Kalle stood on the brake, and they stopped, and it felt weird because they weren’t moving. The silence filled their ears. They heard the other dogs behind them, and Aki’s snowmobile. The light went over their heads and lit the trees and made them disappear, and then lit them again.
Kalle held the dogs from the other sled. The snowmobile was close now. Aki stopped, and the boys saw someone climb off it, behind Aki. It wasn’t their mother. It was the man from Belgium. They knew his hat – it had a smiling deer on it – and his glasses were covered in snow and ice. He took them off and tried to wipe them clean. He smiled at the boys.
“Did you fall off?” said Tom.
“No,” said the man. “The sleigh did not move in the snow.”
He looked down at the snow.
“I removed my feet from the brake.”
He lifted his boots, one at a time, to show them what he’d done. He grinned.
“And the sleigh was there no longer.”
Kalle was waiting for the man from Belgium. Kalle’s hat was skinny yellow and red stripes, with a floppy point at the top and flaps for over his ears. He hadn’t tied the earflaps. The strings dangled on his snowy shoulders.
They heard Aki.
“And so! We go!”
The man from Belgium stood on the brake of his sled, and Kalle got back behind the boys. They could see all the other sleds behind them.
They heard their mother.
“All right, lads?”
“Yeah!”
“Bored yet?”
“No!”
“Not nearly!”
Kalle lifted his feet off the brake. And they felt it, from the front of the sled to the back; they heard the groan of the wood, as the dogs realized they were free to go. They were moving again. But they weren’t as fast as usual. They had to bound through the snow. Then they were moving properly, and Aki’s lights were far behind them.
It was dark. It was night now, even though it would have still been daylight in Dublin. It was much colder. Tom couldn’t see clearly – he could hardly see anything. There were trees suddenly there, then gone. The sled jumped, went over a buried rock. But Tom couldn’t really see. He began to wish they were at the hut.
The dogs ran out of the trees, into a clearing, and that was good because the boys could see a bit ahead, and the jumps and swerves made sense. But the snow was falling heavily again, and they had to keep getting it out of their eyes.
They heard Kalle behind them.
“Not – far.”
He didn’t shout but they heard him clearly. It was windy now and, right beside them, near enough to touch, Johnny could see solid waves of snow. And he could feel the waves now too, because the dogs were going over them.
It was even darker now. There was no silver left in the air. They couldn’t see anything ahead of them. There were no tree outlines, and no moon or stars, or anything else that would help them know where they were. Tom was glad they were squashed together, under the rug. They had Kalle too, behind them. He’d done this millions of times, and the dogs were his and they did everything for him.
But Tom was scared – a bit. He couldn’t even see the snow falling on his face. He could only feel it. But he knew too, that this was great. This was something that might not ever happen again. It was absolutely amazing.
The boys tried to stay on the sled; they leaned back as far as they could. It wasn’t the speed; it wasn’t the swerves and jumps. It was the fact that they couldn’t see. The dogs seemed even faster in the dark, and the speed seemed dangerous. But the quicker they went, the sooner they’d get to the hut. They could laugh then, and say it had been great. And it wouldn’t be a lie, because it was great. Tom still thought that; he felt it. Kalle was behind them. They were charging into blackness, but they were safe.
Then they were flying – the sled was gone from under them. The dogs were near. Tom heard them, and he saw a dark line – he thought it was one of the sled’s runners – very close to his eyes. And he hit the snow. His face, his chin, his stomach – his breath was gone. His face was in the snow.
He got up quickly. He wasn’t hurt; he wasn’t sore. He didn’t stand yet. He knelt in the snow and tried to see around him.
Johnny wasn’t hurt either. He’d landed close to a tree, and there were rocks jutting around the trunk. He could see the rocks because the snowmobile was approaching and the lights came across the snow, like a fast, slithering animal. They lit the rocks, shining black and green. He turned, and saw Tom kneeling, his back to the lights. The sled was on its side. The blanket was on the snow, humped, like there was a body or something else quite big beneath it. He watched Kalle stand up slowly. Kalle picked up the blanket and shook it. He picked up the sled and put it back on its runners. The sled looked fine. Johnny could see nothing broken or damaged.
Tom watched the sled lifted out of the snow. He saw Kalle’s hand, and then he saw the rest of Kalle. The lights from the snowmobile sprayed across everything, and Tom saw something that made him laugh.
“You are OK?”
It was Aki who spoke. He was walking up to Tom. He’d left the engine running, so they could all see what was happening.
“Yeah,” said Tom. “That was cool.”
“And Johnny? You?” said Aki.
“I’m grand,” said Johnny.
He stood up. His boots were deep in the snow. He looked across the sled at Tom.
“What are you laughing for?” he said.
“Look,” said Tom.
He pointed.
“What?” said Johnny.
“Look at Rock,” said Tom.
Johnny looked, and saw what Tom was laughing at. The dog was standing quietly, with Kalle’s hat in his mouth. He laughed, and watched Rock wag his tail.
“He knows it’s Kalle’s hat,” he said.
“Kalle’s smell,” said Aki. “His scent.”
Kalle walked across to Rock and took the hat. He put it back on his head.
“You are cold, Kalle?” said Aki.
“Yes,” said Kalle.
“Kalle is cold; it must be cold,” said Aki.
“I’m cold,” said Tom.
“It must be very cold,” said Aki.
Kalle shook the blanket again. He tilted the sled, to get the snow off it. He shook it, then he let it drop.
“And so,” said Aki. “Again we go.”
He walked back to the snowmobile.
“How far?” they heard a voice.
It was a man, but the boys couldn’t tell which one. They couldn’t see him, behind the snowmobile lights.
“Five minutes,” said Aki. “Maybe ten minutes.”
“Not – far,” said Kalle, as Tom and Johnny climbed back on to the sled.
They heard their mother.
“All right, lads?”
They couldn’t see her.
“Yeah!” said Johnny.
“Yeah!” said Tom.
“Miss me?”
“No!”
“Ah, go on. You do!”
Tom and Johnny didn’t answer. Kalle gently dropped the blanket over them.
“Not – very – wet,” he said.
He tucked it under them. Then he walked around to the back of the sled.
“I wonder is he annoyed,” Johnny whispered.
“Why?” said Tom.
“’Cos he fell off his own sled,” said Johnny.
“Oh, yeah,” said Tom, and he laughed again.
They heard a dog behind them howl. It was Hastro, their mother’s dog, the one with the mad blue and
brown eyes, who wanted to be the lead dog.
“Hurry up there, Kalle!” they heard their mother. “This fella’s going crackers.”
The boys laughed. And the sled was groaning, and moving again, slowly. The snowmobile lights were with them for a while, and they could see in front of them, the trees and the path through them, and Kalle’s huge shadow, and even the point of Kalle’s hat.
Then they picked up speed. Or maybe it just seemed like that, because they left the lights behind and charged straight into the black darkness again. They felt the sled climb the drifts. It tilted and swerved. They leaned back when they thought they were going to fall out. The rug came off, but Johnny grabbed it back before it went under the sled.
They saw the light.
Ahead of them – gone, then back. Between the trees. A red light.
“Is that the hut?” said Johnny.
“Yeah; must be.”
“Is that the hut?” Johnny asked Kalle.
“Yes,” said Kalle.
They’d made it. They were there.
The light stayed small, and disappeared. The sled turned. They could see a clear path. It was nearly a tunnel between the walls of snow-fat trees. The light was straight ahead. And they could see the shape of the hut.
“It’s big,” said Tom.
He wasn’t disappointed. It was like a house. The roof was a big triangle, and he liked that. He’d imagined a shed, or a tent made of animal skins. But this was better. The dogs brought them closer, and he could see the windows. There was flickering light behind them – candles, or a fire. It would be warm in there already. Tom was freezing. They were closer now, and Tom could see inside. There was a lovely shining brown colour, and candle shadows ran across the wood.
The snow was hard here, and it wasn’t thick. The sled was louder, going over ice.
There was a veranda at the front of the hut. Tom saw the icicles hanging from the roof. They were huge and amazing. One of them stretched down nearly as far as the wooden rail at the front of the veranda. He saw movement inside; he thought he saw a face. He could already feel the heat. He could nearly smell the food. He couldn’t wait to take off his red suit. And his boots – his feet felt dead inside them.
The dogs stopped. The sled stopped. The boys got out of the sled. They rolled off. They let themselves fall on to the snow. They heard the other dogs behind them, and they could see Aki’s lights through the trees. Like the night before, they’d have to help before their day was over. And, like the night before, they didn’t mind, once they were in among the dogs.
“I’m bursting,” said Tom.
“Me too,” said Johnny.
Kalle was near them.
“Hey, Kalle,” said Johnny. “Where’s the toilet?”
Kalle pointed at a smaller wooden building. It was down a bit of a hill, so they slid and fell, and pushed each other. It was great to be moving again.
It was great to be safe.
They climbed the steps to the toilet door. Tom lifted the wooden latch and pulled the door open. There was light inside, but it was still quite dark – and warm. They felt the heat on their faces. There were three big candles lighting the place. There were toilet cubicles, two of them, to the left, and a sauna right in front of them. The coals were red and there was a bucket of water beside it, with a little ladle for the water. Johnny took off his gloves. He lowered the ladle into the water.
“Stop messing with it,” said Tom.
“Why?” said Johnny.
“You’ll get caught.”
“Doing what?” said Johnny.
He lifted the ladle out of the bucket and poured the water on to the coals.
“Big crime,” he said.
They heard the hiss and felt the heat. Tom went into one of the cubicles. As he was closing the door, he felt Johnny trying to shove it open.
“Privacy, please,” said Tom.
He pushed, and locked the cubicle door. He heard Johnny, doing Kalle’s voice.
“I’ll – be – back.”
And he heard him go into the cubicle beside him. It took ages to get out of the stupid red suit. It was like peeling metal off himself. He was bursting. It was one of those wooden toilets, just a hole in a plank. He shoved the suit down to his knees. He’d be able to go now. He opened the zip of his jeans. He looked up at the roof. He closed his eyes. He started to go.
He opened his eyes.
Johnny was looking down at him.
“Where’s the fire?”
Tom thought he’d wee all over the place, because he was laughing so much. But he didn’t. Johnny’s face was gone. Tom could hear him next door, doing the same thing Tom had just been doing.
Tom pulled up his suit.
They heard Kalle, outside.
“Irish boys!”
“Oh-oh,” said Tom.
“The giant will eat us if we don’t hurry up,” said Johnny.
They ran outside and skidded back, to the dogs and Kalle. The other people had arrived, or were arriving. The boys heard the dogs and the different languages.
They worked with Kalle. They unhitched the dogs, one by one. Kalle brought Rock. Tom brought Pomp. And Johnny brought Bruno. They followed Kalle to a place away from the path, with hooks screwed into the trees. Kalle tied their straps to the hooks. The snow was thick here, and some of the dogs went round and around, and made a hole for themselves. Then they lay down in the snow, with their noses tucked under their tails.
They brought all the dogs to this place. Then they followed Kalle across the deep snow, to a big water barrel at the corner of the hut. The top of the barrel was level with Johnny’s chin, and Kalle had to bend down to whack the ice with his elbow. They heard the ice creak and break. Kalle wasn’t wearing gloves now. And he took off his hat. He put it on the veranda rail. Then he picked up the big pieces of ice from the barrel with his bare hands and he threw them into the snow.
He stood back. He looked at Tom and Johnny.
“Good – workers,” he said.
He didn’t smile, but they knew he was being nice.
He walked away.
They knew what to do. There was a pile of wooden bowls on the veranda, under the rail. They dipped the bowls into the barrel. They had to lift their arms to reach, and the water ran down their sleeves. It was horrible, but they didn’t mind it too much. They were working for the dogs.
They walked among the dogs, through the light that came from the hut. The other people had arrived. The rest of the dogs were being tied. Aki’s lights sprayed across the snow and lit the dogs and the legs of the people in its way, and made crazy shadows that merged and broke. Then the snowmobile engine was off, and the light and shadows were gone.
They heard Aki.
“Home, sweet home.”
The boys put water in front of all the dogs. They patted them all, especially the ones who’d pulled their sled. The dogs were tired; Tom could feel that through his gloves. It was like their blood had slowed down, and they were getting ready to sleep. They pushed their snouts against the boys’ hands.
The boys were finished now; their work was done. They went up the steps to the veranda. They did what they saw the man from Belgium do, in front of them. They stamped their feet, to make the snow and ice drop off their boots. They followed the man from Belgium into the hut. They felt the warmth, like a thick invisible wave. They saw the man from Belgium take off his glasses; the lenses were covered in steam. They saw the other people, the woman from Belgium, and the others. They saw Aki.
They didn’t see their mother.
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The Kitchen
Gráinne watched her mother looking around the kitchen.
“This is strange,” she said.
“No, it isn’t,” said Gráinne.
“Oh, dear,” said her mother.
She sounded like the mothers of some of Gráinne’s friends – from the time when Gráinne had friends. No matter what the mothers said – “Turn that down,” “Is that all you’re going to eat?” – the message had always seemed the same. The sad breath that came with the words, and the same half-closed eyes.
“Oh, dear, what?” said Gráinne.
They were sitting at the kitchen table. The table was between them. It was twenty past three. Gráinne saw that on the clock, on the wall above her mother’s head. Her father was in the house, somewhere. He’d stayed home. He hadn’t gone to work.
“I’ll get out of your way,” he’d said.
He’d smiled at Gráinne and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Gráinne with her mother.
It was the first time he’d seen her mother since she’d left. Gráinne thought of that now, for the first time. She was nearly certain it was true. Her mother had rung the bell. Her father had answered the door. They must have stood looking at each other. Gráinne didn’t know for how long. She’d been upstairs, in her room. Not listening.
It was what Gráinne had wanted. She’d wanted him to stay.
“I can go somewhere else while she’s with you. I can be gone when she arrives.”
“No,” Gráinne had said.
“No?”
“No.”
“All right,” he’d said. “I’ll stay, if you want me to.”
It must have been weird for him, seeing his wife – his ex-wife. She wondered – was he OK? He was probably in the front room. Maybe in his bedroom. She hadn’t heard him going up the stairs. He was probably in the front room. Maybe looking out the window.
Her mother looked straight at her.
“Will I go now, Gráinne?” she said. “Or will we try?”
This was important. Gráinne knew. She had one chance. It was her choice.
She looked at her mother.