Arctic Night

Katja reached over the table and touched her hand. "You okay?"

"Oh, yes, sorry. Got lost there for a minute."

"No matter. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year, Katja," she said and they toasted.

Katja seemed to feel something was up, because she kept up small talk, more than she usually did. Bríd was grateful for the distraction, and hoped she could express it in some way. Then again, she had a feeling Katja knew without saying. Like she understood.

When they were leaving, the man behind the counter raised his voice to say, "Katja, godt nytt år til deg og kjæresten din!". Katja grinned and waved her hand at him in a dismissive gesture, and they stepped outside, pulling their helmets on and zipping their jackets.

"What did he say?" Bríd asked.

"He's just being funny," Katja said. "Come on, we go."

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

Bríd could've sworn the shopkeeper was friendlier towards her after the New Year's celebration. It was difficult to say how, when he never said two words, but she could've sworn.

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

Katja had her birthday in January, and they celebrated by going to the sauna and having a few beers afterwards. Bríd thought about her book; it was usual for them to talk so little her mind started to wander, and recently her book had occupied almost every waking moment of her consciousness. It was originally meant to be a story of loneliness, of the desolate uniqueness of every human soul, and how we never seem able to really meet. Since getting to know Katja, she had noticed subtle but definite tone shift in her script, which now seemed much more hopeful. It seemed to morph into something that hinted that maybe it was possible to understand one another after all. Bríd considered the change, unsure if it was justified, and it took up a lot of her mental energy.

"Do you think we know each other?" Bríd asked, sipping her beer.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like, do you feel like you understand me?"

It was difficult to articulate what she meant. Suddenly it felt important to know if Katja felt it, too. This... companionship. She was almost certain of it, they spent a fair amount of time together and it was so easy, so effortless. Still, once she'd started asking, she felt insecure.

"What does it mean, understand somebody?" Katja asked. "Sure, I think I understand you. I think I understand myself. But how can you really know?"

Katja's hair had grown since they first met, and she had a habit of stretching a tuft of hair into her mouth and chewing on it. Whenever she noticed she was doing it, she always made an exasperated noise and tucked it behind her ear, and so she did now.

"I mean, can you really know anyone?" Katja asked.

It was Bríd's turn to grasp for an answer. "But, sure you can know people," she tried. "Like your friends, or family. Sure you can. I just thought, well, we don't talk so much."

Bríd wasn't sure what she was trying to say, and her comments felt stupid after she'd vocalized them.

"Well, I'm Finnish, we don't talk," Katja said.

"I know, but, like, shouldn't we know more about each other?"

"Like what? What do you want to know?"

I want to know if you like women, flashed through Bríd's mind. I want to know if you like me, I want you to, I would like to...

Bríd suppressed the thought. She had no idea how Katja was aligned sexually, and she was afraid to ask. She was intrigued by her, attached to her, and, if she was honest with herself, quite infatuated. She also valued their friendship way too much to jeopardize it by asking. She was too afraid of rejection.

Katja smiled when she didn't answer. "Like, we had these books, in school," she said. "Friend books. There were questions, like, what is your favorite food? Think we should do that?"

Bríd smiled. "Well mine's pizza."

"Mine's fish."

"Fish, how prepared?"

"Any way."

"That doesn't count!"

"Why?"

Bríd couldn't say, so she resorted to evasion. "Well, how about... favorite color?"

"Purple."

"So's mine!"

They high fived.

"How about... favorite animal?" Katja asked. "Mine's cat."

"Fox," Bríd said. Katja raised her eyebrows and she felt compelled to continue. "There's just something in them, they're so unbelievably beautiful. Red foxes. I would give anything to have one."

"Foxes are wild animals," Katja pointed out.

"Yes, but... I'd like to tame one."

"Like in the book," Katja said and smirked. "The Little Prince."

"Oh, shut up," Bríd said. "So... what's your favorite band?"

"It's a Finnish band, you don't know it," Katja said.

"Tell me anyway. Or wait, can you play me some of theirs? From YouTube?"

"Yeah, I think I can," Katja said and went to fetch her laptop.

The song was guitar rock, and Katja sang along. Halfway through she pulled Bríd up and waltzed around the floor with her, still singing.

"Valot pimeyksien reunoilla... ovat toisinaan himmeitä ja harvassa..."

Bríd joined in on the next "valot pimeyksien reunoilla", and induced a fit of giggles in Katja.

"Say it again," Katja urged when she stopped laughing.

"No I won't," Bríd said, offended. "You know I can't speak Finnish."

"I know, I know," Katja said. "That's why it funny. Say 'hääyöaie'."

"What! No way that is a word!"

Katja laughed again. "Okay okay, you play me your song now."

When they sat back down to select Bríd's favorite song from the computer, Katja looked quite pleased with herself, and then said, "You know, my English not so good when I speak, but is better than your Finnish."

Bríd chose the moral high route and made a face at Katja, sticking her tongue out and crossing her eyes.

It turned into a fun evening. They played each other their favorite songs, searched pictures of things they liked or had liked as kids, and even when it never progressed into the more important subjects, Bríd felt it drew them together.

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

In February, Katja invited Bríd over. They drank coffee, as was their habit. Katja kept checking the time, which Bríd found peculiar; she couldn't remember her ever doing that before. Here, way up north, time of day had very little meaning.

"Soon," Katja said and smiled. "Come outside."

Bríd was slightly suspicious, but followed her out. They packed all their outside gear on and zipped up. As usual, the temperature wasn't very much below freezing, but wind made it much more intolerable. Zipping her jacket almost to her nose and tightening the hood helped a bit.

Katja took her shotgun, flung it on her shoulder and gestured for Bríd to move. They walked on the ice, directly away from the shore, and Bríd kept up with some difficulty. She had learned to walk on snow, but Katja seemed to walk just the same whether on ice, snow or the floor of her cabin, and Bríd wasn't on that level of competence yet.

After hiking for some time Katja stopped and checked her phone. Then, she took Bríd by the shoulders and turned her around, carefully positioning her.

"What is it?" Bríd asked, too curious to wait anymore.

"Just wait," Katja said.

It was infuriating.

"Can't you just tell me?"

"Any minute now," was all the answer she got.

"Fine, don't tell me then, you fucking enigma," Bríd muttered and eyed the never-ending ice grumpily. Ice, snow, wind, thankfully no polar bears, darkness filled with stars, more ice--wait a minute.

She squinted her eyes, turning in place to watch the spot of horizon Katja had shown her, then the opposite. There was no doubt about it now, the assigned horizon was getting lighter, more by the minute.

"Is it... is it..."

She tried to remember back to all the research she'd done on Svalbard before deciding to realize her dream. Arctic night lasted for four months, never-ending day for another four, and the remaining months logically needed to include days of rapidly lengthening or shortening days, but she didn't remember on which day it was that the sun rose for the first time.

Katja had remembered, though. Just as the first rays of sunshine cascaded over the ice towards them, breaking the eternal inky darkness and bringing out blue and pink shadows on the great white plain of the sea ice, she wrapped her arms around Bríd from behind and said, close to her ear, "Good morning."

Bríd stood watching her first sunrise on Svalbard, leaning on her friend, and felt tears rising into her eyes.

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

Days got longer so rapidly Bríd couldn't possibly keep up. The first day lasted for an hour, the next one two hours, and in a week it was up to five hours. Bríd's body seemed to sing with joy with every daylight filled second, and her sleeping improved drastically, even when she had thought she slept so well here. Suddenly it was easier to keep a schedule again, the world felt to make more sense, be more in order. The landscape looked new and totally different in this different lighting. Bríd had been writing steadily throughout, but now her productivity rose sharply and her script began to truly take shape.

By the end of March the sun was shining for fifteen hours a day, and Bríd was suddenly facing another kind of a problem. The night was getting so short she had trouble fitting her sleeping time into it; the sun was already up at around five, and quite often she found herself waking at six-ish, which was unheard of.

Katja commented on it one day, saying Bríd looked tired. Katja herself looked just the same as ever, nothing seemed capable of disturbing her inner cycles. Bríd admitted she had trouble sleeping due to all the daylight. Katja just nodded, and Bríd forgot about the conversation, until she came by again a few days later. Without a word, Katja walked inside her cabin and drew a chair next to the window. She made a few measurements, made a few holes into the wood, and ten minutes later she'd screwed on the light-blocking draw curtain.

Bríd was touched but annoyed. Why hadn't she thought of that? Was she a child, that Katja had to do everything for her?

The next morning, however, she was only grateful, when she woke up at nine instead of six.

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

One day, in early June, Bríd had just finished breakfast when Katja came to ask her for a walk. They strolled on the shoreline for a while, then Katja led the way inlands, up a slope of a small hill. Soon she gestured for Bríd to walk carefully, lifted a finger in a gesture to be quiet.

She kneeled down on a bed of wind-swept heather, gesturing Bríd to get beside her.

"What?" Bríd whispered.

"Look," Katja whispered and pointed towards the hollow on the other side of the hill's peak.

Bríd looked, and after a moment she spotted movement. There was a family of arctic foxes. The mom was laying on the ground among the heathers, basking in the sun, and three lively cubs were jumping around her.

Bríd wanted to squeal with joy, and managed to suppress it only barely. She jolted excitedly, the feeling had to come out somewhere, and Katja laughed quietly beside her. The mama fox looked at them, her black, beady eyes clear and sharp, but didn't startle. Bríd spotted a hole nearby, probably the entrance to their lair.

Bríd squeezed Katja's hand, and they spent a long while watching the cubs play. They were grayish brown fluffy balls of fur and looked a lot like regular fox cubs, whereas the mom was still changing from its pure white winter fur to a brown summer suit.

Finally Katja gestured for them to back off, and reluctantly Bríd followed her.

"That was amazing!" she said as soon as they were back beside the sea. "I've never seen anything like that!"

"I'm glad you liked it," Katja said. She looked self-satisfied.

"How did you know they were there? How did you know I love foxes?"

"I see signs," Katja said and gestured vaguely. "And you say you like foxes."

"I did?"

Bríd remembered back the conversations they'd had. For all the time they'd spent together, they hadn't really spoken all that much. Eventually she did remember mentioning foxes, once, when they'd talked about their favorite things. Katja looked at her, blue eyes piercing, her hair glimmering reddish brown in the sunlight. Sun had sprinkled a thin line of freckles on her nose and cheekbones.

"I no talk much, but I do listen," she said.

"Yes," Bríd said. Suddenly she had a feeling she hadn't listened to Katja half as closely. "Listen, I'm sorry if I haven't listened to you as well. That was amazing, really, one of the most wondrous moments of my life. I can't believe they weren't afraid of us. I'm sure the momma fox knew we were there."

"Well, I've been feeding her," Katja said.

"You what?"

"I didn't want her to be afraid. Better make sure."

"Oh!" Bríd couldn't believe she'd gone through so much trouble for her. "But... but... you must've planned this for a long time, then."

"Yes," Katja admitted.

They had reached Katja's cabin, and she turned towards Bríd, probably to say goodbye.

"But, I don't know how to pay you back," Bríd said.

"No paying back. No need."

"But, I want to give you something, too. You've shown me so much."

"No need to be even. You give, I give, things even out or they don't. Sådant är livet," said Katja matter-of-factly.

"What does that mean?"

"Such is life."

"So, that's a Finnish proverb? Or Norwegian?"

"No, that's Swedish."

"Swedish? But, wait, what?"

Katja just laughed as she walked away.

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

After the fox episode Bríd found herself thinking about Katja much more often. She had occupied a big part of her mind as it was, she was almost all of her social life, after all. It impressed her that Katja had gone through so much trouble for her, hell, the fact alone that Katja had remembered a casual remark she had said months earlier was impressive.

It also felt like it implied something. Could Katja be interested in her? She had never done anything to suggest it. Bríd had suppressed the crush she had always felt for Katja, assuming she was straight, and tried not to think of her like that. She had come to value Katja's friendship, her quiet company, the things she showed her and the easy way with which she confronted the world. She didn't want to ruin a good thing by going for something that might be based on a misunderstanding. She would have wanted to be with Katja, very much, but even if it was to happen they couldn't have any sort of a future together, could they? It was safer not to risk the relationship they had for something uncertain. Bríd rationalized it to herself over and over, always coming to the same conclusion, yet her mind kept wandering back to the question.

Bríd's script took a definite and undeniable turn towards a love story. She tried to remember the feeling of perpetual loneliness she had started to express when she'd started the book, and it was still there, the beginning of the story was definitely about that. Towards the end the tone changed and now it felt right, it felt like it needed to be like that. She wondered if she was secretly a romantic, after all.

Bríd found herself remembering her and Katja's first encounter, the day Katja had rescued her when she'd fallen into the icy water and warmed her with her own body. Katja was slender but very strong, muscular even, and yet she had all the curves a woman could want. Bríd remembered how her breasts felt, pressing against her back, how smooth her skin was. Sometimes she dreamed of Katja, and sometimes the dreams were x-rated. She tried to forget them, afraid Katja could somehow see them in her.

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

Katja had kept on fishing even when the sea ice thawed. She seemed to enjoy it, although Bríd also had a vague feeling it was somehow connected with her research. Bríd didn't complain, as she appreciated every meal Katja cooked for her. It was simple food, but nutritious and tasty in its simplicity. Besides, other than fish, fresh foods weren't readily available on Svalbard.

Bríd sat watching as Katja cleaned the fish near the shore. Sun glimmered in Katja's hair, and her yellow windproof summer parka was a bright, glad spot in the grayish brown wilderness. She hummed as she worked. Bríd closed her eyes, turned her face towards the sun and tried to recognize the song. She didn't, but it was usual, Katja often sang songs of Finnish or Norwegian origin that Bríd had never heard before.

"Look", Katja said suddenly. Her voice was sharp and alert, unlike anything Bríd had heard from her before.

Bríd opened her eyes and looked to where she was pointing. Along the coast, some three to four hundred yards away, something was moving. Something light - a polar bear! Heart jumped in her chest as she took in the sight.

The bear walked, turning its nose up. Its gait looked loose and relaxed, almost sassy.

"Oh, fuck," said Katja.

"So cool!" said Bríd. "I've never seen one before!"

Bríd stood up to see better. The bear turned its head a little this way and that, and then looked in their general direction.

Katja scooped her gun from the ground and gestured to Bríd to start toward the cabin.

"What?" Bríd said, still looking at the bear. "Do you think it's a male or a female?"

She got her answer when she spotted cubs behind the bear. They followed their mom, jogging to keep up. They were still small, fluffy white balls of absolute cuteness, and Bríd squealed when she noticed them. "Oh my god, look how cute they are!"

Bríd was baffled when Katja shoved her sharply. "To the cabin, now," she said, and her voice was terse and sharp. Bríd wanted to argue, but something in the way Katja stared at the direction of the bear stopped her, and she complied, starting to walk towards the building, still glancing at the approaching animals every few steps.

The mother bear broke into a lazy jog. Katja raised the gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Katja's eyes widened, she looked at the gun, then threw it on the ground.

"Ruuuuun!" she shouted, and her panic caught on to Bríd, who started galloping towards the cabin as fast as she could.

They couldn't have been more than fifty yards away from the cabin, but the momma bear was unbelievably fast. Bríd glanced at it, then ahead, then at the bear and how was it possible it was so close already and she almost fell - Katja passed her, sprinting amazingly fast, and Bríd gathered all her strength and speed to catch up. Katja threw open the door, turned on a penny to yank Bríd inside, making her trip and roll on the floor. Katja slammed the door closed, turned down the wide wooden latch Bríd had never seen her use before, and leaned against the door, panting.

After a second or two there was a thump behind the door. Bríd left out a frightened yelp, Katja jerked. They looked at each other, eyes wide; Katja stood leaning to the door, her legs trembling visibly. Bríd lay on the floor, her chest heaving, hair in her eyes. There was another thump, sound of something brushing against the door, and then quiet.

Katja slid slowly down to sit on the floor. Her eyes were still locked with Bríd's, and there was a wide, wild grin on her face. She looked slightly crazy.

Katja chortled, then again, then started to laugh. She slid all the way down to lie on the floor, laughing, and such was the strength and untamed energy of her laugh that Bríd couldn't help but join in. They lay on the floor, rolling with laughter, roaring with it until they hiccuped and tears ran from their eyes.

"Oh, oh oh oh Fuck!" said Katja, hoarsely, when finally she had laughed so long she was all out of air and laughter. She rolled on her stomach to look at Bríd, who was still flat on her back. Katja was still smiling, her eyes gleamed with the tears of laughter, her cheeks flushed. Bríd thought she looked beautiful, absolutely beautiful, truly like a goddess of this arctic wilderness, and then she stopped thinking because Katja bent down and kissed her.