“Don’t say anything,” Helga said. “It’s a surprise. Wait till Mari comes back.”
They waited a long time.
Finally Jonna went out and rang the big ship’s bell that was only used when danger threatened. Mari came running, threw open the door, and stood stock-still. The sun glistened on all the pretty gold frames. Helga watched her intently.
Eventually Jonna said, carefully, “Of course she was very young.”
“Yes,” said Helga. “Yes, she was. It’s a precious heritage to pass along.”
They took down their maps from the walls and put up Mari’s mother instead.
“Now we really ought to have a drink,” Jonna said. “Don’t you think, Mari?”
“Yes. A strong one. But we don’t have anything.”
And just then the whole cabin shook from a long series of explosions. One watercolour fell to the floor and the glass broke.
“Is it the Russians?” Helga whispered.
“Very likely,” Mari said. “We’re not so very far from the other side…”
Jonna cut her off. “Now don’t be mean! Helga, it’s just the military having a little target practice. Nothing to worry about. Do you want to go out and watch?”
Helga shook her head; she was pale.
Out on the slope, Mari said, “She’s afraid.”
“Don’t look so pleased. Do we have enough cat food for a week?”
“No, we don’t. But the cat won’t eat a minnow as long as this is going on.”
“There they go again.”
“Oh, I know it by heart,” Mari said. “‘The Defence Department has issued the following warning: ‘Heavy artillery exercise with live ammunition to commence such and such a time and date in such and such an area, danger in five-kilometre sector, height 2000 metres, local populations take heed, blah blah.’ And she was leaving tomorrow!”
“I know, I know,” Jonna burst out. “It’s my fault. I was supposed to get new batteries for the radio and I forgot.”
A little tug toiled slowly out to sea towing a gigantic target. White pillars of water rose where shells landed.
“They’re not very good shots,” Mari observed. “Look, that last one almost hit the boat. They need a longer towline.”
The target eventually disappeared out to sea behind the point, and now the shells sailed right over the island. They could hear them whistling overhead and ducked each time. It was hard not to.
“Childish,” Mari said. “I think they’re actually having fun.”
“Not at all. You don’t understand. They have to learn to shoot. That’s more important than all the fishermen in the world and all the summer people in their little rowboats. It’s serious stuff. To put it simply, the military is there to defend us and we ought to do all we can to help and understand. They usually bring in eight hundred men for these manoeuvres. That tells you something.”
“Ha,” Mari said. “What it tells me is that right now nine hundred eiders are sitting on their eggs!”
And suddenly, with the obviousness of the unexpected, a pillar of water rose just at the edge of their beach, very tall and white. A shell struck the granite and a rain of shrapnel flew across the vegetable garden. They went into the cottage.
“Now listen to me,” Jonna said. “We have to take this the right way. Those boys are very young and they aren’t very good shots. The target moves behind the island. Okay, so they shoot over the island, but judging distance is very difficult in the beginning. We have to understand that.” She put out the coffee cups and moved Helga’s scrapbook to one side.
“Give it to me!” Helga shouted. And Mari said, “You can save it in the cellar, and maybe you’d better go down there yourself. Things up here will probably just get worse and worse.”
“You’re not a bit like your mother!” Helga exclaimed.
“No. I’m not. You ought to know that, since you knew her inside out!”
“Now that’s enough,” Jonna said. “Put the scrapbook under the mattress and settle down.”
The artillery continued until evening, then went quiet. Mari went out with a can of paint and painted white rings around each shell hole. “Something to show people,” she explained. “It’ll make an impression.”
“On whom?”
“Maybe little boys from Viken…”
“Mari, you haven’t been especially nice today.”
“No. I know.”
“Can’t you just let it go?”
“She doesn’t own her.”
“Well,” said Jonna, “the worst part, actually, is that those pictures from her student days don’t do your mother justice. To put it mildly.”
And so the week went on as best it might. At night, the coastal forces trained with searchlights, sweeping the sea. The cold, clinical light rotated regularly through the cabin windows, and no curtains could shut it out. Helga wept.
“Mari, you’ll have to move into the cottage,” Jonna said. “It’ll make her feel better.”
“Can’t you?”
“No. I’ll stay in the tent with the cat. This is something you’re going to have to deal with yourself, for once.”
Mari dragged her mattress up to the cottage and turned toward the wall to sleep.
It was the last night of artillery manoeuvres, and there was a thunderstorm with hard rain and wind. Helga leaped out of bed and shook Mari awake. “Now they’re shooting right at us!” she shouted. “Should we go down to the cellar?”
“No, no, they’re not shooting, that’s thunder. It’s just God shooting at us.” Mari lit the lamp and saw that Helga was now seriously frightened. She had never seen a face so terrified. The thunderstorm was directly overhead, the lighting and thunderclaps came simultaneously and the military’s blue searchlights were obliterated by the red doomsday illumination of the storm. Fantastic, actually.
“They’re not shooting,” Mari repeated. “It’s just thunder. Go to bed.”
“Ball lightning!” Helga cried. “They come in and roll into you, they find you, they roll into you!”
Mari took Helga by the shoulders and shook her. “Quiet!” she said. “Be quiet! Go to bed. Look, I’m closing the damper. Now they can’t come in. Look here, put on these rubber boots. Then you’ll be safe. Absolutely.”
Helga pulled on the rubber boots.
“And now, now I want to explain to you that thunder is a very simple phenomenon… It’s all a question of…”
And suddenly Mari couldn’t remember exactly how her mother used to explain the thunder away and make it seem natural. She said, a little vaguely, “Something about updraughts…”
Lightning in all four windows, another divine wallop of thunder, and Helga threw herself into Mari’s arms and held on as hard as she could. “Yes, yes,” she said, “updraughts, right? And downdraughts… And what else? Explain it to me!”
“Electricity,” Mari whispered. “It’s just simple electricity, that’s all…”
The thunderstorm moved north, as always. When thunderstorms come to the islands, they always come from the south and move north; that’s common knowledge. Farther and farther away until they can barely be heard, and then it’s only the rain.
Mari’s arms were going numb from holding Helga. The lamp had starting smoking. “It’s over now,” she said. “Now you can go to bed, we’re out of danger. Listen to me, my friend, we’re out of danger now…” It was quite a while before Mari realized that Helga had fallen asleep.
The next morning, after raining all night, the sea was like glass and the island was washed and green. The cat came and cried for food.
They drove to the mainland with Helga and set two nets on the way.
Just before the bus left, Helga turned to Mari and said, “One thing you have to admit. You don’t know much about thunderstorms.”