The Tears of Aurora

An Islet of Light

Sailor-fisherman, Ulrich Svenson had never left the city of Berg, where he had been born. He had met his wife there, at the age of sixteen, and had married her at eighteen. He worked hard, loved with passion, with no fear of the future. His life had been turned upside down one autumn day when he was coming back from several days at sea. His wife was expecting a child. He had run from the port, impatient to join her, anxious at the thought of missing the birth. A doctor had opened the door, his face grave. Ulrich immediately understood. "She had time to see her and to give her a name," the doctor said gently. His wife had died while giving birth to their daughter, and Ulrich had arrived too late to say good-bye. He had kissed her one last time, on her lips and on her forehead. She looked like a crystal doll. At her side was sleeping a little wrinkled angel who had taken away the love of his life and had replaced her.

Ulrich seemed a mixture of strength and sadness. He spoke little, asked few questions and gave short answers when asked anything. The building he lived in was right on the quay, squeezed in between the sea and another more imposing building.

"Please, come in," he said to the Skaljnes sisters.

Mariann was the first to take her shoes off.

"Thank you, Mr. Svenson. It's so kind of you."

She had read the family name underneath the doorbell, and gave a shy smile at his surprise. She crossed to the sofa that separated the living room from the kitchen and stood there, not knowing what to do. Her dress was dripping on the floor. Vivian joined her. She was keeping an arm wrapped around Aurora's waist. Mr. Svenson had disappeared into an adjoining room. They didn't wait long for his return. He had quickly put on dry pants and T-shirt, but had kept on his drenched cap.

"There's a phone on the little table. Call your parents to let them know you are all right."

Mariann knelt down to dial the number. She waited a second, looking at the floor.

"No dial tone. The line must be down because of the storm."

Ulrich sighed, then went to the base of the stairs.

"Serena!"

A door opened upstairs.

"Here I am!"

"Come down, please."

"I'm coming!"

Serena came down the stairs and addressed her father.

"Did you have a good day? The weather turned bad, did you see? I hope that you...."

Her voice faded away when she saw the three sopping wet girls in the living room.

"They came by boat from Os," explained Ulrich. "Take them upstairs to change. We have enough dressing gowns for everyone."

Serena nodded.

"Uh... follow me," she said timidly.

Serena Svenson was a tall thin adolescent, with one shoulder slightly higher than the other. She spoke with a soft voice, almost inaudible, and always looked down, hiding her azure irises.

The girls came back down a few minutes later. Aurora had slipped on one of Ulrich's bath robes. The slightly rough fabric fell clear to her feet. Her hands disappeared, swallowed up by the long sleeves. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, framed by her two sisters. Serena, blocked just behind, dared not ask them to move ahead.

Ulrich had lit a fire. He invited them to dry their clothes there. Serena and Vivian spread them out on the already hot stone surrounding the hearth. Aurora also put her pouch there.

"Mr. Svenson, would you mind if I put Igor in your fridge?"

"What? Who in my fridge?"

"Igor," she said, taking him out of her sleeve. "He's my ball of moss. He doesn't like fire very much."

Mr. Svenson took off his cap and scratched his head. His brown hair sprinkled with white came down almost to his eyes. He exchanged a look with Serena. His daughter shrugged her shoulders and pursed her lips, as confused as he was.

"Uh, well, certainly," he replied without quite understanding what Aurora was showing him, "Please...."

"It's not that I don't like fire, frrt. I was a dragon, after all. It's more that I prefer cold...."

Aurora abstained from answering. Ulrich followed her to the kitchen to prepare some sandwiches. It was the first time he had had so many young people in. Serena rarely invited her friends.

Everybody was nicely settled in. Serena, on the sofa, was chatting with Vivian. Aurora, huddled next to the fire, was whispering with Mariann. Her lips were almost as pale as her cheeks. "What foolishness to jump into that freezing water," thought Mr. Svenson.

A violent thunder clap shook the house. Ulrich went over to the window. The wind was bellowing and the boats were tossing about dangerously. He made a quick prayer to the gods.

He was a superstitious man. He knew mythology, and without exactly believing in it, he did not deny superior and invisible forces. "The gods are raging," he thought. "Night is falling, the goddess Nott is spreading her cloak across the world. The breath of Njörd the Powerful threatens to tear up houses, carrying in his wake anything not sufficiently anchored to the ground. And Thor the Magnificent is whipping up the storm. Armed with his hammer, he makes lightning rain down." Vivian's voice brought him out of these thoughts.

"Aurora, wouldn't you like to sing?"

Her sister refused, but Mariann also insisted. Serena felt ill at ease. In her place, she would never have accepted to sing in front of strangers. Nor in front of her father, either. Still, their insistence intrigued her. Aurora didn't seem too bothered, and even ended up being talked into it. All bundled up in the too-large robe, her features were drawn. She closed her reddened eyes and breathed deeply. Her body stretched up, she straightened her head. A profound silence fell on the apartment. The girl's voice delicately grew louder. Listening to her reminded you of watching a flower open. Her voice was washing you, pushing you. Her vocal chords stretched effortlessly, producing a spellbinding, palpable energy. A continuous and harmonious flux, like a perpetual breeze. Carried off in a sort of trance, Aurora had stood up. All fatigue had disappeared from her face. She let herself be transported by her music; her hands, floating, moving on the waves. It was a song for Noémie, a mixture of joy for their shared memories, and of pain for those times that would never return. Each person lived that moment differently from the others, but they were all captivated. Mariann had gotten up. She was dancing very slowly, a series of almost imperceptible movements. Vivian was somewhere between laughter and tears. Huddled in the sofa, Serena could not take her eyes off the little blond fairy. "She's a light," she thought. "A light that you can hear."

Ulrich had forgotten the storm. Aurora's voice formed a protective cocoon, a little island of peace amid the storm. It was a shield against which Thor's hammer smashed making the sound of a bell. Yet, outside, the elements were unleashed. Waves were turning boats over and throwing them up on the pier. They were breaking apart making horrific crashing noises. Broken hulls were sloshing around in the rain. Masts were rolling about and smashing the display windows of the closest shops. Lightning bolts were falling like rain, and the wind was pushing the boats. In all human memory, the city had never known such devastation.

When Aurora finished her song, Serena was the first to applaud and ask for another. Ulrich smiled to see her so enthusiastic. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were all pink. He left his post by the window, not looking toward the port. "Tomorrow. Chaos can wait for morning," he thought. He made a place for himself on the sofa between Vivian and his daughter, and let Aurora's song carry him off and calm him once again.