I ran out onto the ice. As fast as I could without slipping. Then I stood with my legs wide apart and slid a long, long way.
“You have a go!” I shouted to Simon.
He smiled and shook his head.
That was something he’d learnt to do in the village where he’d grown up. How to shake his head. They’re good at that in Piilijarvi.
“No way,” he shouted back. “Someone has to be here to repair your legs when you’ve broken them.”
“Cowardy cowardy custard!” I yelled as I ran and slid again.
Then I lay down and gazed up at the sky for a while. Stroked the ice affectionately.
Somewhere down below there was an aeroplane. And nobody knew anything about it, apart from us. Or so we thought.
Standing up, I caught Simon’s gaze.
You and me, his eyes said.
You and me, my eyes said.
Simon collected some dry juniper twigs and birch bark. So that we could start a fire and have something to eat before we made our dive. To give us the strength to keep going.
We grilled some smoked sausages on skewers. I didn’t have the patience to do it properly – mine were burnt black on the outside and raw inside. Hungry jays gathered in the trees around us.
“People used to eat them,” I said, nodding at the birds. “Anni’s told me about it. She and her cousins used to hang a length of string between the trees and thread pieces of bread onto it. The birds would land on the string, but it was so thin that they couldn’t stay upright and found themselves hanging upside down. Then all you had to do was pick them off. Like picking apples. We ought to try it – have we got any string?”
“Wouldn’t you rather have a piece of sausage?”
One of Simon’s typically marvellous sardonic comments. And no hint of a smile to show that he was joking.
I gave him a thump on the chest.
“Idiot! I didn’t mean that we should eat them. I just wanted to see if it worked.”
“No. We ought to get going. Before it gets dark.”
Instantly I became serious.
Simon gathered some more dry twigs and bark. And he found a hollow birch log – they burn well. He raked some ash over the glowing embers. As he said, with a bit of luck we would be able to blow the fire back to life after the dive. It would be good to be able to warm ourselves quickly when we emerged from the freezing water.
We carried our cylinders, regulators, masks, snorkels, fins and black army- surplus diving suits out onto the ice.
Simon led the way with the G.P.S.
In August we had brought the kayak, towing it through water whenever possible, along the River Vittangi as far as Lake Tahko. Then we’d paddled to Vittangijarvi. We’d plumbed the depths of various parts of the lake, and, once we finally found the right place, Simon had keyed it into the G.P.S. under the heading
But during the summer there were holidaymakers staying in the old farmhouse on the lake’s western shore.
“You can bet your life they’re all lined up with their binoculars,” I’d said, squinting across. “Wondering what the hell we’re up to. If we dive now, everyone for kilometres around will know about it in no time.”
So once we’d finished, we’d paddled over to the western shore, beached the kayak and strolled up to the old farmhouse, where we’d been invited in for coffee. I went on about how we were getting paid a pittance by the Swedish Meteorological and Hydrological Institute for charting the depth of the lake. Something to do with climate change, I reckoned.
“As soon as they close down the holiday cottages for the winter,” I said to Simon as we struggled home with the kayak, “we’ll be able to use their boat as well.”
But then the ice came, and we had to wait until it was thick enough to bear our weight. We could hardly believe our luck when it didn’t snow – we’d be able to see through the ice. A metre or so at least. But of course we’d be diving down much deeper than that.
Simon sawed through the ice. He started by hacking a hole with an axe – the ice was still thin enough to do that – and then he used a hand saw. A chainsaw would have been too heavy to carry, and besides, it would have created a hell of a noise: the last thing we wanted was to attract attention. What we were doing suggested a book title to me:
While Simon was sawing through the ice, I nailed some lengths of wood together to form a cross we would place over the hole after attaching a safety line to it.
Stripping down to our thermal underwear, we pulled on our diving suits. Then we sat down at the edge of the ice hole.
“Go right down to 4 metres,” Simon said. “The worst that can happen is that we lose our air supply if the regulators freeze up. The start is the riskiest bit, just beneath the surface.”
“O.K.”
“We might also run into trouble lower down. You can’t trust mountain lakes. There could be an inlet somewhere, causing currents. The temperature could be below zero. The riskiest place is just beneath the surface, though. So: down you go. No hanging about.”
“O.K.”
I didn’t want to listen. I wanted to get down there. Right away.
Simon wasn’t an expert on the technical side of diving, but he’d read up on it. In magazines and on the Internet. He continued his unhurried preparations.
“Two tugs on the line means ‘come up’.”
“Right.”
“Maybe we’ll find the wreck straight away, but probably not. Let’s get down there and take it as it comes.”
“O.K., O.K.”
And so we dive.
Simon goes in after me. The cold water is like a horse kicking him in the face. He places the wooden cross with the safety line attached to it over the hole in the ice.
He checks the dive computer during our descent. Two metres. As bright as day. The ice above us acts as a window, letting the sunlight in. When we were standing up there the ice looked black. From underneath it is light blue. Twelve metres. Murky. Colours disappear. Fifteen metres. Darkness. Simon is probably wondering how I’m feeling. But he knows I’m a tough customer. Seventeen metres.
We head straight for the wreck. Land on top of it.
I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but not this. Not that it would be so easy. I can feel laughter bubbling up inside me, but it can’t come out just now. I’m looking forward to hearing Simon’s comments when we’re back by the fire getting warm. He’s always so calm, but the words will come tumbling out after this.
It feels as if the plane has been lying down there waiting for us. But we’d sounded the depth; we’d already done the searching. We knew where it ought to be.
Even so, when I see it at the bottom in the greeny-black darkness, it seems so unreal. It’s much bigger than I’d imagined it would be. Simon shines his torch on me. I realize that he wants to see my reaction. The happy expression on my face. But of course, he can’t read my face behind the oxygen mask.
