voices from the rest of the mall.

He was half an hour early, but didn’t settle at the cafe. Instead, he passed the food court and ascended the stairs to the mezzanine above, then followed it back along the second floor while he glanced down at the cafes and restaurants, but saw neither Kaye nor any of the professor’s post-docs or graduate students. He entered a wide corridor that led away from the mezzanine and noted the way back. If Kaye had moved to the coast, why did he wish to meet in yet another city? Maybe the professor had found work, or had recently held meetings here?

He scanned the brightly lit, carefully constructed shop exhibits. There was nothing unusual or noteworthy about the shopping center. The stores were neither high end, with designer brands at high prices, nor low end, with nothing but discounted goods, but somewhere safely in the middle. The businesses were a mix of national and international franchises, and what he assumed were local stores, selling clothes, shoes, jewelry, cosmetics, home electronics, garden appliances, children’s toys, books, films, music, crafting supplies, groceries, health food, pharmaceuticals, For Her, For Him, For the Children, For the Pet, For the Car, For the Home. A boundless collection of useful and useless objects made from materials that were all finite, but manufactured and sold like they would never cease, marketed to be desired and consumed by as many people as possible, only to be discarded after a few years of use. He suddenly felt sick.

On the way back to the mezzanine he passed a home electronics store displaying a whole wall of TVs of various make and size. All the screens showed the same program: deeply spray-tanned people gaping in mute while they showed off their jeweled watches, brightly colored sports cars, luxury yachts and private jets, and doused one another with sparkling wine from oversized bottles. An on-screen counter registered called-in votes for each participant of the reality show, the numbers turning in the hundreds. Variations in color setting and scan rate made each screen a little different from the rest, some looking orange or delayed, others bluish or slightly blurry, making up a glaring and confusing sight. Nevertheless, his attention was caught by a single monitor in the corner that had been tuned to another channel. At first he thought the image was that of a spiral galaxy viewed head on, the jet from the super-massive black hole in its middle shooting out, like a round from a rifled barrel. But then he realized that the animated vortex which engulfed the meteorological map of the coast was a hurricane, its extreme wind speeds displayed in bruise colors.

When he returned to the cafe in the food court, Kaye was waiting for him at a table as close to the separating screens and as far away from the counter as it was possible to sit. On the silver laminated surface stood two steaming paper cups of coffee.

Kaye lifted one cup in greeting.

He pulled out the other chair at the table and sat down. “You’re here for a conference?”

Kaye shook his head. “Just a quick errand. I also thought it would be closer for you to meet here. How are things in the mountains?”

“Good,” he said and rose the cup in a reciprocal toast. “Quiet, but good.” The hot liquid seared his fingers through the paper, more than warm enough to scald his mouth. He put the cup down without drinking.