Arctic Night

The first time Bríd saw the traffic sign with a polar bear on it, she giggled. She was finally here! For the longest time she had dreamed of the far north, getting to move to Svalbard or at least spend a significant amount of time there. During the past five years, the dream had gained friction, and finally, after getting a hefty front payment on her upcoming book, she had made good on her long time dream. She would spend a whole year up here, in a cabin she had rented, situated firmly in the middle of nowhere.

She sighed and stopped the car to take a photo of the sign. It felt a little silly, but then there was absolutely no traffic, so why not. She eyed the desolate dirt road lovingly. She was going to love it here! She was absolutely certain of it.

She got back to the jeep and continued her bumpy journey. The road zig-zagged along the coast, steep majestic peaks to her left, ocean to her right. The few possessions she had brought along clattered at the back and she whistled cheerfully.

She stood in the yard, wondering if she'd found the right cabin. Her key fit the lock, so supposedly she had. Wilderness surrounding her seemed undisturbed, and once she'd shut the engine down she couldn't hear anything but the wind. She turned towards it, let the cold, crisp, salty air tousle her hair, and breathed deeply.

This was home.

Inside, her cabin was small and cozy, just like it had been in the pictures. She unloaded the jeep and put her clothes in the drawer, arranged her laptop and notes to the desk, and checked out the lockable closet. It had been explained to her that since her cabin was usually public domain, it was customary to keep the doors unlocked, so that if someone seeked shelter from either polar bears or the cold they'd be able to get in, but that she was welcome to keep her valuables locked away. It had felt a little weird to her, but she had consented, after all she did have her gun so she'd be able to fend off any unwelcome visitors. The gun was to be kept with her at all times while moving outside. If she would encounter polar bears the first shot was to be shot to scare them, but if that failed she was informed to shoot to kill next. One wasn't to take chances with them.

She went through the rest of the safety instructions in her head, in a manner of well-learned children's riddle, as she eyed her new lodgings: keep ice spikes with you at all times, keep your feet warm, don't get lost, don't drive motorized vehicles anywhere but on marked roads, if electricity goes out make sure to keep the fire burning in the fireplace.

Bríd busied herself with carrying firewood inside and making a fire. It felt good to do something so physical, so basic: she couldn't remember the last time she'd lit a fire. Her urban life in the states didn't include such activities, and she wasn't much of a camper.

She grinned victoriously once the flames licked the logs and smoke disappeared neatly up the chimney. If only April could see her now! April had always laughed at her arctic dreams and claimed she wouldn't last a month, that after a week or two without takeaway coffee she'd be scheduling for an early return.

Thoughts of April made her frown. They'd had a tumultuous relationship, and even though it was over a year since they'd broken up, Bríd often found herself thinking of her. April had been her first woman; after years of dating men, constantly seeking for something she felt was missing, she'd stumbled into April in a mutual friend's party, and it had been love at first sight. With her, Bríd had felt fulfillment like never before, and realized that even when she'd always loved cocks, she loved pussy even more.

Their relationship had been unstable, dramatic and highly impossible. Bríd still didn't know whether it was because of April, because of them together, or if it simply was that way to be with a woman. Eventually their lows had gotten too low to bear, and they'd called it quits, as explosively as anything else in their relationship. Bríd hadn't heard a word of her since.

April had described herself as "raging dyke" and had always pressured Bríd into identifying as lesbian, claiming bisexuality was just inability to choose. Even when Bríd hadn't agreed with her black-and-white views, she had found herself unable to get interested in men after their breakup. She also hadn't dared approach any woman, and part of her admitted she had acted on her old dream of spending time in the far north just to get away from all that. If she was all alone, there was no need to define her sexuality, was there? Nor to angst over sharing her life with anyone else.

Bríd sighed and looked lovingly around the wood-paneled walls of her new home. She wasn't accountable for anyone, she was allowed to spend her time here as she saw fit. Her only obligation was to write her book, after all it was her publishing house that had negotiated for her to spend time on this remote island usually occupied by only scientists, miners and a small number of Norwegian civilians.

Writing wouldn't be a problem. She could practically hear her brain humming, gearing up. After feeding another log into the happily crackling fire, she decided to get started right away.

Words flowed easily, almost faster than she could write them down. She had in mind to write something profound about the human condition, the perpetual loneliness, the sweet agony of consciousness and the inability to ever share it with another. She could feel the story taking shape as she wrote, like a winding road that was visible for one turn at the time, but always took her forward. It was so alluring she didn't want to stop for anything, and ended up having cold tuna straight from the can for dinner, eyeing through her script while she wolfed it down. Yes, this place would be perfect for this book. This was going to be her biggest yet, and nothing would prevent her from writing it.

--#--#--#--#--

Days got shorter fast, and then the sun stopped rising altogether. Bríd had known arctic night lasted for months in Svalbard, but she hadn't been able to imagine the reality of it. She slept like a log every night, but keeping any kind of schedule soon became a drag. Nothing changed except the time on the clock. If it wasn't for her cell phone telling her what date it was, she wouldn't have known.

Supply runs to the tiny store in the nearest village became a lifeline of sorts. The shopkeeper nary said a word, and at first Bríd thought it was because he didn't want to speak English. She tried her few phrases of Norwegian and Russian, but to the same result. Once she happened to be at the store at the same time with another customer, and by how the shopkeeper exchanged only nods and grunts with them, Bríd deduced his silence wasn't because of her, after all. The next time she just nodded when she stepped into the store, and was rewarded with the smallest of smiles.

Bríd called her sister once a week, and soon that became the only time she spoke aloud at all. She kept irregular virtual contact with a few other persons, but mostly she was alone, totally and blissfully alone. She'd been a loner all her life, and for once her inside seemed to synchronize with her outside so that her life felt complete. She didn't think of April anymore, she didn't think of anyone but herself. She wrote, she read e-books, she spent time on cooking and what other few domestic chores there were, and she loved every minute of it.

Bríd tried to establish a daily routine to keep some kind of sense of time of day, and started to take long walks on the ice, following the shoreline. She needed the exercise, the distraction from writing, and despite the constant wind and darkness she couldn't get enough of the rugged beauty of the nature surrounding her, engulfing her. She loved how snow felt and sounded under her boots, the clean and somehow gray scent of the relentless wind. She could never in her life get bored of watching the northern lights, when they occasionally filled the sky from horizon to horizon, wild and eerie in their cold glow.

--#--#--#--#--

Bríd bowed her head to shelter her face. Wind was picking up, and while snowfall wasn't thick, the few flakes hit with a vengeance as she walked towards the wind. She fumbled to fasten her hood tighter. It was better to go against the wind first, so that the walk back would be easier. She'd learned it the hard way.

There was a voice, like a shout? Bríd jerked her head up, squinting her eyes against the horizontally flying snow. Did it come from the shore or behind her? She stumbled, losing her balance in one terrifying, disorienting second as the ice suddenly disappeared from under her feet. She plunged down and into the coldest, most shocking slush and underneath it, water, she'd ever been in. She gasped, grasping around in blind panic, her arms whipping the slush into the water, her legs clumsy in her thick pants and heavy snow boots. She found the edge of the ice and screamed, screamed, screamed into the wind, scared out of her mind, still trying to understand what had happened to her. Her heart was thumping like crazy, and the water was so cold, so frightfully cold, it cut like knives.

"Hei, hei!" shouted a dark figure, running towards her through the whirling snow. "Ota iisisti!"

Bríd screamed and fumbled wildly in their direction. Salvation! She reached for them, lost her grip and slipped lower into the icy water, and screamed again.

"Hei, lopeta," the figure said. They kneeled a little further from the edge of the hole, and Bríd reached for them, desperately, and slipped again, gripping the ice for dear life.

"Um... hey, fuck you!" said the Savior sharply. Bríd was so surprised she stopped screaming. Her gaze seeked the face of the person, unsure of what she'd heard.

"That's better," they said, and now that Bríd wasn't screaming she could hear it was a woman. She had a heavy accent, but then so did everyone around here. "I get you out. Don't pull me in, okay?"

The Savior rose to her feet again and rolled her shoulders as if to prepare herself. Before Bríd could react she stepped closer, reached for her padded parka jacket and, with a brisk and surprisingly powerful movement, yanked her up and away from the hole in the ice. Another yank, and Bríd lay on the ice, gasping for breath, feeling the wind hit her wet clothes with astonishing force.

"Up, up," the Savior said and gestured with her hands.

Bríd blinked at her, and the Savior extended her arms impatiently, helping her up, not very gently. She started guiding Bríd towards the shore, shoving her if she slowed down. Bríd was a little taken aback by her hard-handedness. She was grateful to be saved, sure, but couldn't they be a bit friendlier?

Bríd stumbled, and she realized her feet were so frozen she was losing feeling. It resumed further up her shins, but there it was miserable: her muscles felt like ice blocks, painful and not responsive. The wet, cold clothes were heavy, rigid and easily the most unpleasant thing she'd ever felt. She tried to slow down, she wanted to tell the stranger she was too cold, that she couldn't walk, but they shoved her again and she stumbled forward another few steps. She was beginning to tremble violently, her movement hindered by how her trousers were freezing stiff in the relentless wind. The stranger took her by the arm and half pushed, half pulled her forward.

"Gå, gå, come on, kävele," she said.

Bríd was too cold to object. Her teeth were chattering, and she stumbled forward, not really seeing where she was going, snow in her eyes, her feet and legs getting more and more useless. If it wasn't for the stranger's insistent shoving, she would've stopped and fallen face down in the snow. It was too difficult, required simply too much effort, and where was she taking her anyway? There was no shelter, the wind was too cold, she would die here - she stopped, swaying, as a small building suddenly materialized in front of her. Snow had piled against its side so that only a portion of gray-planked wall was showing.

The stranger opened the door and ushered Bríd inside, leaving the endless wind howling outside. Air inside the cabin was noticeably warm compared to outside, but Bríd was so cold now she felt she could never get warm again. Without stopping to explain, the woman threw a few more logs in the fireplace, then strode across the floor to the bed and pulled the covers open. She looked at it evaluatively, then hopped on it to pull down the massive bluish-gray pelt hung on the wall and put it on top of the blankets. She walked back to Bríd, and without uttering a word started to undress her. Bríd looked at her, confused, teeth chattering, as she impatiently pulled on her zippers and clips, forcing the half-frozen garments to obey.

Bríd wanted to object when the mystery woman got to her underwear, but her mouth wouldn't co-operate. She made a hoarse sound, but the woman didn't react, she just undressed her completely, dried her briskly with a towel and then ushered her towards the bed.

"In, in," she said, pushed Bríd to the bed and pulled the covers on her, including the pelt. She then looked around, went to a cupboard in the corner, got out a few more woolen blankets and piled them on Bríd. To top it off she pulled a woolen beanie on Bríd's head, almost down to her eyes.

The woman dashed around the room, putting a kettle on, stoking the fire again, spreading Bríd's clothes to dry on the furniture near the fire. When all was to her liking, she nodded to herself.

She started to undress. Bríd watched, in the flickering light of the fire, how she tossed aside her jacket to the same pile by the door that already had her hat and mittens. Her insulated pants went the same way. Underneath, she had a woolen sweater, and she grabbed the hem and pulled it over her head in fluid movement. Bríd saw she had some kind of a thermal shirt under it, but no underwear. She was tall, slim and strong, slender muscles moving under her skin, her breasts the softest spot on her torso. She pushed down her thermal long johns, along with her socks, then reconsidered and bent down to pick up her woolen socks to put them back on.

Bríd tried not to stare; the woman was facing away, and when she bent over, her buttocks framed her vulva perfectly in the warm light that made the small hair on her body seem golden. The sensuel image was shattered by her hopping on one foot, cursing softly, trying to get the sock on. Her hair was short and dark brown, cut to a short bob just covering her ears, and the triangle of hair between her legs matched the hue exactly. Her armpits were unshaven.

She came to the bed, and without asking she climbed over Bríd, to the wall-side, and slithered under the blankets. Her body felt hot. Bríd had thought she was warm under the blankets, but the woman's proximity showed her this was not the case; feeling hot skin against her icy one put things in perspective. The woman slid one arm under Bríd's head, the other around her waist, and pressed her whole front against Bríd's back, spooning her tightly. Bríd could feel her breath on the side of her neck as she settled.

"I... I..." Bríd tried to say, but her mouth was still not co-operating. Whether it was because of cold or astonishment, she couldn't say.

"You vill be varm soon," the woman said, quietly for being so close to her ear. "I should have marked the avanto better."

"The... what?"

"Avanto. The hole in the ice. It is mine. For fishing."

She acted like it was perfectly normal to have a conversation while lying naked in bed with a stranger. Bríd's fright was finally subsiding, as her body slowly warmed up, shivering, her feet and fingers slowly pin-prickling back to life. The adrenaline rush retreated, leaving her tired and oddly content. She felt lassitude spreading in her body at the same pace the warmth seeped in.

"Is this your place?" Bríd asked.

"Yes."

The woman seemed to consider this answer enough.

"I have a cabin along the coast," Bríd muttered.

"I know," the woman said. "You are the American. The vriter."

Oh, yes. Of course everybody would know her, never mind she knew no one.

"I am," Bríd said sullenly. "My name is Bríd."

"Katja," said the woman.

"Thank you for saving my life."

Katja snorted with indignation. "I should have marked the avanto better," she repeated.

Bríd wanted to continue, to insist, to say that if Katja hadn't seen her fall in she'd never gotten out on her own, but Katja's answer didn't give her an in for that. Katja seemed perfectly content to just lie there and hold her, and it felt so good it was difficult to think.

Just as Bríd was drifting off to sleep, Katja shifted. She moved away, getting up. She wrapped the covers tightly around Bríd, but without the warmth of her body, Bríd felt miserably cold again. She shivered, watching as Katja walked across the floor, still butt naked.

Water was boiling on the stove. Katja poured it into a hot water bottle, added a little cold water, then closed it. She came to the bed and slid the bottle near Bríd's feet. The warmth was amazing, almost shocking. Bríd nudged it with her feet and watched as Katja walked across the floor again, as unabashed about her nudity as she'd been the whole time. She had the wooly socks on, slumping around her ankles in wrinkled gray rolls, but otherwise it was just her, slim long limbs and softly curving hips and breasts.

Katja made tea, humming quietly to herself. Bríd was mesmerized by her streamlined beauty, her effortless movements, how she seemed to reach her hand and everything she wanted was right there. She mixed the tea with a fat dollop of honey and something from a rectangular, brown bottle, and stood by the table, stirring the drink until she considered it ready.

Bríd watched how firelight danced on Katja's pale, smooth skin, creating warm shadows and accentuating her curves. She felt unreal and disoriented, and wondered briefly if all this was just her dying brain trying to comfort herself as she lay on the icy, snowy plains outside, or floated in the deathly cold water. Katja was easily among the top five most beautiful women she had ever seen. Her natural way was alluring, lifting her all the closer to the top of the list. Bríd wasn't sure she'd ever met anyone who seemed less interested in their appearance. She definitely hadn't met anyone who acted like they didn't even notice they were naked.

Katja smiled as she came to the bed, and Bríd realized she'd been staring. Katja didn't comment on it, she just ushered Bríd to sit up, and helped her drink the tea. It was hot, sweet and good, clearly spiked with booze, and Bríd felt immensely better after drinking it.

Katja took the mug away, then came back to bed. This time she gestured for Bríd to spoon her. Bríd was shy to do that, but Katja pulled her briskly closer.

"Closer, closer," she said and wriggled her butt tighter against Bríd. "You need to be varm."

"Yes, okay, it's just... well..." Bríd mumbled, embarrassed. "...that... we're, well, naked."

"Naked?" Katja asked, as if not understanding. She paused for a moment, and then it seemed to dawn on her. "Aah, I see! Naked! You Americans, you weird with being naked, right? Shy?"

Bríd thought shy wasn't quite the word for not feeling comfortable cuddling skin on skin with someone you met an hour ago, but she didn't know how to formulate it, so she settled for "Yes."

"Okay," Katja said. "So... number two lesson today: you fall in avanto, you get varm first, you get shy later."

Bríd chortled. Admittedly it made sense.

"Number two lesson? What is the number one lesson?"

"Do not fall in avanto."

This time Bríd actually laughed. "Okay, I guess I had that coming," she said and pressed closer to Katja's back. They lay quietly, their breathing synchronizing and slowing down, and Bríd felt so worn out after the shock she couldn't fight it anymore. She fell asleep.