aviolentday

[aviolentday]

The ice was melting. My father and I had our last seal hunt of the year, just like other hunters of the village.

The hunt was short. Only a few of us could catch any seals, mainly old ones that could not hide in the water quick enough, or were too slow to swim away from the ice. My spear was clean.

Here from the fast ice I could see the border where the white foggy air met with the still waters of the ocean. The border where the sun was born. Sometimes the both worlds would melt together, two separate yet equal souls. My thoughts roam on boats of the same matter, traveling on air, formed by words, sounds, waves. Fog. Water.

I think back to that blizzard often. I was trembling in bed, did not dare to fall asleep. Did not dare, because I heard it speak to me. With each whistling blow of the  arctic wind, when I could feel it with my skin that the house's walls were tensing up to stand their ground, it would get to me. It would penetrate, cold and mad, tingling dust of ice splinters, speaking of its loneliness. Blizzard told me to mourn, and there, my father came.

I was ready to leave the ice when father yelled, behind you, son. Unwillingly, I turned around. There was a young seal, hanging on the edge of the ice, half of his body in the ocean. He did not squeal, he was not hurt. He was watching me, his nostrils moving.

I raised my spear. The seal kept watching.

Throw! Father yelled. I saw myself in the seal's wet eyes. They were as round and black as my sister’s when she was born.

Then father threw his spear. I jumped, it all happened so quick, just as quick as the seal disappeared in the dark water. The spear went through my fur coat and I could feel a tingling pain on the side of my abdomen. I walked towards father. He shook his head, took his hood off. The people were whispering, some gasped when I took the spear out of my coat.

I thought it went right through you. Father smirked and his gaze moved downwards, the ice beneath me.

Toko is bleeding! A woman yelled.

Father wrapped his arms around me, I tried to step away. Come on, come on, he whispered, I'll show you. He pushed me down on the ice and, with his strong hand in a glove of seal skin, held me by my hair as he dragged my head into the freezing cold water.

Again, it spoke to me. The black depth, the eyes I was now being drowned in. They looked inside of me while I fought for air. Mourning child, why are you not in bed, why are you living your life on ice instead of steady ground. When on my tenth winter my great-grandfather Toko was being buried, he had eyes just like this, and the whales gathered by the shore to say goodbye. For that day his soul merged with the ocean, with the last breath he took before falling off his whaleboat, and he became water forever. Goodbye, Toko. He told me now. It is not your time.

I broke free. I held father by the collar of his coat. I tried pushing him off into the water, but got scared that he would take me with him. His hands gripped my arms and for a moment I noticed a glimpse of fear in his eyes, black, dry. I hit him in the face. There was blood. People gathered to watch.

The moment I could run - I rushed to the hill, holding on to my wound. Up on the hill the tundra herbs were breaking through the last snow. I ran until I reached the cliff. He went after me and almost threw himself at me. I was first to do so. My hard fist met his stomach.

I knew I hurt him, this time I truly did. He folded in half and shook. He probably groaned, moaned in pain - a wounded beast growing wilder. Yet all I could hear was my own heartbeat - scared and feral - and the roar of the crowd watching us.

It was when he looked me in the eyes that I fell down to my knees, unable to shake off the pain from where the spear touched me. He knew he would win.

I think of that blizzard often. I remember watching it from the darkness of our room, the window in front of me, in the dark, while Aina snored and tossed around next to me. It was that night when I watched father bring something into the house. He threw it in the kitchen and left to wake up mom. I thought it was a sack of something, maybe gifts, cigarette packages, potatoes, salt, maybe even dolls for me and other children. Once I stepped outside my room, I saw the trail of blood stretching from the front door to the kitchen table. Blood - it was all I could see, I froze, as if someone opened the window and the winter’s hands creeped up behind me, they held me, they did not let me go.

He did not let me go. He kicked me and I laid down on the ground, he sat on my back, held my arms behind me, called me weak. I did not move. I must have reminded him of himself, the day he lost the right to hunt. Shame, I saw it glistening in his eyes after he turned me around. Shame and fear.

That night when I heard dad cough at the same time as he shouted for me to come to him. Why are you not in bed, mom whispered as she gently took me by the hand. I don’t see it anymore. I see her face, the movement of her trembling lips. Dad yelled again for us to come to the kitchen. Cough. I will show him.

The moving lungs, pumping air, as the blank eyes tell that there's no need for breathing anymore. This is what I remember thinking as I watched the wounded seal laying flat on our kitchen floor. Dad said he was allowed to hunt again. We won't have to borrow meat from neighbors anymore. You will help me. The next morning we went to the ice together.

Since then it had been one death after another.

Now I laid flat on the ground, just like the first seal and many more after him. Taking meaningless breaths. I lost the fight. The crowd went silent. They knew the rules. Only the sound of crashing waves. The ice had already melted.

If another man hunts you, he tells me as he gets up, coughs, spits up blood right next to my face. The ocean will not submit to you.

I was left alone on the hill. I crawled closer to the edge, where I could look down at the ocean waves, running up to the shore, collapsing, fading. There was movement, there were shadows. Something big swam close to land - and I knew what it was. The second I thought of it - an orchestra of a dozen fountains sprang up in the air, shining with rainbows in cool daylight. Whales. Our brothers came to greet us.

Aina was down there, on the shore. She sat on a giant stone, The stone of ancestors, and sang to the whales. Suddenly a new fountain sprang in front of her. She giggled. The drops of water came down and splashed with the wind, raining over her head.The ocean will not submit, I said to myself.

[aviolentday]

En dag med Lys

Jeg heter Lys. Jeg bor hos eieren min i en boligblokk, i den nittende etasje. Det er alltid varmt og stilt her, og det lukter ingenting. Noe usynlig rydder opp her, lager mat og optimaliserer temperaturen. Den vasker meg i baderommet og kaster en ball når det er spilletid.

Hver dag begynner med den usynlige makten, en stemme fra veggene. Den kaller seg Hjelperen. Den sier Ole å stå opp, og jeg gjør det samme. Jeg bjeffer. Jeg vil at han skal berøre meg eller si et par ord. Men han stirrer på skjermen, den henger foran øynene hans. Fargerike bilder danser for ham, mens han spiser frokost. Jeg får også noe i skålen min, noe uten smak, men det gjør meg mett for hele døgnet.

Leiligheten er så langt oppe at jeg er redd for å se ut vinduer. Endelig åpnes døra, og Hjelperen annonserer at det er på tide å ta en spasertur. Jeg strekker opp og prøver å ha Oles oppmerksomhet. Han har noe på hodet sitt, han hører ikke ropet mitt. Jeg går ut alene.

Byen er en labyrint av gigantiske blokker, hver styrt av usynlig intellekt. Det går raske heiser mellom hver etasje, og ute haster seg flyende tog. Alle har det travelt. Og det er skjermer - for mange skjermer. De er i veggene, de er i asfalten, de er i menneskers øyne. Jeg ser ei smilende kone og løper til henne, men slår nesa mi mot den harde flaten. Det kunstige, kalde lyset gjør meg blind.

Jeg treffer vennen min, han står nær togstasjonen. Han er ikke som meg eller Ole, men jeg liker ham. Jeg gir halsen og berører ham med labben til å hilse på ham. Vennen snur i min retning og det kommer et lyd fra ham, høyt lyd, jeg synes han er glad. Jeg rister på halen, og vennen skinner med hans grønne øye. Han ser meg. Jeg går rundt ham, og han snur omkring, det er så morsomt! Plutselig dukker det opp en mann, han tar vennen min i hendene sine. Kanskje det er eieren hans, tenker jeg. Da snakker han, vennen. Er det Hjelperens stemme jeg hørte? Mannen svarer noe, og de går bort.

Jeg kommer hjem og blir overrasket da Ole smiler og setter seg ned på gulvet foran meg. Savnet han meg? Ole begynner å stryke meg på ryggen. Ja, ja, han savnet meg, han savnet meg. Og jeg bjeffer, igjen og igjen. Ole nikker.

Det er en kort vei med toget. Vi flyr gjennom en tunnel og høyt mellom takene. Da toget stopper, går vi ut, og vi går gjennom en lang hvit korridor. Jeg har aldri vært her før. Ole sier lege, han sier ny lege flere ganger og jeg bjeffer og viser frem tunga mi. Jeg er ikke syk, men jeg er glad for at Ole prater med meg. Da kommer ei dame, like vakker som den på skjermen jeg så ute. Hun er veldig snill, og jeg følger henne. 

Jeg hopper opp på et bord. Dama smiler og gir meg noe å spise. Det er søtt, en fremmed smak, og jeg føler meg trøtt. Det kommer stemmen fra veggene igjen, Hjelperen. Han sier at jeg er god og har fortjent å slappe av. Jeg vil hoppe ned fra bordet, men får ikke, noe holder meg ned. 

Neste morgen kommer jeg løpende inn i Oles rom, han tar på seg klær og skal på jobb. Vi hadde det så morsomt i går, og jeg vil takke ham. Men det er straks en rar følelse i halsen min, ingen vondt, bare ingenting. Jeg får ikke bjeffe. Ole klapper meg på hodet og slår opp på skjermen.

Det er helt stilt i huset før Hjelperen sier: “Frokost er ferdig!” 

Jeg går og spiser.

[aviolentday]

Hun var hjemme.

Her, hjemme. Vi koset oss i senga vår, litt lengre enn før. Hadde frokost, i kjøkkenet uten lyset. Det var mørkt om morgen. Hun elsker jo mørket, så slo vi ikke på lampene. Hun satt i stolen og så på meg mens jeg spiste, uten ord. Etterpå leste vi. Fingertuppene hennes gjennom linjene i boka mi. Hun var hjemme, og så forlot hun.

Nå klarer jeg meg selvstendig. Pusser tennene og vasker opp, ser på nyhetene og hører på disse ropende måkene ute. Men jeg liker det ikke nå. Jeg liker ingentig uten henne. Det høres ut som de roper for henne. Jeg åpner vinduet og roper også. En patetisk skrik. De ser på meg, vilde øyene og blodige nebbene, helt stille. Da hvisker jeg beklager og stenger vinduet.

Jeg setter en ny trådbunt i symaskinen og fortsetter med kjolen. Den er svart, med lange ermer. Tråden er rød. Den står frem på stoffet, rundt hullene, mellom rynkene.

Det ringer telefon på bordet. Faren min. Kanskje vil han spørre meg når jeg skal besøke mora og ham. Jeg har egentlig kjøpt togbillett for fredag. Men jeg kan ikke ta det nå. Selvfølgelig kan jeg ikke det. Hun kan ikke komme hjem og oppdage det at jeg er borte. Da må jeg bli igjen her. Jeg tar ikke opp telefonen. Lar den være. Faren slutter å ringe. Fint. Nei.

Det gjør vondt. Nå ser jeg – jeg blør. Nåla har gikk inni fingertuppen min. Blodet er enda rødere enn tråden. Mørk blod. Jeg stikker fingeren i munnen. Suger og hører på måkene ute. Nå ler de, og jeg hvisker. Forgi meg, unnskyld, unnskyld.