Хьелль Аскильдсен - The Dark Blue Winter Overcoat and Other Stories from the North

I burst into tears again. She embraces me in silence and strokes my hair.

“Yes, of course. I’m heading that way so I might as well take you, mightn’t I?”

She comforts me. I nod my head and dry my eyes, hugely relieved. The big seats in the car are covered with light brown leather. The seat on which I sit is so soft that my body relaxes instantly.

I look at the woman, my saviour. She turns to me frequently with a concerned smile and I start to feel safe. The fine, fragrant car is almost silent and makes me sleepy. I abandon my efforts to count street lights.

“What’s your name?” I ask out of curiosity.

“Danielle Michel,” she replies kindly.

“Hello, Mrs Michel. Thank you very much for helping me.”

I am on the verge of crying again, but I swallow my tears. She makes no reply, but touches my arm and smiles gently. She clears her throat and makes to speak. I don’t mind.

“Where are you from?”

I am tempted to say that I am from Japan, but I can’t lie to a person with such a big heart.

“I’m from Greenland.”

I’m reminded of Suffia and am tempted to giggle, but when I can’t manage it, I remain silent.

“Why are you so far away from home?”

She asks casually and even though I don’t feel like telling her, I can no longer control my mouth.

“I’ve lost someone.”

I can feel that Mrs Michel is struck by grief and struggles to find the words.

“Who?”

Her voice makes me feel so safe that I want to answer, but I can’t recall anything.

“I can’t remember,” I reply without lying.

I am relieved that Mrs Michel doesn’t think I am insane; instead she looks at me with understanding and unprejudiced eyes. The pain in my heart floats away. I realize that it is morning and that Mrs Michel has a calming effect on me, so I find the courage to look at her without worrying about it. From time to time she touches my arm to ask if I need something. I know perfectly well that there is something in my mind and heart that I need to explore and resolve, but right now I am at ease. We drive for a while in silence. We arrive at Salt Lake City and the many hours we have been driving feel like a short period of time. I am so comfortable that I stay in the car while Mrs Michel gets out to do some shopping.

She returns, hands me a cup of coffee from Starbucks and turns to me. “Sweetheart, what is Greenland like?”

She smiles faintly. I try in vain to think of an appropriate answer.

“It’s cold,” I then say.

We start the car and drive on. Mrs Michel’s questions become more frequent which makes my body grow restless.

“What do you do in Greenland? When did you come to the States? Are you visiting someone in San Francisco?”

Every time I have to reply that I don’t know and every time my heart beats faster. Why can’t I give her an answer? Why can’t I remember anything? What am I doing here? What am I doing in San Francisco? As I have not thought so profoundly for a long time, I struggle to come up with a reply. Just as we are about to cross a large bridge, a magical city appears and it dazzles me. My emotions intensify. Whether it is from joy or grief, I don’t know. But I feel too much.

“SF”—San Francisco. When I see the big sign, I become nervous and my heart hurts. Mrs Michel senses my anxiety and takes my hand. She does not let go of me. A feeling of loss overwhelms me and I focus on my breathing so as not to panic. SF. Now I’m here.

The streets in the city centre have no specific directions. Up, down, right, forwards, left, down, up, backwards. It is undoubtedly an enchanted city. I know people call it “gay town”. There are cable cars here, small, open trams that you see everywhere. You can follow tall buildings into infinity. Outside the windows, clothes have been hung out to dry next to the dried fish. People look down from the windows and admire the city from the top. I spot the great ocean which I have not seen for an eternity and am reminded of Greenland. I get a little homesick. Mrs Michel asks me to look at her and I become aware that she wants to tell me something.

“I have to move on. Go for a walk and get some fresh air. Search carefully for the things you repress and don’t be afraid of them. You take care of yourself now.”

She puts her arms around me, and even though I don’t want her to leave, all I can do is let her go. My throat starts to well up.

“The things I repress?” I ask confused.

Mrs Michel looks at me, smiles faintly and drives off. I take a good look at my saviour before I turn around. What things?

SF. San Francisco is so unique that it can’t be compared to anywhere else, and I decide to do something about my feelings for this city to fill the emptiness inside me. I enter a discreet tattoo parlour and wait to be served. A man with multiple tattoos on his arms comes over and shows me to a chair.

“How do you want to be tattooed?” he asks with a smile.

“A heart with SF inside it. I don’t want it to be big.”

While the tattooist gets ready to tattoo my wrist, I look at the people around me. A large man weighing around two hundred kilos sits on my left. He is having a naked woman tattooed on his arm and I’m pretty sure that tattoo is the only woman he will ever have. I turn to my right and see an attractive woman with short whitish-yellow hair. Now who does she remind me of? I jump when I feel a prick on my wrist and the tattooist gets to work. He doesn’t take long and in a strange way the pain calms my body down. While he fetches me a Band-Aid, I look to the right again. When the woman turns to me, I can barely believe my own eyes and I stare at her unashamedly. Pink! Pink! Pink! I snap out of my dreamlike state and turn my gaze to her again. She is so beautiful that I can hardly believe it. She talks to her tattooist. She is clearly aware that she has been recognized and glances at me. She has noticed me! She is looking at me! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I can hear a voice screaming inside me. Several of Pink’s songs come back to me and I rediscover all the love which has been absent in me for so long and the feeling is so indescribably huge that it cannot be resisted. When she turns to me, I bow my head to her in gratitude. There is no doubt that Pink’s music is the best guide I have in my life. When she sees me bow, she sends me a smile which I will treasure deep inside my heart forever. Pink. Who would have thought that I would see such a beautiful person? I pay the tattooist and take a last look at the woman with the wonderful voice when she suddenly waves to me by wriggling her fingers and my heart explodes. I can sense that Pink is looking at me with compassion and as I can’t understand why, I just leave.

SF. Heart.

My tattoo has penetrated the skin properly and my body is less tense. I sit down on a small mound of green grass and light a cigarette. I pick up my iPod and play Pink’s latest album, The Truth About Love . I gaze at the blue sea and try to put my chaotic feelings and thoughts in order. I have to knock some common sense into myself. What am I doing here?

“ Right from the start, you were a thief, you stole my heart, and I, your willing victim .” The song “Just Give Me a Reason” starts to play and some degree of lucidity seeps into my thoughts in such a terribly short space of time that I almost become fearful. I have come to my senses.

“Just Give Me a Reason” is playing in the background. The television is on, but silent. Our small kitchen has been left untouched and filthy. I have woken up feeling fraught and because of that I have a headache and I am crotchety. I heave a deep sigh and go to the kitchen to start washing up. She dries the dishes and smiles a little while I try not to get annoyed with her. I want to look at her lovely face without looking angry myself. When we have finished, I sit down on the sofa and spend a long time on Facebook to avoid talking to her. She sits on one of the chairs by the table and looks at me with devotion. I pull a face to offer her a kind of smile by way of acknowledgement. Today we have been together for three years and I’m still in love with her. I get butterflies in my stomach when she puts her arms around me. I always long for her to come home from college. I always look forward to lying next to her, holding her, kissing her neck. When I tell her that I love her, I always mean it. I don’t want to lose her, but I’m not OK. Even though our relationship is exciting and happy, something is wrong. I’m fine as long as I’m at home, but when I go out, it feels as if the whole town despises me and talks about me behind my back. I log off and go to my room to lie down for a little while. My lovely girlfriend enters and lies down next to me. Without making eye contact, I slip my arms around her and kiss her a few times “Fia, just look at me,” she says. I make myself comfortable and she smiles and starts to caress my face. She gazes at me with her pretty eyes.