A rainy while later, Johannsen and I arrived back at the boat harbour from Berk, and we were then soon back at the inn.
"You remember the journal I mentioned?" my innkeeper friend now brought up as we re-entered the inn's lobby together.
"Why yes," I recalled. "What about it?"
"I think you might vant to read it," Johannsen now suggested subtly, now seemingly ready to drop something important. "Because it vas vitten by your ancestor . . . Chief Hiksti Ýsa."
My jaw hit the floor.
Johannsen just knowingly smiled.
"It is in the Old Norse though," he cautioned. "It has been transcribed and copied, but never translated into any modern language."
"I can read it," I assured. "Studying Viking history and language has been an active hobby of mine lately. It's part of what drew me here."
"I think you vill enjoy it," he noted as we arrived at his counter. "It is vitten in a surprisingly conversational style for the time. Come into my office and allow me to get it."
"Certainly," I agreed, as he now ushered me behind the lobby counter and into his office, before shutting the door. Johannsen's wood-paneled office was small, but fairly tidy and organized. He pulled a book off the shelf.
"Here it is," he said, offering my ancestor's journal to me. I looked at the book as I now held it, even turning it in my hands. Its seemingly primitive, uneven pages of parchment were encased in a hand-sewn leather book jacket. The jacket though was curiously without title or even a symbol, which seemed to give the fairly thick volume an air of mystery. "But could I say something?" he added.
"What?" I wondered, looking up at him again.
"You have seemed like the right sort to me, ever since you got here," he assessed as he looked at me now, even into my eyes. "And after our trip today, I think you are ready for this. But there are things . . . a vay of life . . . described in rich detail inside this journal," he then said seriously. "Things that the vorld has dismissed, and that you may find hard to believe. For our ancestors, their myth and their reality merged. For them, myth had solid form. Even though my own ancestors merit just a small mention in this journal, it is very personal to me. This has not been seen by scholars or serious historians . . . and I, as my predecessors have before me, do not vish it to be seen by just anyone. It describes a time, and a vorld, that vere swept avay, even discredited by invaders. One that I, even almost a thousand years later, still lament the loss of at the place you saw today.
"I ask you, for the sake of your ancestor and all he cared about," the elderly man continued, "to keep vhat you read here to yourself. I vould be glad to discuss its contents vith you during your stay, but most people vill think you are mad if you tell them about vhat you read here, especially a scientist in your position. The level of detail in here makes things . . . incredible things . . . seem real. But now that you have seen our ancestral village, and hopefully even sensed vhat vas once there—I feel I owe it to your ancestor, and to you, to let you read vhat is in this book. Vould you honour my request though, please?"
"I will," I replied appreciating his seriousness, and his trust in me. "I swear it," I said, as I reached in my thoughts for something, or someone, sufficiently important or even sacred to me to swear an oath on . . . not me, not my mother, definitely not my ex-wife.
Then, I had it. "I swear it, upon my ancestor's heart," I concluded.
The elderly man now nodded, smiling at me, as he finally passed me his treasured book.
"I know you cannot vait to begin," he said. "So I will deliver your dinner to you shortly here. Vould you like meat cakes, or lamb and cabbage stew this evening?"
"I'll go for the meat cakes," I decided. "And you're right. I can't wait to get started."
With the rain falling even harder around me and sheltering the book inside my jacket, I soon made it back to my cabin, and poured myself a nice shot of schnapps. I settled onto my richly quilted bed, and opened the book. But even before I could begin deciphering the first word, there was a knock at my door.
"Your dinner, my friend," Johannsen offered, passing me a covered stainless steel container. "Everything is in here . . . the meat cakes, vegetables, even dessert. A selection of soft drinks, juices, and beers are already in your refrigerator. The radio says this storm will last into tomorrow, perfect for reading the journal," he added. "Enjoy."
"Thank you so much," I gratefully replied as I accepted the container from him.
"You're very velcome," he gladly replied as he turned back into the rain in his slicker.
"Goodnight," I added behind him as I closed my cabin's door.
For some reason, although I had skipped lunch because of the boat trip to Berk, I wasn't hungry right now. I wanted to get into that journal. I did reach for a bottle of juice though, and cracked it open as I settled back onto the bed. I then also speared a meat cake with a fork, as I once again opened the book on my lap while thunder echoed outside my cabin and the sounds of rain pouring down now intensified.
While the individual runic characters were now familiar to me, reading them as words and sentences went slowly. I wasn't in a rush though. I just began to enjoy the experience of meeting a real Viking, my ancestor, and reading what he had to say across the span of almost a thousand years.
The writer began mostly describing Berk, and not in very flattering terms. But Johannsen was right. While many chroniclers of the age wrote in very formal, lofty, and even stilted or awkward ways; even though it was in Old Norse, my ancestor was writing as if the reader was sitting right in front of him, just talking to me as if I was already a trusted friend.
Then, when he started describing the 'pests' his village suffered from, I did a double take.
"While other villages have mice or mosquitoes," the author wrote in his quite informal Old Norse, "we have . . . dragons!"
I was suddenly plunged into a battle with creatures that couldn't be real, and yet were undeniably so, even through his words . . . especially through his words.
He was taking it all in stride though, like it was perfectly normal! My mind was suddenly bent . . . just bent! The scientist in me was just dumbfounded. The descriptions of each type, each breed, of dragon were as clear as any biologist could ask for, even in Old Norse runes. There were the Martröt or Nightmare dragons who had tall, rubbery spikes, long sharp teeth and talons, and could even light their entire bodies on fire at will. There were also big, round Gronklir or Gronkles who read like they were the flying dragon equivalents of hippopotami. The oddest that were chronicled were the Skeyttur Rass or Zipplebacks, possessing two heads and two tails. Then there were Nattrir or Nadders that apparently stood on just two legs as the Nightmares did, but threw large, sharp spines by whipping their tails, along with their intense fiery blasts. And finally, the dragon breed that was most mysterious and feared of all by this ancient Viking tribe . . . what they called the Nótt Mótr or Night Fury. This was an extremely rare black dragon that was only a speeding blur in the night, being announced by just the banshee scream of its large wings as it approached in its attack dives, and could fire its lethal blasts with deadly aim.
I wanted to re-read this initial section again, but I couldn't stop. I had to continue.
I lost all track of time as I read on through the night. The call of nature forced me to pause and go to the bathroom at times, but those were the only times I stopped. I also put those pauses to good use reheating my dinner in the microwave, and bringing to my bedside anything else I might need.
A grey dawn came. The rain continued unabated. But I couldn't stop reading the journal.
Somehow, I came to admire and then actually love the dragons, just as my ancestor did. And he even came to have a great, even incredible love. Why the hell did he get so lucky in finding a girl and a love like that and I hadn't yet? I wound up being so mad at my life, and so envious of his.
But at the same time, I realized these were my distant predecessors, even my parents of long ago. Yet I was reading about them, almost experiencing them and their lives as a peer, even as a friend. While my ancestor was somewhat discreet, he held little back. I felt almost embarrassed at times as he allowed me to glimpse some of his ups and downs, even some of his passions with his love and wife.
They and their family were alive in these pages. My ancestor was speaking directly to me. I didn't know why, but I found myself grateful that he was. He couldn't have known who would be reading his words here, but yet he did.
By late afternoon of that day, I had run out of Danishes and fruit. I still had a couple beers left, and one juice . . . but I was still reading. Old Norse now seemed like a familiar language to me, one that I could probably converse in if I tried; although not having heard it spoken really at all, I would probably mangle the pronunciations of the words, and thoroughly confuse most any native speaker of it I might try and communicate with. But I read on anyway.
By nightfall again, I was physically and emotionally spent. I struggled to read as my ancestor faced a terrible choice between he and his people having to abandon both who they were, and their dragons, or facing war at the hands of Christian missionaries and the armies behind them who were supposedly there to 'save' my ancestor and his village, but who in reality were bent on conquering and assimilating them, and eliminating the supposedly 'demonic' influence of their Viking ways and the dragons at any cost.
"Sleep . . . rest," I heard in my mind. "We'll be okay . . ."
The book fell against me as my eyes closed of their own accord.
— — — — —
I awoke late the next morning.
I slowly revived with a cup of coffee in bed as I looked out the window, savouring the view. After a day and a half, the storm had passed and the sky had cleared. Both the ocean and sky were now brilliant shades of blue. The world seemed fresh, and good.
But then I looked down at the book that lay beside me on the bed, face down, still opened to the pages where I had drifted off to sleep reading. The world there, at least at the point where I stopped, was anything but good.
I was about to pick up the book again when I heard a knock at my door. I could see through the large window next to the door that it was my friend.
"Good morning, Johannsen," I greeted as I soon opened the door.
"Good day," my host replied. "I thought I'd leave you be yesterday, but I vanted to check on you this morning though, as you definitely don't have much food left in your cabin by now."
"How did you know?" I smiled.
"I've read the journal, too," he replied with a knowing smile, "more than once. Vhere are you in it? Have you finished?"
"I'm at the point where my ancestor and his people have to decide whether to give up their beliefs and their dragons, or give up their lives. I was just waking up and about to start reading again."
"That is a good place to pause, actually," he said. "Come, have a good brunch. You must be starved. Just put the book avay in your vardrobe and let us allow my housekeeper to service your cabin."
"Allow me to shower and dress," I requested, feeling and probably looking quite dishevelled in an old t-shirt, "and I'll be right over."
— — — — —
A short time later, I was in the inn's dining room, dressed in comfortable jeans, a shirt and thick sweater, catching up on lost meals.
"Vhat do you plan to do today?" my host asked as he walked up to me while I was eating.
"Probably get back to reading the journal," I thought as I finished a mouthful.
"I vould suggest you perhaps take a break from that," Johannsen suggested. "It is the first really beautiful day ve have had here in a vhile. Vhy not valk along our beach here, meditate, pray . . . let soak in vhat you have read?"
"Alright," I accepted. "Have any suggestions as to which way I should go? Or anything I should avoid, places I could get trapped by the tide and the like?"
"Come by the front desk after you have eaten," my host offered. "I vill give you a local map . . . and maybe more," he gently smiled as he turned and left.
While I was somewhat intrigued by what he meant by that last statement, I decided to relax and enjoy the view from my window-side table over another cup of coffee. I was on sabbatical I had to remind myself.
I looked at my watch, a simple gold face attached by brown leather straps. It was noon. Even though the days in springtime were getting longer here, this day was already half over. If I was going to see the beach, I had better get to it!
I backed my chair away from the table and got up. Even in the dining room, there was more history and lore to look at on the walls. I could spend hours here, too. But a sunny afternoon on the beach sounded just too good.
I walked out to the lobby, and found Johannsen talking to what struck me as a female hippie in her late twenties or early thirties. She was dressed a leather vest with what looked like a blue sleeveless tunic underneath, and a long ivory tooth on a leather strap around her neck, complete with two, no three, long, blonde braids—one down her back and the other two draped over her shoulders. A wide, studded leather belt, more befitting a medieval warrior than a hippie, was around her tunic. Her strange outfit was completed by a somewhat ragged leather skirt, leggings made of a primitive fabric that looked less than smooth and comfortable, and deep blue fir-lined leather boots that looked surprisingly modern and even upscale compared to the rest of her. The guards made of fabric wrap that she was wearing on her forearms I couldn't figure out though.
A hippie alright, I concluded silently to myself. The woman herself was attractive, even very beautiful . . . but not my type. When I was pursuing my biology major in the Sixties, I didn't have time for, nor interest in, the counterculture movement. I actually wound up finding myself on the opposite side of some of their protests, more because I disliked their disruptive, 'in-your-face' tactics than anything else. While many of them had claimed to be getting back to nature, I was busy actually studying it. Plus, with my divorce still stinging me some, I was more than a little gun-shy towards the opposite sex right now. So I was really in no mood to strike up a conversation with her. I just wanted the map I was promised, and to then be on my way.
"Excuse me, Mister Johannsen," I tried to politely interrupt, "I'm just looking for the map you mentioned. I'm looking forward to getting out there now, with the day half over here."
"Ah, Lance," the innkeeper greeted me . . . a little too eagerly.
I began to have an uncomfortable feeling all of a sudden.
"I have more than just a map for you, if you're interested," he continued.
Oh no. I was being set up.
"Allow me to introduce my niece, Roana," he said pleasantly. "She is here visiting today."
No! No! No! I silently protested inside, while feigning an awkward smile towards him. I avoided looking at her though.
"She is thoroughly familiar vith the beaches here, and vould be happy to act as your guide," he offered. "She's also trained in veterinary medicine. You two might have a lot to talk about."
At least that perhaps explained the forearm guards.
"Sorry, thanks, but no thanks," I nervously but clearly declined facing just him. "Still freshly divorced. Never mind the map. I think I'll have a hard time getting lost on a beach. Nice to make your acquaintance, miss," I hastily said as I acknowledged her in passing without shaking her hand or even making eye contact with her. "But I should be going. Thank you both."
While I felt bad just leaving my kind host like that, I just was not ready to be paired up for the afternoon, especially with his hippie/vet niece!
Once outside though, I couldn't even find the trail from the inn to the beach. I must have looked like an idiot to Johannsen and his niece as I wandered back and forth through the inn's parking lot and among some of its cabins, looking for a path, any path, that went down the bluff.
Finally, I found it, and made a steep hike down to a narrow stretch of beach. Once I was down on the sand, I finally was able to start relaxing again. But suddenly, I started getting teary-eyed, almost crying. Damn divorce! Even though it had occurred months ago now, why did I have to be reminded of that again? I was here to forget all of that, to move on.
"To go north or south along the beach?" I now wondered aloud, trying to refocus myself. To the south seemed like a broader and flatter beach . . . more people likely though. I just wasn't in the mood for any company right now however. So I decided to head north, along a narrower, craggier beach that was hemmed in by some tall grey cliffs.
At first as I walked along, I kicked the rocks under my leather hiking shoes with some frustration. Then I started picking up and hurling them out into the sea. I wasn't trying to skip the rocks . . . just throw them, harder and harder. Maybe I was trying to hit my past across the ocean there, maybe even hit her, my ex-wife, for what she'd done to me, to my heart. I had never thrown stones so hard and violently in my life. I cried openly now as I threw them. I never wanted to hurt like this again.
I threw rocks until my left arm got tired, and until I was tired of crying. Damn my ex-wife! Even damn this hippie woman today for bringing all this up inside me all of a sudden! I'd have to explain this to Johannsen, at least some of it . . . but later. Maybe I wouldn't even make it back in time for dinner tonight. I'd I just didn't feel like talking or explaining things to anyone right now. I decided I was going to walk a ways, a long ways, up this beach this afternoon. Unfortunately I didn't pay attention to the high tide marks. I just was too angry to.
By late afternoon, my legs were now even more tired from walking than my left arm had been from throwing. I now looked back and smiled . . . with thorough chagrin and irritation.
I had been cut off by the rising tide.
At least I was at a recess or nook among the tree-lined cliffs where there was a dry sand beach above the high tide line. I was going to be here for a while now though.
Well, I had gotten my wish. I wouldn't be back at the inn for dinner this evening. I hadn't even studied the local tide tables. I had no idea when low tide would return—whether it was semi-diurnal, meaning twice daily, or just diurnal, occurring once a day. I now had a whole 'nother reason to kick myself and be angry at the world though. Since I was totally alone, what the heck . . .
"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHH!" I screamed at nothing in particular, but everything actually.
Scream therapy, I thought. Why not? So I screamed again . . . and again. My yells reverberated and echoed off the cliffs and nearby sea stacks. I let it all out until I had exhausted myself and made my throat thoroughly sore.
Then, I realized something else. Great . . . I hadn't brought any food or drink with me! And I wasn't even wearing any outerwear more than a sweater! Plus no matches, or even a flashlight! Swell! Perfect! I was such an idiot! All because of a pretty woman, and trying to avoid her.
I was angry enough to want to break rocks with my fists, to even slam the cliffs themselves. But I wasn't quite that stupid. I took to pacing my shrunken section of beach like a caged tiger now for a while. At least the tide seemed to have ceased rising. But with the sun starting to set, I figured I might as well sit and enjoy it and then rest, hoping to be awake again whenever low tide returned.
What an afternoon this had turned out to be. Damn that woman! I sincerely hoped I would never see her again. Otherwise I might not be able to resist giving her a piece of my mind for screwing up my day, my supposed restful vacation, like this!
I sat down on the sand, and then slammed by body and head back against the sand in another bout of frustration. At least that didn't hurt. But I was just finding no peace. So I sat up again and tried to enjoy the sunset. Once that 'show' was over across the thankfully placid ocean and clear sky, somehow my eyes closed. At last, I was able to rest.
— — — — —
"Doctor Hyse . . . hello-oo . . ." I heard in my sleep. At least my name was being pronounced to my liking.
"I'm not interested in any . . ." I mumbled though, dreaming I was in a restaurant. I was even dreaming I was I a foul mood!
"I think you are dreaming," the waitress said. "You are alone on the beach," as she flashed a blinding flashlight across my eyes in the dining room. "I have just found you."
I suddenly sat bolt upright in shock amid sand and pebbles once more. "Whoa!" I exclaimed.
"Easy, Doctor Hyse," the stranger holding the flashlight on me assured. "Everything is alright. Are you okay?"
While part of me was a little curious at this pleasant female voice that spoke clear, almost North American English with a mild Norwegian accent, I wasn't interested in a rescue however, and was annoyed that anyone had found me.
"Who are you?" I now demanded with some irritation.
"The 'date' you rejected this afternoon," the voice seemed to smile in reply.
I just slammed my back and head down on the sand again, and rubbed my face with my sand-covered palms as I sighed in frustration. Just the one person I did not want to see right now, or be found by!
"I'm sorry," I said, not concealing my renewed frustration, "but I don't need rescuing. I was just waiting for the next low tide. I'm fully aware I'm stuck here. I'm sorry if I concerned anyone, especially your uncle, with my prolonged absence. But, as even you've just said, I'm fine . . . and I'm content to wait by myself for the next low tide, alright?"
"Would you like any food or drink?" she offered. "I brought some."
"Are you now stuck here, too?" I pointedly asked instead.
"No," she calmly replied, still pointing the flashlight at me, "I am not."
"How did you get here then? By boat?" I followed up.
"No," she responded, with a degree of hesitation now. "I uhh . . . how do you say? Ah yes, I 'free climbed' down here."
"Free climbed?" I responded somewhat incredulously. "I didn't see any hand or foot holds in the cliffs here."
"You do not know these cliffs like I do," she responded, still with that annoying calmness, and even gentle smile in her voice. "But you cannot come back that way with me. It is too dangerous in the dark here. I will sit for a while with you though, until the tide is low enough for you to return the way you came. Would you like a coat, even a fire?"
"Really, no," I grimaced in continued irritation. "As I said, I was fine the way I was."
"You would just like me to go then?" she asked.
"Yes," I simply replied.
"Very well, as you wish," she sighed, finally pointing the flashlight away from me.
"But please don't hurt yourself on those cliffs," I added, "especially on my account. And I'd prefer you didn't tell your uncle about this either. I'll do it . . . in my own way."
"Funny," she noted as she paused while starting to walk away from me now, "my uncle had said you were so open, so curious . . . and so friendly."
"He is a very likeable man," I replied.
"Yes he is," she agreed. "You are not gay though, homosexual . . . are you?"
"Heck no!" I replied. "Sorry if I gave you that idea."
"She must have hurt you then . . . very deeply," the woman said.
Suddenly, it was all I could do not to break down and cry again.
"Ohh yes," my voice quivered. I buried my mouth and nose in my sweater-covered arm as I sniffed. I didn't want to say a thing more as I just looked blankly at the dark sand and water in front of me.
"Would you like to talk about it?" she offered, turning around with her flashlight. "I have dealt with wounds . . . of many kinds."
Now I buried my whole face in my arms as they were braced across my knees. I didn't know what to do. I just sat silently that way for a moment.
"It is alright," she assured as she returned, and now sat down beside me.
"No . . . it's not," I sadly replied. "But I'm not ready to talk about it, okay? Look, I'm sorry you felt you had to come looking for me, and even risk your neck the way you did."
"I am not sorry," she calmly replied.
I cried at that now. She, and her steadfast kindness and understanding towards me, had just opened up a wellspring of sadness, even repressed anguish within me. Feelings that I didn't even know were there.
I managed to regain enough control of myself however to tell her, "Just go, okay? Tell your uncle I'll be fine, and I'll be back at the inn sometime in the morning, whenever the tide's low again around here. I . . . I'm sorry . . ."
"Alright," she gently accepted. But as she got up, she gently ran her hand from the top of my head, down the side of my face, and even down my neck. Ohh it was such a sweet caress. I began crying all over again.
"Take care," she said softly, as she compliantly got up and left me now. "You will get another chance."
I didn't quite know what she meant by that, but yet I kind of did. Half of me no longer wanted her to go. But I was too sad, too embarrassed at how I was, as well as too stubborn, to ask her to stop now. I knew she would have if I had asked though.
I just let her disappear around the corner of a cliff.
Soon, I heard some noises in the distance beyond the turn of the cliffs . . . whooshing sounds of some kind. Then I sensed something passing across the moonless night sky near me. After that, there was just the gentle wash of the ocean against the shore.
I was able to regain control of myself now, to once again close my heart and all the hideous pain within. I lay back down on the sand and soon fell asleep, emotionally exhausted, finding a measure of peace again.
— — — — —
I woke up to a second sunny morning . . . still on the beach, and to a sea level that was now thankfully much lower.
Normally, I could have done with a cup of coffee right then . . . but I didn't have any. And true to form over the past twenty-four hours, I had probably rejected that, too, when I sent away the angel that had come to find and comfort me during the night. Another perfect screw-up. I was batting a thousand in baseball terms . . . one hundred percent on that score right now.
So I stretched, got up, shook myself to both wake myself up as well as get the sand off me, and then I began trudging back south along the narrow beach at the base of the cliffs back towards the inn. As soon as I got back, it would be an obligatory but quick apology to Johannsen, one big meal, and then I planned on locking myself in my cabin, drawing the curtains closed, and sleeping in better comfort for the rest of the day and night. The seascape here, which had seemed to me to be so stunningly beautiful yesterday, now felt as ugly and dark as hell to me—except with all that fire, I never imagined hell to be all that dark. Besides I think they had a town by that name here in Norway.
"Can't even get my concept of hell right this morning," I sighed to myself as I walked.
I climbed back up the trail to the inn, where my whole odyssey had started yesterday. I wasn't looking forward to talking to Mr. Johannsen, or anyone else . . . although part of me was now ready to make an exception for his niece. I couldn't even remember her name though.
I took a deep breath as I opened the front door to the inn's lobby. I no longer paid any attention to the Viking and dragon paraphernalia inside I had once been so fascinated by. Thankfully, Johannsen wasn't at his counter just then. So I just continued into the dining room, figuring he would have left something out for me, or perhaps another late-coming guest.
And there it was . . . a full brunch buffet, any breakfast I wanted, all in heated pans along a serving table. Johannsen was far too kind a man. I felt I didn't deserve his consideration, or that angel of a woman who had found and attempted to offer me the first real kindness basically anyone had in the months since my divorce. I was almost ready to cry yet again as I reached for a warm plate, and attempted to spoon some scrambled eggs and sectioned fruit onto it. Then came a few sausage links, and I decided to go for some French Toast as well. Better skip the coffee now though, I thought. I'll just make it juice instead. I wanted to sleep again soon here.
I sighed as I sat down with my plate and juice at my now favourite window-side table in the dining room, and began to eat. Soon, a figure silently approached me, and sat down across from me.
"How are you doing?" Johannsen gently asked.
"Not good," I sighed. "But I made it back. I'll rest now, and maybe try and have a better day tomorrow."
"I am sorry, my friend," he said. "I had no idea how deep your pain vas. I thought you'd velcome some nice company . . . not run from it."
"I'm sorry, too," I noted, before adding, "but please pass my apologies, and thanks, along to your niece as well. I wasn't as nice as I should have been towards her—especially considering what she did to find me where I was last night."
"I'm afraid I can't do that right now," Johannsen sighed. "She is gone, and von't be back for a little vhile, several days at least. She visits as she is able to, but othervise I can't reach her. I don't quite know vhen she vill be back."
"If I'd known that . . ." I sighed.
"It is alright," my host assured, putting a hand on my arm. "She vould like to see you again. I know it."
"Why?" I asked. "Especially after the way I had treated her . . . mostly."
"Vhen she stopped by during the night to let me know you vere okay," he replied, "she vas crying a little. But they were not tears for herself, my friend," he said as he got up. "They vere tears for you."
That made me stop and look down for a moment. Wow . . . she was crying for me?
I now smiled at him a little with a tear in my eye as he looked at me.
He just nodded. "You vill be alright now I think," he then assured. "Just do not say no to her the next time."
"I don't think I will," I honestly responded.
"Oh, and she asked me to reclaim the journal for now, so I've already picked it up from your cabin," he added. "She vants to share the next part of it with you herself."
"She knows about the journal?" I asked.
"But of course," he assured. "She is a Johannsen . . . a descendant of a long and clear line, just as I am."
"Please extend my stay until she returns," I now found myself saying. "I had some vague plans for other parts of Norway and Scandinavia, but I think I will just cancel them now. I don't think I can do better than I can right here."
"I do not think so either," he agreed with a smile. "Rest vell, Lance. Ve vill see you tomorrow."
