In this state of suspense, trying to complete my parents’ affairs was all but impossible. The bank staff, the lawyers, the Seigniory Estates Commission either did not respond to my enquiries or they made excuses or they sent the wrong paperwork. Almost nothing was being done.
After a few more days I realized I was wasting my time until the Goornak ceased. I decided to travel back to Ia, where at least I could see my friends and find out the facts about my job. I would have to make the long return journey to Goorn when summer came. I began packing.
Seeing Alvasund Raudeberg again changed everything. She came to the house on the morning of the day before I was due to catch the ferry. I was not only surprised to see her, I was pleased and intrigued that she had sought me out. I had always rather fancied her when we were at school together. She entered the house in a flurry of fine blown snow.
‘I realized you must be back, Torm,’ she said. ‘I was sorry to hear the news about your parents.’
In the house I made her a hot chocolate and we sat side by side at the scrubbed-deal table in the kitchen, sipping at our drinks, our shoulders touching companionably for warmth. The eaves of the house groaned and sometimes shrieked as the hostile wind blustered through the town. The outer door was creaking and the house felt cold.
‘Tell me what you’ve been doing since school,’ I said to her. ‘Did you go away to college?’
The morning passed. We each had our stories to tell, catching up, but in a sense they were similar. Like so many others we had left Goorn to escape — we had both been forced to return. Neither of us had clear ideas about what we should do next.
Alvasund told me she had been living on Muriseay until recently, but she had lost her job and could not find another. She had returned to Goorn because her sister had just given birth to twins, and most of the family were there to celebrate. She seemed restless and anxious to leave. I mentioned I was about to head back to Ia, suddenly realizing how much I would like Alvasund to travel with me. I could not stop thinking about her, how much we had both grown up, that I had always liked her, the possibilities that were gathering. But after I had mentioned Ia a few more times, trying to make it sound interesting and attractive, I realized that it was not an option for her.
‘I’m heading up to the Tallek region in a day or two,’ she said. ‘Do you know it?’
‘I was there with my parents, when I was a kid. Just a couple of days.’
‘Do you remember much about it?’
‘A lot of mountains,’ I said, wishing I could elaborate more. ‘A constant smell of fish and smoke. I was cold all the time. Just like this, but I was there in the summer so I guess the Tallek is cold all year. Why do you want to go there?’
‘Various reasons.’
‘Such as?’
‘I’ve never seen the fjords.’
‘It must be more than that. It’s so hard to get there.’
‘It’s all a bit vague. There’s the possibility of a job, but I need to know more about it. And the other day I found out there’s a Yo tunnel in the Tallek somewhere.’
‘I didn’t know she came to Goorn,’ I said.
‘She wasn’t here long. They threw her off the island when they caught up with her, but apparently she was in the Tallek long enough to drill most of the way through one of the slopes. She never finished, which is why it’s interesting. Anyone can go in and explore.’
Alvasund suddenly changed the subject and talked about her course. She had studied stagecraft, gaining skills in computer-generated three dimensional sets, perspective building and subjective animatronic modelling. She said it was called active intelligence, because stages dressed in this way were capable of responding, not just to the actors’ lines but to the reactions of the audience. It was still a new technology, and many theatre managers were conservative about stage techniques.
Once she had gained her degree she discovered jobs were hard to find. She worked for a while for a TV company. They had sent her to a regional studio on Muriseay, but that job expired when the studio closed. She was unable to find work in any of the theatres on Muriseay.
Now she was planning to visit the north, before she went back to Muriseay.
‘Would you like company on the trip?’ I said suddenly, trying to make it sound spontaneous.
‘I thought you were returning to Ia.’
‘No urgency. I just don’t want to be in this house any longer.’
‘Can you drive a car?’ Alvasund said.
‘Yes.’
‘That would solve a problem for me. If we rented a car together, would you be willing to drive?’
‘Where would we stay, what would we do?’
She looked gravely at me — a sudden reminder of her intriguing seriousness in class at school. ‘We’ll work something out, Torm.’
Then she laughed, so I did too. There was now a prospect of intimacy, alone with her for some days. She told me there was a house she could stay in, something to do with the job offer. She wasn’t clear about that. ‘No one else there now,’ she added, and laughed again.
She left soon after that, but she came back the next day and we discussed practicalities. I cancelled my ferry ticket, obtained a refund. She had located a car rental firm that was not expensive. We looked at maps of the fjords, picked out the places we might pass through.
The town we were going to was called Ørsknes, close to where Yo had been drilling. The absence of markings on the map of the surrounding terrain gave a chill impression of bleakness, windswept peaks. We packed warm clothes, bought food and drinks, and agreed to set out the following morning. I offered to walk with her back to her sister’s house, but she said no.
North of Goorn Town there is almost nothing of scenic interest, and the road is straight. The car was buffeted by gusts of wind. We drove all day, stopping for a rest and a brief lunch, neither of us sure how long the whole journey might take. We did not want to be driving through the mountains after dark. We could see them ahead of us, a dark range capped by many snowy peaks. Although the car was a recent model the heater did not work well and the further north we drove the colder we felt. Alvasund wrapped her legs under a travel blanket, and I halted the car long enough to pull on my wind-cheater.
It was late afternoon when we climbed towards the first pass, finding the road ice-covered and treacherous in places. A heavy snowstorm started, whiting out visibility. It did not last long, but it was concerning. Old snow was already piled on both sides, and the fresh fall was settling on the paved surface. When about half an hour later we saw a small hotel set back from the road, we immediately turned in to stay the night.
We drove down from the high pass into Ørsknes. It was close to midday. The sun was low in the sky but brilliant, the sea was deep blue but troubled with many flecks of white, the mountains hung above us, snow-covered, perilously steep, rocky. There were signs of rockfall near the bases of some of the mountains, close to where the road ran alongside the fjord. Using a small, hand-drawn map, Alvasund directed me to the house we would be staying in. We climbed out of the car, assailed by the freezing wind. Small white clouds raced overhead. The streets looked deserted. The curse wind was felt here too.
The house was built so that it backed on to the first elevation of a slope, which rose steeply from a tiny yard at the rear. Alvasund walked quickly to the main door of the house, produced a key and we were in. We carted our bags into the house, our breath blowing white around us, even in the interior.