Willem Hermans - Beyond Sleep

Nothing works.

I roll over onto my back, prop my shoulder against one of the blocks. I draw the tape out to its full length and release it a couple of times, and each time it shoots back with a high-pitched whirr. What time is it now? My watch says twenty to six. Which is what it said last time I looked. It has evidently stopped. Must have got wet. Would be a miracle if it hadn’t. Given to me by my mother when I started at university seven years ago. For someone like me, I told her at the time, a water resistant watch would have been more practical.

‘Oh, Alfred! How can you be so horrid! After all the trouble I went to! I thought it was rather smart. Waterproof watches are so thick and ungainly. Don’t you think this one’s much nicer? It’s the thinnest men’s watch on the planet: two millimetres. Wonderful, isn’t it?’

Yes, wonderful, but it’s not working.

I prise the lid open with my penknife. Nothing to be seen, no water anyway. I blow into the casing, which is probably not very good for it, but what else can I do? Finally I wind it up as far as it will go, shake it a few times and hold it to my ear. It is ticking. I set the hands at seven o’clock. Just guessing.

After fifteen minutes it stops again.

A quarter past seven — that is, if my earlier guess of seven o’clock was right, because it could easily be quite a bit later. Either way, I have been here for at least an hour and a half, and Arne still hasn’t found me.

The map is nearly dry when I finally decide not to hang around waiting for Arne to come and find me. I fold it up and slide it into its pocket. Then I walk around the blocks to check whether I have left anything behind, and also to make quite sure I haven’t missed any clue that might lead to the discovery of my compass.

Nothing. Goodbye, compass. The case hanging from my belt, the shiny leather case that still looks new, is empty. My left hand keeps opening and shutting the clasp.

All things considered, the most likely explanation is that Arne decided to walk back to the ravine where I went missing, and that he is waiting for me there.

But how am I to find my way to the ravine? I go round the three rocks one last time, hoping to recognise the direction I came from. But my eyes are irresistibly drawn to the fissures, as if there is still hope of sighting the compass.

I gaze at the rocks and the horizon by turns. A wavy line all around, not a tree or a bush to be seen, not a tree or a bush for me to recognise. And then, in the remote distance beyond the hills, rises the pyramid of Mount Vuorje. At least we were there before, even if it was some time ago. That is where we came from. If I head in that direction, I may find the ravine on my way. At least I can see the mountain, so I will be able to get there without a compass. I could even get there without a map.

My watch says eight thirty and it’s not ticking. No idea when it stopped. An hour ago? Several hours? Not that I really need to know. When I’m worn out I’ll just lie down for a bit.

No sign of the ravine. If only I could find it, then at least I’d be able to see roughly where I am on the map.

It’s cold now, and the sun is very low. Could this be its lowest point? If so, it’s the midnight sun, which would mean that it’s midnight. In other words, the position of the sun indicates north.

I sit down, unfold the map and spread it out with the top facing in the direction of the sun. North, possibly. Looking about me, I try to see the map in the scenery. Looking at the map, I try to see where the hills are. I don’t succeed, obviously. Impossible with a map drawn to such a small scale: 1 to 100,000. Besides, the sun may not yet have reached due north. If my watch hadn’t stopped, if it were still working properly, I wouldn’t need my compass — if the sun doesn’t disappear, that is, and if I knew how much difference daylight saving time made … if …

What am I moaning for? As long as I keep Mount Vuorje in my sights I won’t be completely lost. Better than Vuorje would be finding the ravine, where Arne’s waiting for me. I’ll offer a thousand apologies for causing a delay with my pig-headedness. You know that, don’t you, Arne? You can count on me .

Can he really?

Truth is, my mood has lightened considerably now that I’m on my own. It’s as if I’ve been under tutelage all this time, under the watchful, contemptuous gaze of my companions, who guessed my ambitious plans and who opposed them. Didn’t believe in them either. As if their company prevented me from concentrating fully on my goal: finding meteor craters, collecting meteorites.

Now I’m alone I can, without embarrassment, give myself up to the illusion that an amazing discovery is just around the corner, justifying my hard labour. All the observations I’ve made until now are nothing but routine, anyone could have made them. The whole world and everything in it will at some point have been investigated, it’s just a matter of time. If I deign to engage in this pursuit, it’s purely for the purpose of making some astonishing discovery.

Astonishing?

A light flips on in my head. Did I look at those photographs of Mikkelsen’s closely enough?

There could have been some detail he noticed and I didn’t … That must be why he and Qvigstad split up from us! That’s why they made off in such a hurry without saying goodbye! Maybe Mikkelsen didn’t even show me all the photographs. Maybe he kept back the most important ones.

Where did they go? Back, of course, towards Mount Vuorje!

What luck that I happen to be heading in the same direction as they are!

My visionary imaginings reach further still. Nobody will be able to accuse me of deliberately misreading my compass, or of deliberately getting separated from Arne. My blunder wasn’t too bad, after all. In fact, it’s a blessing in disguise! Because going to Mount Vuorje suits me just fine. I wanted to go there anyway, to see what Mikkelsen’s up to. I never wanted to let him out of my sight. If Mikkelsen were to find what I’m looking for — what could be worse?

The slope leads down to a green, marshy plain crossed by a slow-moving river branching out into three meandering streams. I am certain that I have never been here before. I can’t think why I still haven’t found the ravine. I must be going in the right direction, though: Mount Vuorje is straight ahead of me.

Nummedal’s study. Enter: the professor and his pupil, Mikkelsen.

Nummedal: You must take care, Mikkelsen, for there is a spy in your group. Here, take the aerial photographs. Do not tell him you have them. If he finds out, think of some way of shaking him off. Throw him off the scent. Because here, at Mount Vuorje (Nummedal peers at the aerial photograph through a colossal magnifying glass, points with his pencil), there is a strange hole. Possibly the scene of some highly exceptional event. An event of the greatest scientific import, Mikkelsen! Take my advice, Mikkelsen!

Mikkelsen: Of course, Professor.

Nummedal: Don’t rouse suspicions by hanging around on Mount Vuorje at the beginning. Keep Arne and the Dutchman company for a day or two, then you can turn back.

*

Mikkelsen all over! Made off as soon as I caught on to him having the photographs — the very photographs I went to all that trouble to get hold of!

He is not going to get away with it!

I sit down by the water and look at my map. Although I don’t know my exact position, the mountain can’t be more than four kilometres away. Four kilometres as the crow flies. On the ground that could amount to a five-hour hike, including periods of rest.

The sun is still shining, but has stopped giving warmth. My teeth are chattering now and I’ve got goose-flesh all over, as if my skin is trying frantically to keep my damp clothes from clinging to my body.