S2E12 Beyond The North Wind Chapter 12

Emil is planning the anniversary dinner surprise in the ice cathedral.

Please leave a review at podchaser.com or wherever you get your podcasts.

https://www.podchaser.com/podcasts/the-joy-of-writing-1148760

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:39

Beyond the North Wind Chapter twelve Anna was cooking dinner while I turned the image of the Ice Cathedral over in my mind. I hummed a tune as I paced around the farmhouse. You're happy, she said. Of course, I'm with you. The school dance holding her close, that long guitar solo winding around us. We kissed. You're up to something, she said. I was ready for questions, so I went over to the wall and adjusted an old photograph which I had won a prize. A cart drawn by a donkey, three people, the native driver, myself and Augustine, tourists in Algeria. I had my arms around Augustine and the driver, and the purple of my long sleeve shirt was so intense it focused the picture perfectly. You're right, I am working on something. Two remarkably interesting buildings. I must show you some time. I look forward to it, she said. There was a knock at the door. Yvonne, a teacher colleague of Anna's, was outside crying. Anna took her away to sit in the living room where she tried to calm and comfort her. I was supposed not to hear their conversation, but I did. You still hold hands, exclaimed Yvonne, who immediately quietened down, so I had to step nearer the door to listen. It's true we still hold hands. We won the lottery with our very first ticket. We even hold hands in bed, Anna laughed. You never fight This statement came later after a great deal of sobbing. I moved away. Of course we do not fight. We have seen enough fighting. Dad throwing the dog across the room when I was young was a moment never to be forgotten. You let one another speak and never do the other down. The door had swung open a little now, Navona's in full flow. You always talk nicely to each other. I potted about the kitchen, turning over the mottled piece of ironwork I had found on the ice. Perhaps an arrowhead from the Vikings or maybe something much more mundane, something to do with farming and only fifty years old. The ice was teasing us, showing its mysteries and memories at random. I took a walk outside to ponder the proposed setup in the cavern. Essentially it would be an anniversary dinner set at a restaurant table. The trouble would be to bring a table all the way out there. I thought of asking Siegfried or Petter to help, but then I thought again there was no need to bring a table out there at all. I would build a table from whatever stones and rocks I could find. As for chairs, who needed them anyway? I would borrow a couple of hassocks from the church at the edge of the fjord. We would kneel and face each other across the roughly hewn altar. The act of worship seemed appropriate for the occasion. I would also bring our best white tablecloth. There were no high days coming up, so Anna would not miss it. Hassocks, tablecloth, and what about the centrepiece? The sun in the eagle's claws. A suitable candelara would have to be sourced. What would we eat and drink? We were known in the area for our brunost, a brown cheese made from goat smoke and with a taste of caramel and fudge. It was excellent with bread and ham or roasted goat kid, yet these were stables we had on a daily or weekly basis. One of the greatest tastes Anna and I enjoyed in our early days was Fois with a dessert wine from Mom Basalac. I would need to go into Tromps to find such delicacies. There would have to be an anniversary present as well. I had taken much more notice of what she wore today, small silver stud earrings and a silver bracelet. She caught me noticing these items and had smiled. We have been together a long time. Anne was still talking with Ivon, I picked up a small rucksack and torch and walked down to the fjord with my hassleblad, watching the shadows and the water in the gathering gloom. The church was cold inside, and the medieval trappings made it a much more foreboding place, where the ideas of demons and ghosts became stronger. I walked down the nave, eager not to bump into the ends of the pews or touch any part of the place. Light from my torch flitted across the altar set back in its recess. Five candles stood in the candelabra on the white cloth. There was the sound of creatures rustling in the dark. My boot kicked the altar rail and made me stop short. Behind the altar a man and a woman looked down, and then the middle Christ hung on the cross. Each pew had hassocks neatly laid out on the wooden benches. These were personal hassocks often made and sewn by families for one another. I didn't want to steal, I wanted to borrow. Behind the altar was a frieze framed in golden scroll work, and behind that the door to the vestry. I pushed the cold metal of the door and then tugged, but it did not move. Of course the vestry was locked, and for good reason there was a risk of the ornaments being stolen, as I was about to prove. I saw what was needed, in a box by the altar, several old hassocks, faded and fraying, waiting for repair. I placed two of the best looking into the rucksack. If Fritchoff was to see me now he would think me a common thief. But Fritchoff was a blabbermouth. He couldn't be trusted with a secret of surprise anniversary dinner. Anna would only have to look at him once to realise that something was up. I lifted the flap of another box. Rows of white candles lay neatly packed. There was the wonderful smell of lanolin and the dust from the altar. Now things were worse. Borrowing had become stealing as I placed two candles in my rucksack. Fritchov might have a point about Anna's husband, a man who never darkened the church doors who came and went to suit himself. I packed the box of candles up, returning each flap to its original position. The door of the church opened behind me. In a flash I had the hassleblad up to my eye as if composing a shot of the altar. Tuva, Steiner's wife, called out a greeting. She was delivering flowers to the church. Sorry, she said, are you taking a photograph? Thinking about it, but I've never been one for a religious iconography. I like our church and the flowers, of course, but I can never look at him. I pointed to the image of Christ on the cross. It is too awful. How can people worship the image of dying man on a wooden cross with nails through his hands and feet? Tuva put bunches of flowers in vases either side of the chancel. I agree, in some churches it's even worse. I helped her with flowers for other vases. The biggest shock I have ever had was when I was walking in Italy, climbing the Via Ferrata and the Dolomites. I was walking down a narrow street in Trentino, passing doorways into shops selling trinkets and brickabrack to the tourists when I came across a display of crucifixes. Some were taller than you, much bigger than life size. I had to walk past them, and the largest one I can see it now, a huge crown of thorns on his head. Well it was horrible. I tried to walk by, but the figure's eyelids rolled back and I could see his painted eyes. I leapt out of my skin and fell over pictures and paintings in the passageway. I had to pretend to an angry shopkeeper that had been stung by a wasp. Tuva laughed and looked up at the cross. You'd think he really was alive. I helped Tuva a while longer with the flowers before taking my leave and picking up my rucksack and stolen goods. People do strange things where they're in love, that is for sure. Rubbing a church was a low point. I stubbed my shoe on the end of a pew as I left. Tuva smiled and wished me well. After dinner Anna and I sat on the sofa and watched the latest hit TV show. The Herd of Gruton Ferry was making the journey from Bergen, in the south of Norway to Kirkens in the north, close to the border with Russia. The voyage would take an estimated one hundred thirty four hours, and it would be televised in real time. I was mesmerized by the prow of the boat gliding through the never ending sea. As the ship left Bergen a flotilla of small boats buzzed around it like Daphnia in a pond. Anna fell asleep. I watched until the early hours and listened to Gunnar snoring in his basket in the kitchen. Slow TV was a hit in our household, but only with me. In the morning I was up early before Anna even stirred. I walked down the track with my rucksack on my back and caught the bus from Buefjord to Tromps. The Montbaziac was easily obtained. I had to look far harder to find the animal friendly fois Anna would assist on, but eventually found a can in the food hall of a department store. They also had a candelabra and a tablecloth, shorter than the one at home and easier to pack. The candelabra was perfect, with a short thick stem, even thicker base, and two side chutes for candles. At a jeweller, once recommended to me by a magazine editor, I found the perfect present for Anna. Back at the farm I considered a suitable hiding place for the items I had bought. Anna was not averse to unpacking my rucksack, so I needed to be careful. There were several outbuildings. The goat shed seemed appealing, although Anna spent a lot of time in there. Perhaps the cool shed would be better where she made the cheese. I walked around the farm and considered the newly built sheep can, but that was rather macabre. Fancy finding a candelabra and amongst the funeral stones. In the end I brought in enough logs from under the lean to to leave a space at the back for a box with all the goodies hidden within it. I kept Anna's special present hidden in an old camera case. Such was my paranoia. At the end of that momentous day, as she lay asleep next to me, I turned the image of our place of worship over in my mind again and considered its impact on the viewer. We would discover as if by accident the route to the cabin. Then I would lead Anna into that hall of ice, where the sight of the glowing candelabra grasped in the eagle's feet would do the rest.