The Body in the Fjord

Jan took the microphone and said, as always with a smile, “If you think this is steep, wait until tomorrow. On the way to Flam, we pass ‘the ladder,’ stigen. It is a sheer drop—impossible to build a road vertically. A man, his wife, and two children live at the top and keep goats. They have to tie ropes to the children when they play outside. Before them, lived an old lady all alone. When her flag was flying, that was the signal that all was well. When she died, the only way to get her out was in her coffin on the pulley wire she’d used to get her supplies. They still use this arrangement today, with rocks as a counter

weight—or sometimes the farmer’s wife, they say. It’s called stigen because in the old days the way to collect taxes was by first climbing the path, then placing a ladder at the steepest part to the top, where the house is. Of course, the farmer would pull up the ladder and the tax collector could just whistle for his money.”

Everyone laughed. The group was rapidly returning to normal.

“It must be very lonely in the winter, road, ladders, whatever,” Ursula said when Pix returned with a plate of steaming heart-shaped waffles. Somehow, she could always eat a vaffel or two, no matter how recent breakfast, or lunch, had been, Pix thought as she spread butter and preserves on hers.

“It wouldn’t be my choice, but it’s glorious now. No wonder the Norwegians are such sun worshipers,” Pix said, unashamedly licking her fingers. Having gotten the group back on track, Jan and Carl were continuing their version of the borscht circuit, the fisksuppe act, telling a series of old chestnuts with interchangeable names and nationalities.

“Many of you are of Scandinavian descent, so you’ll appreciate this one,” Jan said heartily. “A long-lost brother who had emigrated to the United States came back to the old country for the first time in fifty years. He was bragging a lot about everything in the States thinking that Norway had stood still since he left. ‘Surgery in America has come so far that a blind man got two plastic eyes and a battery to charge them and now he can see like an eagle,’ he told his brother. ‘That’s pretty good,’ his brother replied, ‘but just last year, there was a man from here who lost four fingers. The surgeon took four teats from a cow, attached them, and now the guy is milking several liters of milk every day!’ His brother was skeptical. ‘That’s hard to believe,’ he said. ‘Have you seen him yourself?’ ‘No,’ said his brother, ‘but the guy with the plastic eyes has.’”

The room exploded in laughter, the bachelor farmers, who had come in for vafler, hardest of all.

Pix grinned at her mother. “I’ll have to remember that one to tell Danny. Very definitely middle-school humor. I think I’ll go out on the bow for a bit, if that’s all right with you.”

“Certainly. I’ll go kibitz with the cardplayers. How can they spend all their time playing bridge while such splendid scenery passes them by?” Ursula answered. She and Pix exchanged glances. Maybe the cardplayers were on the trip for another reason. “I want to ask Sidney Harding what it’s like to work for a Norwegian oil company.”

Pix took the empty plate back to Sonja. The girl’s smile was automatic, yet behind it, Pix could see the steward was troubled. The entire staff must be.

“This must be hard for all of you—to keep things running smoothly when there have been so many difficulties on the tour,” Pix remarked, commiserating.

Sonja was defensive. “Not so many, and I think everyone is happy.” She gestured toward the group spread out around the cabin. Some were going to the upper deck. “It’s sad about Mr. Melling, but these things happen to old people.”

Pix decided not to pursue the matter and went out to what she now considered her spot on the bow. Jennifer Olsen was there, as Pix had expected, again in the same figurehead position, a pose that once more made Pix want to reach for the girl before she tumbled into the fathoms.

The sun had broken through and the underside of the gulls’ wings were jade green, reflecting the water and creating a new species. The boat had left the vast Sognefjord and turned into a more narrow fjord. Pix would have to remember to ask Carl or Jan what it was called. The boat slowly sailed past numerous waterfalls, small and large, cascading into the sea, swollen from the melting snows of winter. Here and there, a cluster of red farm buildings stood out against the steep fields. Neither she nor Jennifer said a word until they came to a sheer rock wall. The water stopped. It was the end of the fjord.

Jennifer turned in surprise. “What a strange sensation. The fjord just stops.”

“I know,” Pix agreed. “Of course, it must. They only seem endless.”

“It feels significant. Do you know what I mean? Journey to the End of the Fjord. Something like that.”

“We ought to have some sort of ceremony, like when people cross the equator or the Arctic Circle.”

The boat turned around slowly and retraced its course. Pix wished she was in a canoe or kayak, closer to the water. She’d like to trail her fingers in the frigid depths, really feel it, instead of just looking at it.

“After the farm, we’re going to the Glacier Museum. I heard them talking. They’re worried that people might think that your finding Oscar in the fjord is somehow a reflection on their organization.” Jennifer was bluntly informative. So, at least one person knew Pix had discovered the body.

“Will there be time?”

“It’s not far, although we may not be able to see the glacier up close. I’m still going to go back, even if we do. I hate being rushed.”

It was smart thinking on the part of Scandie Sights. Instead of a free afternoon at Balestrand, keep everyone busy and throw in a little something extra. Then tomorrow, everyone would be packed off to Flam and Mermaid/Troll tour number whatever thankfully over.

Jennifer hadn’t sounded particularly bereaved regarding Oscar, and Pix recalled the woman’s words from the night before: “I hate that man.”

“Sad about the accident. It seems so pointless,” Pix said deliberately, and then produced the result she expected.

“Sad! That old fascist! Save your condolences for someone who deserves them. The world is better off without people like him. If the opinions he expressed on this trip are any indication, there will be a lot of happy folks in his corner of New Jersey.”

“Fascist?” Pix was seeing a bright red swastika in front of her eyes, pulsating, as if she’d stared into the sun too hard.

“Women, African-Americans, gays, Jews, you name it—he despised anyone who wasn’t just like him. The classic bigot. And sexist isn’t the right word. Molester is. There isn’t a woman on this trip who hasn’t been groped, at the very least. If there is a Mrs. Melling, she’s shedding tears all right—tears of joy.”

Pix was not surprised at Jennifer’s passionate outburst. Oscar stood for the people who had killed her father and grandmother. He stood for everything Jennifer hated—and maybe feared.

“This must be the farm!” Jennifer pointed to a small dock. Three children were running toward the water, followed more sedately by a young woman. The kids were waving, and Pix expected them to call out, “The Americans are coming!” or something like that. Instead, as the boat came to a stop, they jumped up and down, shouting, “Velkommen!” The tour visited every week during the season. By August, the velkommens might be a little less enthusiastic, but today anyway, the children greeted them delightedly.

Ursula unfolded her cane and joined the group, bachelor farmers in the lead, as they wended their way up to the farmhouse.

The farmer’s wife did the talking, whether because her English was better or she was more at ease speaking in public. Pix recalled reading a newspaper article that listed the things people feared most. Public speaking was number one, death second.

“This used to be a community of sixty families; now we are only one—but there are four generations living on our farm, and one hundred goats. We will walk around, and please ask all the questions you want. Just to tell you a little more about us, we make our living from selling our goat cheese, which you will have a chance to taste, operating a small water taxi, and greeting people like you. Our children go to school not so far from here, by water.

I take them in the morning and get them in the afternoon. In the winter, I usually stay to have coffee with my friends and do errands.”