13 HMV: Salty in Naustet
"Varm deg på meg/Hvis det blir kaldt/Slipp deg løs no, og fall fritt"
Translation: "Warm yourself on me/If it gets cold/Let go now, and fall freely"
–Stina Talling, song "BlimE (Mer Enn God Nok)"
9:10 pm, Week 6, Outside Sauna at SALT, Langkaia 1, 0150 Oslo, Norway
"Wait—lemme get this straight—" Macy stared up suspiciously at the art-deco-like triangular glass-enclosure structure up ahead. "We're going to soak in a sauna that's an art project inspired by drying fish?"
Harry chuckled as he carried a duffel bag full of towels, swimsuits, and a spare change of clothes between them. "Not exactly, love. The sauna is part of a larger art project that includes art pieces inspired by traditional Norwegian racks for drying fish."
"Right," replied Macy, as Harry sped up his pace, to avoid arriving at the sauna too late to closing. "Wait for me!" She scurried forward, attempting to catch up. Why on earth had she let Harry plan date night? she thought to herself, initially expecting him to make 6 pm reservations at a local fjord restaurant, followed by a walk along the water.
Just outside the glass doors, there were restrooms separated by gender. Harry unzipped the duffel bag and gave Macy her swimsuit for her to change into. After both had, they exited the restrooms to take a brisk outdoor shower. My hair, Macy inwardly wailed to herself, bemoaning the fact she had spent the latter part of two hours earlier that day taming her tresses. This was followed by a brisk dip in what appeared to be repurposed grape wine barrels, the type where one imagined the local townspeople stepping on the berries, crushing them with bare feet in a chanting dance, for the summer vintner harvest.
9:20 pm, Sauna Naustet at SALT, Langkaia 1, 0150 Oslo, Norway
The first thing Macy thought of when she peered into the room, entirely composed of wood planks, was hygge—or in Norwegian, koselig—an undefinable, inherent, ineffable sense of utter Nordic coziness—as she surveyed the speckled shadows from the perforated candleholder with its light within, coupled with the tiny sauna fire in what appeared to be a black iron miniature stove—akin to those seen in the 1800s during the time of pioneers. The stove had a back-end compartment for countless pre-chopped logs, no doubt used to stoke the steady, unwavering flames that warmed the cocoon she and Harry found themselves in.
The side benches—two on the left, and two on the right side of the tiny enclosure—were one followed by another on a higher step, similar to high school bleachers, strong and sturdy. Thick damask-and-navy striped linens—were they towels or blankets? Macy wondered—were neatly folded atop each top-most seated area. A broad metal pan was filled with water, with a carved ladle-like instrument within, to scoop the water out. What was that for?
Harry stowed the duffel bag in a nearby heat-resistant compartment and walked toward Macy, beckoning her to sit, which she did, hesitantly. She couldn't help but wonder whether the benches contained heat scorching enough to burn the outermost layer of her skin. "Is it safe to sit on the bare wood," she gestured toward the iron stove and back to the bench before them, "given the temperature?" Harry laughed.
"What's so funny?" exclaimed Macy indignantly. "It's a completely legitimate question—I mean, we're in a different country, how should I know how this stuff works—"
"Macy, love, relax—" Harry laid his broad hands on either side of her shoulders and she sat atop the lower of the two benches. "See? No burns. I would think you'd be more at ease, given how we've raised a pyro of our own," referencing their twenty-one-year-old daughter Matilda, currently paying her debt to society in Camp Wanaka.
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Matilda, Child of Fire
Любовные романыPart III to On Lorenz Theory & Love, twenty-one-year-old Matilda Valensi, youngest daughter of Macy and Harry, loses her temper at her Tessera Nightclub job, accidentally setting fire to the place. For community service, she's a junior counselor at...