When the Dark Dresses Lightly
This is inspired by one of my favourite authors on this site. The title is borrowed from a song on Aurora's 2024 album 'What Happened to the Heart?' Give it a listen if you want a soundtrack to the story.
„And the dark dresses lightly
Razor sharp as it cuts right through my soul
Here's to us now, my dear
It took too long.
Guess I shouldn't have kept the knife in my heart for so long
Guess I shouldn't have held back when I needed you to know."
---
It was beginning to really feel like winter. Freezing wind. Snowdrift. Perpetually overcast skies. Endless dark.
The dark was the hardest part about living here. Soon, the sun wouldn't even peek up over the horizon for two months.
I zipped my heavy coat all the way up, pulled my woolly hat down over my ears and stepped out into the cold. I locked up my shop and started my walk up the hill towards the warmth of my small house.
That house was the best part about living here. One of the older houses in this small fishing town well north of the Arctic Circle, it felt just about large enough for a family of four. Still, I had been told that at one time, long before, a family of thirteen had lived there. I thought that sounded incredible, but I knew it was usual in this area in centuries past. Different times, I guess. Now it was home to just a girl and her cat.
Used to be home to a couple and a cat.
I turned my head away from the wind as I trudged uphill through the snow. Braced myself for the fierce gust where the road turned left at the Johansen's' place on the corner and then fought against the icy wind to cover the last 100 meters or so to my front door.
An hour later I sat at the kitchen table with Ulf munching on a stolen piece of ham from my plate of leftover pasta. As usual he then looked at me accusingly, like I had stolen his dinner and only left him scraps. I scratched his head.
"No more for you, fluffy pants, you're large enough as it is."
He swished his furry tail at me, signalling his royal displeasure, and flopped down on the table licking his paw. His loud purr filled the small kitchen, and I scratched him between his tufted ears as I reached for my wine glass.
The candle in the window flickered, as I sat there watching the lights down by the harbour. Houses full of people going about their lives, in this dark strange place I had come to call home.
---
November looked less gloomy at 9 in the morning, with sunrise approaching, but then it would be sunset again in just two and a half hours. At least the weather had cleared up. It was still cold, but no wind. Nice, by Arctic winter standards.
I crawled out of bed and into the bathroom. A pee and a quick shower later, Ulf was still spread out over his side of the bed.
"Get up you lazy bum, time for breakfast."
I turned on the coffeemaker and ripped open a bag of cat food. A brown and white bolt of lightning appeared at my feet. Incredible how fast that huge ball of fur could move when there was food to be had.
I listened to him eat, purring through the nom-nom's like an oversized kitten, standing at the kitchen counter with a towel on my hair.
Walking back to the bedroom with my coffee to find some clothes, I picked up my grey cable knit sweater and yesterday's panties from the floor. Living alone wasn't a great incentive to keep things neat.
Throwing on some jeans and a white cotton camisole under the sweater, I found my keys and coat and waved Ulf goodbye.
There was a quiet beauty to the morning. Dark and cold, but completely still. I took a detour on my way to the shop to visit Aksel. The lights illuminating the small white church cast my shadow over the path between the headstones. There were steps in the snow, I wasn't the first one here this morning.
That wasn't unusual. My shop opened at ten in the morning, and by then the harbour was a buzz of activity and most of the town was up and about.
With the 'Åpen' sign in the shop door window I settled down behind the counter with my second cup of coffee and a book. During winter I had a slow but steady stream of customers, barely enough to keep the shop open until the tourists started to show up in the spring. Enough to keep open, but not much more. It was usually quiet until after lunch. I had thought about just opening at one o'clock in the winter, but somehow it didn't feel right.
So, I read a lot, mostly crime novels these days. At least it was good for improving my Norwegian vocabulary.
I sipped my coffee. The small bell on the door dinged. I looked up.
A young, happy looking couple I had never seen before said good morning and browsed around. There were always some tourists in winter, but not many.
They wandered around the shop, checking prices, touching things and quietly chatting, as you do in shops like mine, that are filled with everything from design kitchen utensils to glassware to art pieces. They finally picked up some ceramic dinner plates and came to the counter. I smiled and rang up the purchase.
"Well chosen, I love this design."
"These are really nice," she said, smiling at me with happy, deep blue eyes, "exactly what I need." She brushed a few strands of wavy auburn hair behind her ear. The man waited silently at the door, checking his phone, like men do when they've lost interest and are just waiting for their girlfriend to be done shopping.
"They come from a ceramic design workshop in Bergen," I said, "they have a whole range in this line, and you can order online as well when you get back home."
She looked at me curiously.
"Could you order for me? I mean, to here?"
"Well, yes... but that would take around a week... are you staying here for that long?"
She smiled one of those full, healthy, outdoorsy Norwegian smiles. A really nice smile.
"No, no, I'm from here, I just moved back."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean..."
"No, don't worry about it, you couldn't know."
"Well," I said, recovering quickly, "in that case I must give you a coming home discount."
Her smile beamed again. "Oh, thank you, you really don't have to."
"Well, it's mostly to make sure you come again, now I know you're going to be living here." I winked at her conspiratorially. She had the good grace to laugh at my silly joke.
"Thank you," she beamed at me, "I'm Kristin." She reached out her hand. I shook it smiling.
"Abi".
"Nice to meet you Abi." She turned to her boyfriend, still glued to his phone but had the sense to open the door for her.
"Vi sest!" she called over her shoulder as she stepped out into the streetlight.
As the ding from the bell went quiet, I found my place in my book again. A small smile lingered on my lips.
---
When I moved here six years ago, I didn't really understand about the darkness. How daylight just disappears for weeks, leaving people to go about their lives in what to me felt like perpetual night. For Aksel, being born and raised here, it was just a natural part of life, and it helped me to fall into his easy rhythm.
Without him, I struggled.
I had mostly stopped painting in the winter, the lack of light somehow draining my inspiration. When I did pick up a brush, it was mostly gloomy blue-dark twilight expressions of the town or the mountains that took shape on the easel.
It felt sad, because it was the endless, bright summer nights that had made me fall in love with this place.
My mum, over 2000 kilometres away in Manchester, told me it was grief, and that I needed to come home.
I stubbornly told her I was home.
She had never quite understood why we chose a tiny village on the edge of the world as our home, rather than the big city where I grew up. And she certainly did not understand why I didn't promptly pack my bags and return when, in her view, my only reason for leaving wasn't there anymore.
Sometimes, alone in the dark, with an oversized cat snoring in my otherwise empty bed, I couldn't help but wonder myself.
---
The walk home was an easy one this time, the winter stillness freezing my breath with every step as I scaled my hill.
The snow showed Ulf's tracks leading to and from the large cat flap in the front door and around the garden. Weirdly he didn't seem to mind the snow, coming and going as he pleased, bringing home mice for my appreciation occasionally. Where he found them in the middle of winter was a mystery. The cold didn't bother him at all, huge, furry fluffball that he was. This whole town and all its wonders were his royal domain. And like a good king, he walked it every day, perusing open windows to steal food, cuddle up in comfy chairs and generally be adored by his loyal subjects. I knew that he regularly visited at least three different families. But he was always back when I got home, keeping me company, never leaving me alone in an empty house.
It was like he knew.
A great rolling purr greeted me as I walked in and kicked off my winter boots.
