The sun crests the horizon behind a thick wall of winter clouds. Despite the calendar stating it’s spring, I have yet to see evidence of it. Halla insists this is the longest winter they’ve ever had. Finnr confirms with his silent worried demeanor. The storms are unrelenting. Even when it’s light outside, the town remains shrouded in darkness. It’s been over a month since they came in the night, but it feels like yesterday. The homes set ablaze were extinguished by winter shortly after, but the stench of death has lingered much longer. Even now I wake at night and catch traces of it. Burned into memory, recalled only in nightmares. After a moment or two it dissipates, and I lie in bed as the storm envelops our house.
The metal roof shutters. Walls creak. Outside, wind rakes over rolling hills, stripping them of snow. When the wind dies, it’s replaced with sobbing from nearby neighbors, sometimes whispers in the night. I prefer the wind. The only comfort from the chaos outside is Anna’s embrace. I feel her warmth against mine and drift off toward dreamland.
In the darkness I find peace, but it’s always with my wife and child. In the morning I wake up next to Anna who is both foreign and familiar. The guilt I feel is the penance I must pay. Surely it goes away at some point.
In other news, my journey might come to an end sooner than I thought. At least on paper. I’ve almost run out of ink. I assumed it might end with some sort of dramatic event; dying at sea, or in a flurry of gunfire. I never thought it would be as boring as this. I suppose it would be the most poetic way to close out this chapter in my life. This is likely hyperbole. All I have to do is ask if people have any pens they can donate. Still, there will come a day when there aren’t any left and my story ends. As a writer, that would be fitting.
And so I move on.
I’m fishing again with Aldan. It’s as laborious as it was when I first started, but muscle memory guides me through the monotony. I could do it in my sleep, which is fortunate because I’ve fallen asleep several times doing it. The second time, I was prodded awake by Aldan. I sighed, expecting to be lectured, but he said nothing. No annoyance. No sympathy. We worked into the night in silence, talking only when necessary. On the way home, I sat in the back and watched him. He was a child mimicking his father. His movements matched Finnr’s. The way he stood, watching the horizon, handling the controls. Unflinching stoicism. Finnr would be proud.
My thoughts trailed off, circling back to Azami.
I’m tired.
The other evening Anna I and stopped by Finnr’s house to visit. Halla was working late in the gardens. Aldan asleep in his room. Finnr sat alone at the table, finishing up dinner. He asked about fishing. I told him what I had noticed, how Aldan took after him. I thought he’d crack a smile, but he seemed upset. Conflicted. Happy that his son had grown up and hurt that he no longer needed him. The conversation stalled. He stood to take his plate to the kitchen and walked off, dragging one leg behind him. His limp was getting worse. Anna and I exchanged glances. She got up to help, but he muttered something I didn’t understand and slammed his plate into the sink. Both of us stood in stunned silence as he made his way to his bedroom.
The evening rain turned to sleet as we walked home. By the time we opened the door, it was snowing. Inside, we hung our coats and moved to bed, crawling under the covers to avoid the harsh realities of the outside world. We both shivered involuntarily for a few minutes as we listened to the wind pick up. Her cold feet moved toward mine and I put my hands against her stomach. She squealed and buried her face into my neck. Her nose was cold against my skin. I whispered that I loved her. She looked at me for a moment and whispered back that she loved me too. I held her close as we drifted off.
I long for summer. For warmth. For days without end.
I long for home.